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All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrat&d impression. Les exemplaires oiiginaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimie son 1 meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivints apparaicra sur la dernidre image de .haque microfiche, s-'*F.>'; '.ta^ i*--f? *-*w-'pf!,. -■^^^ ^1^ l^ / , ^ »l t/ ,'. r . yt„a .^ - SELECT POEMS SCOTT LADY OF THE LAKE :t(ons and annotations HV UiCk Mi NRV SYKhS, M.A., Ph.D. .>N, ^f ^.^ LIBRARY, ^< I'i^^l^-t-e 1099 'V. J. i nMPANY, LIMTED ZSSBSBEM I- at I m WORDSWORTH SELECT POEMS SCOTT THE LADY OF THE LAKE EDITED WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND ANNOTATIONS BY FREDERICK HENRY SYKES, M.A., Ph.D. ^»» ^*"'»'' II "i^t I.'AR 1 8 189; V-^Ar- THE W. J. GAGE COMPANY, LIMITED 1898 ai9t4- Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, In the office of the Minister of Agriculture, by The W. J. Gaok Comi-any (Limited), in the year one thousand eiglit hundred and ninety-eight. PREFACK. Tfiis edition of Select Poems of Wordsworth aud Scott's "Lady of the Luke" is designed as an aid to tlio study of English literature. It is more especially intended for students preparing for University Matriculation and tlio higher examinations of the Ed'ication Departments r.f various Provinces of the Dominion. The present volume fol- lows tl'.o general plan of its predecessors — " Select Poems of Tennyson," ' Select Poems of Coleridge, Wordsworth, Camp- bell, Longfellow," and " Select Poems of (Joldsmith, Words- worth, Scott, Keats, Shelley, Byron," — and endeavours, by bringing together from man}"^ quarters whatever critical apparatus elementary students re>'it Flower, whoso home Is everywhere ! At the Crave of B.irns 32 (2()9) Thoughts Suggested the Day following . . H() (273) The Solitary Reaper . . 39 (275) Ode to Duty 41 (277) Elegiac Stanzas . . _ , 43 (281) Character of the Happy Warrior . . . . 4(5 (284) Personal Talk 49 (^288) I. I am not One who much or oft delijflit. III. Wings have we,— and as far as we can go. IV. Nor can I not believe but that hereby. Nightingale ! Thou Surely Art . . . . 51 (289) To the Rev. Dr. Wordsimrth . . 52 (292) The Minstrels played their Ohrisimas tune. CONTMNTS. Texts : Wordsworth (continu(3rl)~ After-thouyht TUe /'w,,. " ! ' ^r,'^"-^y<'''ha'^'^ frowned ^ue i . t, arose of the Itovk Oaths Departure of Sir Walter' Hooit from Abhotsford for Naples ^ J^ ^-^' ! fie hath put his heart iosrhoof' Hcott— Introductory Notes f^fo^^'^. lisTRODl tJTK rv WIIJ.IAM WOllDSWOiiTH. .J»n:;j)itle liv ■ ■ •■Hi, ■:...,• t.f . . '■■: ; -tie Uor r.iti ■•■■A TVr-.sv(!f'n':'< V- ■ .. ...•..!!!( i^ Hi. rjiv i' V.-.-:]i:'. !';■ : I? i'lloveui-m. ill hi/tjl f-ih !■'■ ■if':-' n! i;, Iff link Liferatnff. ■■'i.-ile-i' ' - . . ■''Word-"- ■/■"■ . : ■■■ ' s i.'.vij 111' V <•!' .|Hr;i-iu. ■■■'.'■ . ...i. ■. v:.-sw.ii', . • ■ /v '..:■., ■ •>: ; |-!.t/!iti, /.^^.M»/ jr. U , •■ ^i. ^ t ■ ■■■ 'v. •>'■ , •,-. ...•i('V- ■ ,iUh r- . .izabati Wiiulsworth, ll'«7.- :'■■ ' ' ■ ' - >i ■; i;'V Md ,''■•»;• ^ W JIj;rAM W (»Js vVUKTH. ^,l ; annotated editions of selected poems, Eolfe (Harpers), Rowe and Webb (Maemillan), Dowden tOinu). The ideals of the eighteenth century are far removed from those of the nineteentli, whether we consider man- ners, government, or poetry. The men of the eighteenth century were enamoured of urban life. London life had acijuired for them unequalled zes*: by the introduction of coffee-houses, which served as centres of discussion and sociability ; by the growing importance of newspapers, in which the news of ';he day was of less interest than the witty essays of Addison and Steele ; by the factional fights of Whigs and Tories that followed the introduc- tion of government by party. On the whole, e'ghteenth century life was devoid of hig^b. aims— bishops were poli- ticians, statesmen held power oy bribes, gentlemen could be polished rakes — and unaware of their low-thoughted existence, they had a cheerful belief that theirs was the best possible world. Literature reflected this life. It had an unquestioning belief that it had reached the acme of poetry. Boileau was the legislator of the English as well as tho French Parnassus, and with Boileau good taste, good sense, polish, elegance were the crowning virtues. Clearness, sanity, directness, are great literary virtues, but they are not the greatest virtues of poetry. In the conven- tional, narrow-thoughted, self-sufficient life of the age, imagination, lofty sentiment, spiritual fire, were lost. The theme of literature was limited to man the social WILLIAM WORDSVVOR TH. XI l)eing, and the supreme treatment, followini^ the tone of society, was the most deadly of all possible modes of thought— the satiric. The form of poetry likewise re- flected tlie age. Poets found in the iambic couplet a form of versification that allowed all their virtues to be manifest — polish, symmetry, clarity, the epigrammatic biilliaucy in which satire delights, the formal movement that suited their ideals of life. The group of writers who dominated the first half of the eighteenth century— Addison, Pope, Swift — were succeeded by a second group — Goldsmith, Churchill, Johnson — who possessed in the main the very character- istics of their predecessors — their restricted sympathies, their urban tustes. their social tendencies, their ideals of correctness founded on a narrow interpretation of the classics, their limited sense of beauty of form as indicated by the continued reign of the heroic couplet as the ortho- dox and almost universal mode of poetic expression. Thus, for a hundred years, song, to use Mr. William Watson's words, had wandered down from celestial heights, ignobly perfect, barrenly content. — "Unflushed with ardour and unblanched with awe, Her lips in profitless derision curled, She saw witlx dull emotion— if she saw — The vision of the glory of the world. The hum&n masque she watched, with dreamless eyes In wliose clear shallows lurked no troubling shade, The stars, unkenned by her, might set and rise. Unmarked by her, the daisies bloom and fade." But contemporary with these writers — visible, indeed, even in Goldsmith — there are signs of a new movonent that will bear us on in an ever rising flood to Words- worth and Coleridge, and the literary awakening of the end of the century. ' xu INTRODUCTIONS. Tho latter half of the eijjjhteenth century was a time of transition an'l enfrancliiaenieiit. The Seven Years' War brought with it tlie foundation of the colonial empire of Great Britain ; the growth of science evoked theories of life and government — a belief in human perfectibility and in the corruption of the existing social state— that could end only in revolution ; democracy was vindicated in the United States of America ; the rise of Methodism sent a fresh stream of moral emotion and philanthroi)y into church and people; everywhere one saw the spread of Rousseauism — subjectivity, individuality, jiassion for solitude, for nature, return to simi)lc, primitive human life: — all these permeated men's minds, forcing a new outlook on life, fresh interests, and bold innovations. As the eij^liteenth century wore on, the classical style was felt to be less and less effective as a means of poetic expression. Men grew tired of the monotony of form and expression in literature, just as they grew tired of formal, urban life and a narrow range of feeling and ex- perience. Reaching out for relief from the heroic couplet, they resumed old forms of versification, the blank verse of Milton, the epic stanza of Si)enser, the ode, the ballad, and the sonnet. In i^lace, too, of a narrow horizon of civic life, they lifted up their eyes and saw either a glori- ous past or an enchanting future. The chivalric ages, viewed beneath tlio glamour of Spenser and the new Ger- man dramatists ; the northern nations, with their ancient mytholog^'^ and misty mountain scenery, brought within range by Macpherson's Ossian and Gra\'s Odes ; the very life of the people, expressed in the traditional poetry of England and Scotland, and made accessible by the publi- cation of numerous collections of ballads ; even the supernatural, not unknown to the ballad, but specially WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. xin cultivated by tales of mystery and spectral romance transplanted from Germany ; tlie aspects of nature, not the cool grotto and trim hedges, but the mountain, the storm, the winter landscape:— these were the objects filling the new horizon that opened to men's minds ; and to this fresh world they came with minds increasingly sensitive. All Europe was stirring with new emotion, everywhere Rousseau was hailed as the apostle of the feelings and of naturi The ecstasies of Goethe's Werther met with "vehement acceptance." The Revolution in men's minds was in progress, passing, before the end of the century, in France, into Political Revolution. This movement of men's minds towards the picturesque past, towards nature and the suj^ernatural, towards emotion, towards beauty, constitutes the Romantic Move- ment, to which in this nineteenth century we owe our best literature. With the beginning of the full glory of English Romanticism, two names are indissolubly associated — Wordsworth and Coleridge. Others prepared the way ; others revealed more or less tentatively some of the char- acteristics of the movement. Traces of it may be found in Thomson, whose Seasons were completed in 1730 ; traces of it may be found in Gray, who died in 1771, and whose Journal in the Lakes displays a spirit kindred to that of the poet of Grasmere ; traces of it may be found in Burns, in whom tender feeling and passion join with appreciation of the beauty possible in the meanest flower and the humblest life. Cowper, the gentlest of poets, was, like Barns, a revolutionist in his political leanings and in his Hiving for the simplicity of country life ; he, too, felt the thrill of communion with Nature, and had a heart that went out to all weak and helpless creatures. Thorn- xiv INTROD UCTJONS. son, Gray, Burns, and Cowper, then, all felt the impulse of a new life; hut tliis new l.fe was first manifested in its power in two poets, Wordswortli and Coleridge. William Wordsworth was horn at Cockermouth, Cum- herland, April 7th, 1770, the second son of John Words- worth, attorney-at-law, and of Anne Wordsworth, daughter of Willfam Cookson, mercer of Penrith — per- sons of good yeoman descent and of unpretentious cir- cumstances. His mother early noted the strong character of her son. Of her five children, she said, the only one about whose future life she was anxious was William : he would he remarkable either for good or for evil, for he was, as he said, "of a stiff, moody, and violent temper." His school-days were spent at Cockermouth, Penrith, and Hawkshead. His childhood truly showed that in him at least the boy was father to the man. Throughout his youthful years he had a passion for out-of-door life. Cockermouth is near the Derwent, that blent A murmur with my nurse's sonpr. And . . . . sent .a voice Tlmt flowed nlonp: my dreams. Bathing in the mill-race, plundering the raven's nest, skating, nutting, fishing, such were the golden days of happy boyhood ; and tlie activities of boyhood lived on in the man. AVords worth, Elizabeth Wordsworth says, could cut his name in the ice when quite an elderly man. Hawkshead overlooks the near-by Esthwaite lake, and there, in the house of Dame Anne Tyson, Wordsworth spent nine happy years until he reached the age of seven- teen. The Arabian Nights, Fielding, Cervantes, Le Sage, li^_. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. xr and Swift were his first favourite books. His father interested liimself in his training, and tlirougli liia guid- ance Wordsworth as a boy couhl repeat by lieart much of Spenser, Shakspere, and Milton. But V\'^ordsworth was taught 1)y a greater teacher than books. Nature entwined with all his life the sights and sounds of a beautiful and varied country. Before ♦^he town of Hawkshead, at a distance of half a mile, lies little Esthwaite lake amidst its meadows ; a league to the east the greater Windermere divides Lancashire and Westmoreland ; six miles to the north Grasmere and Rydal Mere reflect the shadows of Hel vellyn ; to the west nast Coniston lake and Coniston Old Man lies the Irish Sea. The distant line of mountains, the mists rolling down the valleys, the solitary cliffs, the trembling lakes, cascades of mountain brooks, autumn woods — by these he held " Unconscious intercourse v/ith 1)enuty old as creation." Ir, was "a time of rapture," a "seed-time," yielding • • unfailing recollections ": — " Ye mountains and ye lakes And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds That dwell among the hills where I was Ijorn. If in my youth I have been pure in heart, If, minf?linj? with the world, I am content With my own modest pleasures, and have lived . With Goii and J ature communing, removed From little enmi ies and low desires — The gift is yours." There was something, too, in the humble aspects of his childhood years at Hawkshead— the cottage in which he lived, his frugal fare, the village children his companions, the shepherds' huts he visited -to impress him with an xvi INTRODUCTIONS, appreciation of the native strength of things, and to establish his spirit kindred witli that of Burns, — " Whoso light I hailed when first It shone, And showed my youth How Verse may hiillfl a princely throne On humhlo truth." On the death of his father in 1783, Wordsworth came into the charge of his uncles, who some years later sent him to Camlu'idge. He entered St. John's College in October, 1787, and found liis simple north-country lifo exchanged for one of "invitations, suppers, wine and fruit." He "sauntered, played, or rioted" with his fellow-students, taking little interest in the narrow range of academic pursuits. However, lie read classics dili- gently, studied Italian and the older English poets — Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspere, and Milton. Throughout his college life lie was a dreamer, feeling he "was not for that hour, nor for that place." Vacation released him — once to return to his loved valley of Hawkshead and his boyhood's friends and the "frank-hearted maids of Cum- berland" — now seen vrith clearer but not less loving eye ; again, to explore the valley of the Dove, Eamont, and other dales of Yorkshire and Cumberland ; again, to traverse on foot France, Switzerland, and Northern Italy, seeing, as from a distance, the nations awakening to battle in the cause of liberty. In the first of these vacation rambles, returning home- ward to Hawkshead at dawn from some frolic, — The morning rose, in memorable pomp . . . Tlie sea lay laughing at o distance ; near Th«» solid mountains shone, bright as tlie clouds,.. . And in the meadows a .d the lower grounds Was all the sweetness of a common dawn- Dews, vapours, and the melodies of birds, IVILL/AM WORDSWORTH, xvii And liUtourers proliiff forth to till tlio fields. All ! need I say, «l»!;vr FriiMul ! that to the brim My heart wji3 full ; I iniulc no vows, but vows Were then mmlc for me ; IkjikI unknown to mo Was iclvi 1. that I should 1m;, else sinning greatly, AdodU- led Spirit, On I walked In thai, fill blessedness, which yet survives. Yet though henceforth a dedicated spirit, Wordsworth was still far from sooint; clearly the purport of Ills dodica- tioii. At the ago of ten he had began to feel the charm and power of verse. In the last days of his Hawkshead life, he folt the stirrings of poetic composition. His first long poem, An Evening Walk, written in college vacations, preserves his early consciousness of the natural appear- ances of the Der A'ent, Grasmere, and Rydal, and shows the spirit of nature moving below the literary bondage of Pope. The song of mountain-streams, unheurd by day, Now hardly lieard, beguiles my homeward way. Air listens, like the sleeping water, still. To catch the spiritual music of the hill. Some aspects of life at Cambridge had prompted Words- worth to verse beside Cam and Thames, but lie left college without a definite future. Some months in London, a tour in Wales, then France — France given up to all the liopes and aspirations of the dreamers of universal liberty and a regenerate humanity. Like other young poets of his time, he watched with beating heart the emancipa- tion of human life and spirit in the Revolution. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven I For thirteen months Wordsworth saw the Revolution in progress, a friend of one of its leaders, an eye-witness of its atrocities. It was the crisis of his life. When Eng- xviii INTRODUCTIONS. (r }k land took part against l^'rance, he had a "sense of woes to come" and "sorrow for human kind." All things seemed to need new judging — government, precepts, creeds ; and the burden of an unintelligible world weighed him down utterly. Recalled from France at the close of the year 1792, Wordsworth had still the choice of his profession to make, and for neither church nor law could his perturbed spirit find any likinr. At this juncture the influence of his sister Dorothy saved him for his real mission. She whispered still that brightness would return ; She, in the midst of all, preserved me still A poet, made me seek beneath that name, And that alone, my office upon earth. "Wordsworth was never ungrateful to that noblest of women. In the midst of troubles she never flagged, in the moments of literary aspiration she was by his side, with sympathetic heart and equal mind. She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And humble cares, and delicate fears ; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears ; And love, and thought, and joy. In 1793 he published his first volumes, An Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches, the latter occupied with his experiences among the Alps. Only two choice minds seem to have noticed their appearance— Coleridge and De Quincey. "Seldom, if ever," said the former, "was the emergence of aii original poetic genius above the literary liorizon more evidently announced." Nature, books, the genial ministrations of his sister, who won him to "a more refined humanity" and "regard for common things," gradually brought com- posure to his mind. The political deeds of Napoleon WILLI A M IVOKDS IVOR TH XIX completed the disillusionment of his early republican hopes of the school of Rousseau. Clinging to the good as he found it, he became, as years went past, less and less desirous of changes for prospective good, and from the time of Waterloo he opposed all the later efforts of liberalism, oven in the best of causes. The publication of Descriptive Sketches was followed by years of uncertainty — journeyings to and fro — in the Isle of Wight, Salisbury Plain, and along the Wye to North Wales One of his rambles with his sister Dorothy led him from Kendal to Grasmere, and from Grasmere to Kes- wick, — " the most delightful country we have ever seen," she sa5d. He projected a monthly miscellany, republican but not revolutionary, and was completely out of money when his good friend Raisley Calvert died, leaving him a legacy of 900^. This was the turning point of his fortune. Inspired by his sister, Wordsworth resolved to take up that plain life of high poetic thought which was to result in a pure and lasting fame. In the autumn of 1795 the brother and sister settled in Racedown Lodge, Crewkerne, Dorset, in a delightful country, with "charming walks, a good garden, and a pleasant home." There Wordsworth wrote his Imita- tions of Juvenal, Salisbury Plain, and commenced The Borderers. Henceforth he was dedicated to poetry. Meanwhile, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the son of a Devonshire clergymanj had passed through Christ's Hospital and Cambridge and various projects for reform- ing the world, snoh as Pantisocracy, and had finally settled down to matrimony and authorship. He had first established Iiimsclf at Clevedon, near Bristol, where he eked out a poor living with hack-work, lecturing, XX /iV 7 ROD UC 7 VONS. I 3 tutoring, varied by some attempts at publishing periodi- cals and poetry. Early in 1797 he removed to Nether Stowey. Nether Stowey lies at the foot of the Quantocks, Somersetshire, a few miles from the Bristol Channel, in a counti'y of clear brooks and wooded hills. In June, 1797, Coleridge visited the Wordsworths at Racedown. The two poets read their compositions to each other, — Coleridge his tragedy of Osorio^ and Wordsworth his tragedy of The Borderers. Thus began the friendship of these two men, a friendship that meant much for them- selves, much for English literature. Charmed by the scenery of the Quantocks and the opportunity of being near Coleridge, Wordsworth and his sister took up their abode at Alfoxden, some three miles distant from Stowey and two from the Bristol Channel. The mutual influence of these two great and original minds can hardly be appreciated with exactness ; but there can be no doubt that the imaginative and philosophic spirit of Coleridge's nature was the ultimate touch that wrought Words- worth's genius to the finest issues. His kindred influence, said Wordsworth, found its way to his heart of hearts. Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved Unctieeked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, Thou in hewitchliif? words, with liappy lieart, Did'st eliaut the vision of that Ancient Man, The hriRlU-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes Did'st utter of the Lady Christabel. The period of companionship and mutual stimulus that ensued was marked by the production of poems that are tlie unmlstakeable manifestations of the presence of that new spirit of poetry which was to dominate the first half of the century to come. WILLIAM WORDS WOR TH, XXI In tlie spring of 1V98 the two poets planned a pedes- trian tour to Linton, purposinj>; to defray its cost by a joint composition, The Ancient Mariner, which after discussion fell entirely into Coleridj^e's hands. The pro- ject of one poem expanded and took form in a volume of poems, to which Coleridge contributed a few pieces deal- ing with the supsrnatuval, and Wordsworth the main body of poems depicting nature and humble life under the modifying colours of the imagixiation. As Coleridge de- fined Wordsworth's part : "Subjects were to be chosen from ordinary life : the characters and incidents were such as will be found in every village and its vicinity where there is a meditative aud feeling mind to seek after them, or to notice them when they present themselves." The poems To My Sister, Expostulation and Reply, The Tables Turned (see pp. l-fi) are characteristic of Alfoxden life and Wordsworth's new vis'on of poetry. 'V\iQ memorable volume, opening with The Ancient Mariner and closing with Tintern Abbey, was called Lyrical Ballads, and was published in Bristol in 1798.* Its immediate influence was very slight. The Monthly Review considered The Ancient Mariner the strangest cock and bull story, a rhapsody of unintelligible wildness and incoherence, though admitting exquisite poetical touches ; in general it called upon the author of the volume to write on more elevated subjects and in a more cheerful disposition. Cottle parted with most of his five hundred copies at a loss, and on going out of business returned the copyright to Wordsworth as valueless. De Quincey awd John Wilson were perhaps alone in recog- nizing the value of the volume. Originality, it has been * Wordsworth Issued a second edition in 18f>(), which, with other poems, contained Nutting (see p. 10), Michael (p. 12). XXll INTROD UC 7 IONS. said, must create tlie taste by which it is to ho appre- ciated, and it was some years before a taste for the new poetry was created. At Alfoxdeii, then, Lyrical Ballads was written, and there, too. The Borderers was finished. The latter was Wordsworth's one effort at dramatic composition. It was rejected by the Coven t Garden Theatre ; concerning which circumstance the poet remarked : "'The moving accident is not my trade ; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts; Tis my delight, alone in aiimmer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hsarts." The Rural Cottage^ which became, later, the first book of the Excursion^ vvras of a different quality — a sympathetic poem of nature and human life in their interrelations — Wordsworth's especial sphere. Lamb and Hazlitt, who came down to visit Coleridge, were taken of course to see Wordsworth. Hazlitt. hearing Coleridge read some of his friend's poems, " felt the sense of a new style and a new spirit of poetry come over him." « On the publication of Lyrical Ballads, Coleridge and Wordsworth were enabled through the generosity of the Wedgwoods, sons of the great potter, to carry out a long- cherished project of a pilgrimage to Germany, then the shrine of literary devotion. Coleridge parted company with the Wordsworths on reaching the Continent, passing on toRaizeburg and GSttingen, while the latter buried themselves in Goslar, on the edge of the Hartis Forest. Wordsworsh got little pleasure from German society, literature, climate, or tobpcco. Driven back upon him- self, he took inspiration from the memories of Hawkshead and Alfoxden, and wrote some of his best poems — Influ- ence of Natural Objects (see p. 7), Nutting (p. 10), The WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. xxiii Pod^s Epitaph, The Fountain, Two April Mornings, Ituth, and the five poems grouped about the name of Lucy. There, too, to depict tlie liistory of his mind and of his dedication to poetry, he began The Preltide. His stay in Germany ended in July, 1799. In the autumn of that year the brother and sister made excursions through Cumberland and Westmoreland, and were led by the natural beauty of those shires to take up their abode, December. 1799, in Grasmere, Westmoreland, in Dove Cot- tage, at the extremity of the village known as Town-end. DOVE COTTAGE, GRaSMERE, AND RYDAL MOUNT. Gray has described the Grasmere scenery and De Quincey the Wordsworth cottage — a little white cottage, sheltered in trees, overhung by the lofty mountain ascending behind it ; in front, the quiet crystal of Gras- mere water and the stretching meadow-vale in which lies the village with its embowered houses : all about, the encircling eternal hills, and in their bosom, in those days, quiet peace. XXIV INI ROD UCTIONS. During 1300 the poet wrote Poems on the Naming of Places, 'J he Brothers, The Pet Lamb, and that impas- sioned narrative, breathing tlie spirit of the Cumberhuid mountains — Michael (p. 10). In 1802 he paid a flying visit to France, the memorials of which are the group of son- nets that includes those written at Calais (see pp. 28-29). The same year he married Mary Hutchinson, a school- mate of his childhood, a wife worthy of her husoand and his sistftr and of the poem She was a Phantom of Delight, depicting that perfect woman nobly planned. BYDAL MEBE AND NAB SCAB, WESTMOBELAND. In 1807 several volumes of his poems were published, embracing an almost uueqalled body of lyric verse, fruits of seven years perfected by domestic ties, meditation of human nature, human events, and human lives, and study of the meaning and beauty of nature in flower and bird, mountain and stream. Of these volumes are some noble sonnets dealing with contemporary life, such as the Calais sonnets and It is not to be thought of that the Flood (pp. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, XXV 28-30), To the Daisy (p. 31), The Solitary Reaper (p. 39), Ode to Duty (p. 41), Elegiac Stanzas {p. 43), Character of a Happy Warrior (p. 46), Personal Talk (pp. 49-50), Nightingale ! thou surely art (p. 51), and many other perfect lyrics. In Dove Cottage until 1808, then for a few years at Allan Bank, a mile away, and the Grasmere parsonage; finally, in a large house, Rydal Mount, overlooking Rydal Mere, nearest neighbour to Grasmere, Words- worth lived his long life. Friends were about him. Coleridge was at times in Keswick, fifteen miles away (they loved to walk such distances in those days), where Southey also was living ; De Quincey took the Dove Cottage when ^ordsworth moved to Allan Bank ; "Christopher North" was at EUeray, nine miles distant ; Dr. Arnold built himself a house at Ambleside, an hour's wp-lk from Rydal Mount. Occasionally the poet left his home for long trips to the Continent or to Scotland and Wales, steadily composing under the influences of sug- ge.' ive scenes. To his tour in 1803 belong the poems referring to Burns (pp. 32-38). Memorials of a Tour in Scotland (1814), Memorials of a Tour on the Continent (1820), Yarrow Revisited (1835, see p. 59), and Memorials of a Tour in Italy (1837), are collections due to various excursions. His sonnets, many of which are gems of lyrical beauty unsurpassed, are cliiefly in three series, Ecclesiastical Sketches, On the River Duddon (see pp. 52-55), and Sonnets Dedicated to Liljerty. Of his other chief works, Peter Bell, written in 1798, was not published till 1819; the Excursion, composed in 1793-1814, was published in 1814; The White Do'i of Rylstone, w^ritten in 1807, was issued in 1815; while The Prelude begun in 1799 and finished in XXVI JNTKODUCriONS. 1805, was printed only after his death. In general, in his later work, in .'ilniost all that is snbsek <-'S>itl^ '^^ '■^:i^i^f SWl WALTi':!i S( vM'r. •M. - / ■ !■': U ■••Ml .•.;.;;,,, ... , , ■^xK'.'.i'iiV . iikcwi- , !, (,; ■^^..'. ■ ■-.,. : • ■i.'Jii Mil):.'-. -.yWh it;,-- ,•■ •;.; ... -,.,. iluUui: ''■'- ■•■I ■ . aiu] V - ' ■ Wntr V. , ■ : .;/ Sif UK,, ^ :^ - ■ • . h, I-;.. . . . ' : ■' ■' ?■>>■' hi. . ' ,: . , • ■ .■■■^■.. ..... :■.,!,,,.,,,;.... , • <■• - ■ ■ S:, ,.i,, .,. :;,;<(,* ;,, .; • . , '" ■' ■■ i, , Sl.iiJVn, .1^;.,- • ,.. ■ ■ft. y ; ■ •■' ''• '^ 'i ' !)>'3t Olio ■,.») tTJ. |« ■ i MacmtHnii . >t lU Ladu of Lh^- !!ir ■■■■■ I i ! j 1 i I I M ..■ M>-. ^ M, siir .VALTf li, s<"()rr. f ■ i ii' i it [il ABnOTSF(IKr). SIR WALTER SCOTT. The best brief accounts of Scott's life are those of tlie Dictionary oj National Bio(jrapliy (art. Scott) and the Encyclopedia lirilannicu. i*;ili?rave lias a memoir, likewise, in the Globe ed. of Scott's poems. Somewhat longer bioffraphies, with appreciations, are Huttcr.'d Scott in English Men of Letters .series and Youf^e's in Greater IKrifcrs series; the former is to be preferred. The authorities for all lives of Scott are . LockharVs Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott (the orij^iual ill seven vols., but there is an abridgment iu the '• Chandos " library— \Viirne); and Journnl of Sir Walter Scott. Scott's account of his intro- kliK'tion to authorship is found in the Essay on Border Minstrelsy and ]lio Introduction to Tlie Lay of the Last Mitistrel, edd. of 1833. Criticism of Scoit's poetry is afforded by Jeffrey's Essays in the Edin- }urgh Review (18051813) ; Hazlitt, Spirit of the Aye ; Carlyle, Sir Walter cott (in Miscellaneous Essays) ; Leslie Stephen, Hottrs in a Library ; 5ir Francis Doyle, Lectures on Poetry ; Shairp, Aspects of Poetry; luskin. Modern Painters ; Courthope, Liberal Movement, etc. The standard ed. <»f Scott is that of 1833ff. The best one-vol. ed. is *algrave's Globe ed. (Macmillan). Annotated edd of TJie Lady of the 'Mice are numerous: Rolfe (Houffhion, Mittiin , Stuart (Macmillan) Miiito (Clarendon Tress), etc, XXXll INTRO DUC TIONS. In Wordsworth the movement of romanticism and liberalism showed itsolf in a reaction from complex urban civilization in favour of life in more primitive conditions ; in the choice of character — simple people in close association with a sympathetic environment of nature; in the application of the imagination to nature and simple life, so that they are viewed in the irradiating glow of a passionate, sensitive mind. In Walter Scott we see a phase of romanticism that, compared v;ith eighteenth century poetry, is even more significant, namely, the interest in the picturesque past — its manners, its art, its chivalry — and in picturesque landscape. Scott was born on the 15th of August, 1771. being the ninth of the twelve children of Walter Scott, an Edin- b?'rgh attorney, and connected "with ancient families both on my father's and mother's side." Scott has re- corded in his autobiography the circumstances of his early life, by which it is made certain that with him as with Wordsworth childhood moulded the character of the man. A slight early lameness and a certain weak- ness of constitution predisposed him, as a child, to read- ing. The tales of his grandfather, the accounts of the depiodations of his Border ancestors narrated by his grandmother, the ballads read him by his aunt, his lying out among the sheep on the hillside of his grandfather's farm, the stories of the German wars of veteran Dalgetty, his mother's warm inclination to poetry, — all these took their share in making the great minstrel. Here are some lines from Marmion, descriptive of Scott's life at the sheep-farm of Sandy Knowe, that present the distinc- tive features of Scott's genius characteristic even in infancy — SIR WALTER SCOTT, xxxiii " And well the lonely infant knew Recesses where the wall-flower grew, And honeysuckle loved to crawl 9 Up the low crag and ruined wall . . . And still I thought the shattered tower The mightiest work of human ix)wer ; And marvelled as the aged hind With some strange tale bewitched my mind, Of forayers, who, with hciidlong force, Down from that strength had spurred their horse, Their southern rapine to renew Far in the distant Cheviots blue . . . And ever, by the winter hearth, Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms. Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold." The first poems he read were ballads, Pope's transla- tion of Homer, and the songs of Allan B-amsay's collec- tions. "Green be the grave of honest Allan," cried Scott, "at whose lamp Burns lighted his brilliant torch ! " — greener be it, too, for the sake of Scott. At the high school Scott did not make any great figure : " I glanced like a meteor from one end of the class to the other, and commonly disgusted my master as much by my negligence and frivolity, as I occasionally pleased him by flashes of intellect and talent." But, he tells us, his tales used to assemble an admiring audience round Lucky Brown's fireside, and "happy was he that could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator." He gained some recognition for metrical versions of the classics; and " in the intervals of my school hours," he says, "I ... perused with avidity such books of history or poetry or voyages and travels as chance presented to me — not for- getting the usual, or ten tinies the usual, quantity of fairytales, eastern stories, romances." Finding some r XXXIV INTRODUCTIONS, m odd volumes of Shakspere, he would sit up reading them with "rapture." Through an old friend he became acquainted with Ossian and Spenser — " Spenser I could have read forever" — and he memorized enormous quanti- ties of the latter's verse. "My memory," said Scott, "seldom failed to preserve most tenaciously a favourite passage of poetry, a play-house ditty, or, above all, a Border-raid ballad." Technicalities of history escaped him, the philosophy of history did not appeal, but he fastened instinctively on "what was striking and picturesque in historical narrative." On leaving school Scott's reading extended to Hoole's Tasso and Percy's Reliques of Early English Poetry. The day he first read the volumes of Percy was memorable — he recalls the arbour under the plane-tree at Kelso, the entrancement of that intellectual banquet — "nor do I believe I ever read a book half so frequently, or with half the enthu- siasm." The novels of Richardson, Fielding, Smollett followed. Everywhere we clearly see the romantic poet and n'^'^elist in the making. The months he spent at Kelso were memorable, too, for the first awakening of a delight in the beauty of natural objects. Kelso lies at the junction of the Tweed and the Teviot, streams enriched with associations of history and ballad poetry and by the neighbourhood of the ruins of Melrose and Roxburgh Gastle, and the mansion of Fleurs. Scott's romantic nature seized on this landscape and its legendary associations with reverent passion. "From this time the love of natural beauty," he said, "more especially when combined with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety and splendour, became with me an insatiable passion." Scott returned to Edinburgh, being then in his thir- SIR WALTER SCOTT. XXXV teen th year, to enter the university in November, 1783. He liiid fallen behind in Greek, and was pronounced dunce bj' his professor. Latin he forswore with Greek; mathematics he neglected ; and made some progress only in ethics and history. To compensate, in part, he read insatiably the poetical romances of knight errantr3\ Still he alwaj'^s regretted his fragmentary education, and lamented his lack of "a sound foundation of learning and science " College life ended in 1785, when he was apprenticed to the law in his father's office. As a law student, Scott disliked, but did not avoid, the drudgery of office work, for he was both ambitious and desirous of pleasing his father. But his steady devotion was to booLs, especially to works of fiction of an adven- turous and romantic type. In search of the literature of romance he learnt Italian and French, and became fami- liar with the works of many of the great authors in those languages. On collections of old songs and romances he "fastened like a tiger." For amusement he had, as a rule, excursions on foot and horseback into the surrounding country in search of romantic scenerj'. His father told him that he was *' born to be a stroll- ing pedlar." These avocations were varied by attempts — both vain — to learn drawing and music, and by parti- cipation in EJinburgh "literary societies," and convivial meetings with his hosts of ready friends. In 1789, mak- ing a choice of barrister as his profession, Scott read "with ardour and perseverance," for four years, and in July of 1792 assumed the gown of a Scottish advocate. The autumn of that year was noteworthy for the begin- ning of the famous "Liddesdale Raids," as Scott's seven yearly expeditions into that then almost inaccessible dis- trict were called. Under the guidance of his friend, XXXVI INTRODUCTIONS. Mr. Shortreed, Scott explored every noolc of the country, living with shepherd and minister, and gathering the material of literature and life afterwards to be incorpor- ated into his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bm'der and his greater novels. "He was makin' himsell a' the time," said Mr. Shortreed, "hut he didna ken maybe what he was about till years had passed." Scott's interest in the law continued for fourteen years ; his practice was never very extensive, but it was carefully maintained, for literature, he said, was to be his staff and not his crutch. His marriage in 1793 to Miss Char- lotte Carpenter made his devotion to the so-called practi- cal life still more necessary. Out of terms he spent his time in Lasswade Cottage, on the Esk, within six miles of Edinburgh, and amidst beautiful scenes and a happy domestic life took up the interests that led to his career of letters, and, later on, to the abandonment of law. At the close of 1799 he received the appointment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire through the influence of the head of his house, the Duke of Bucclench, and could feel the independence that a settled income affords. At that time he had made his first beginnings as a poet. In 1788 Henry Mackenzie, "the Man of Feeling," lec- turing to the Royal Society of Edinburgh on German literature, had introduced a new stream of intellectual interest into the life of the Northern Athens. The extra- vagant German dramas of the Sturm und Drang period, the spectre and blue flame ballads of the early German romanticism were the objects of much enthusiasm. Scott was one of the leaders in this new study from 1792. Biir- ger's ballad of Lenore, itself called forth by Percy's Reliques, returned to pay its literary debt. Scott became interested in it, and wrote a version one night of April, SI A' IVALTEK SCOTT. XXXVIl 1796, in honour of his friend Miss Cranstonn, who there- upon declared, " Walter Scott is going to turn out a poet." This he followed with a translation of BUrger's Wild Huntsman, and the two ballads were printed in Edinburgh in October, 1790. This step led to a brief connection witli a small idol of contemporary letters, Mattliew Gregory Lewis, who had achieved temporary fame in 1795 by a romance called The Monk, which introduced into English the weird and sui^ernatural elements of the prose, and, in its interspersed verse, the form and manner of the ballad poetry of con- temporary Germany. Lewis prevailed upon Scott to contribute to his new " goblin repast" called Tales of Wonder, and to publish in 1796 a version of Goethe's early drama Goetz von Belongs to the same year. The Lord of the Isles, a tale of Bruce, having its scenes laid from Skye and Arran to Stirling, was published in 1815. Harold the Dauntless, in 1817, completes the well-known scries of Scott's poems. Meanwhile, Byron, with a fascinating personality and fresh themes of verse, iiad captured the public ear. In 1822, in the full tide of other successes, Scott bade farewell to his muse, Vain thy enchantments, O queen of wild numbere, To a bard when the rolKn of his fancy is o'er. Even better known than his poetrj', possessing much higher power in the delineation of manners, in the cre- ation of character, in Shaksperian pictures of Ir lur and sympathy, and in wide and living learning, r le series of novels begun by Waverley, 1814, and ended only by Scott's untimely death in 1832. The circumstances that precipitated that calamity can be here only briefly touched on. In 1809 Scott became interested as a partner in the printing firm of Ballantyne and Compan3'', whose speculative enterprises rapidly in- volved the careless author in hopeless insolvency. He had no sooner satisfied his proud and romantic dream of founding a family estate by the crea ion of Abbotsford than the clouds of financial embarrassment settled over him. With unrivalled power, industry, and resolution Scott fought with his pen the long battle against insol- vency. When the crash came in 1825, he found himself responsible for £117,000. In two years he had earned S/A' lyA/.'/'Eh' SCOTT. xli by Ilia novels one-third of the sum, in five years his lia- bilities v/ero reduced one half But paralysis liad struck tlie valiant atid ovoi burdened man. and the night fell upon an unfinished but heroic labour Scott's poetry is the poetry of the picturesque. He turns to tlie past because there his imagination can delight in feudal life with all its pomp and colour, senti- ment, love of war and devotion to woman. Its archi- tecture, venerable with the associations of time and his- tory, fascinates his mind, interested from youth onwards in the antiquities of his land. His poetry consequently sums up and ends the feudalism of the Lowlands. He crowds his canvas with landscape, dwelling upon the scenes endeared to him by all the memories of an impres- sionable youth, and by that love of Scotland — • Lan'1 of brown heath and shaffpry wood, La I uf the mountain and the tluud ! which is one of the primal instincts of every Scotchman. But even here Scott's fancy turns rather to that aspect of nature usually denoted as romantic, than to the more homely, human sce*ies that Burns's verse suggests. How picturesque, too, are the men he loves — splendid in physique, proud, fearless, skilled in war and its exercises, and good lovers of the fair— a i\Iarmion, a Winton, a Roderick Dhu. A.nd his women — all beautiful, loving, gentle yet fearless, standing ready, when the rough path of true love is surmounted, to reward the brave that alone deserve them. And in the actions of his characters, what picturesque energy and situation are presented — the headlong race of a Deloraine or a Fitz- James, the shock of mortal combat, onset of battle in Flodden or Beal' an Duine, the pomp of the royal court, or the dim xlii INTRODUCTIONS. \ !|Bf F procession of the cloisters. We feel the poet's spirit breaking through the verse when the m-nistrel sings — I aee the dafrprer-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the eloud of Saxon War. . . 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life One glance at their array ! It is as the poet of action that Scott, with h s "strong, pithy poetrj^," has taken most hold of his readers. But tlie limitations of Scott's verse are even more marked tlian its virtues. Aiming at vigour, picturesque- ness, general effect, Scott was curiously negligent of the minute graces of composition. He liad none of that feel- ing for the rare and happy phrase, which we find, for ex- ample, in Keats, and which is the high faculty of the great poets alone. There is in Scott none of that inevitableness which Matthew Arnold notes as the mark of poetry of the highest order. If he touches nature, he describes it with a perfect eye for colour and local truth, but without atmosphere, without recognition of any infinite and pei'vading spirit with which hid spirit may commune. His work is, rather, what Ruskin calls it, " surface- paintiiig." In character he reveals picturesquely the chivalric soldier or highland chief or v/ell-bcrn beauty, but without getting further than bold outlines in some- what conventional setting. Of modern analysis of motive, the human tra;;edies that are enacted only within the theatre of the mind, which, after all, are those that most deeply move, Scott gives us nothing. Nevei. is there any touch of the "line phrenzy " of poetry, Scott looked too much at the general interests of active life to win those highest gifts that come only with supreme devotion. "I iim sensible," Ilili jii x^ SIR WALTER SCOTT, xliii I said Scott, with, indeed, too great humility, "that if there be anything goo;l about my poetrj' or prose either, it is a hurried frankness of composition, wliich pleases soldiers, sailors, and young people of bold and active dispositions." Wiiolesome, lielpful verse it is, redeeming a mediocre beauty by vigour, virility, movement, pictur- esqueness. Scott's poetry, indeed, was but the prelude and preparation for his great novels. Great as these last are, his life, it must be remembered, was equal to them. — "God bless tlieo. Walter, my man! Thou hast risen to be great, but thou wert always good ! " ! "I '^' ■ W^ *'■< • W^^fW^ ^ sr. M Auv's aism:. i)nvnt:noH abiu:v, in yrnw.n \n hcottV; t<»mij i ifi DOROTHY WOltnSWOIi'JH. WORDSWORTH. TO MY SISTER. It is the first mild day of March : Each minute sweeter than before The redbreii t sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. My sister I ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign ; Come forth and feel the sun. 10 I. 2 WORDSWORTH. Edward will come with you — and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress ; And bring no book : for this one day )6 We'll give to idleness. No joj'^less forms shall regulate Our living calendar : We from to-day, my Friend, will date The opening of the year. 20 'Love, now a universal birth> From heart to heart is stealing. From earth to man, from man to earth : — It is the hour of feeling. One moment now may give us more 26 Than years of toiling reason : Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season . Some silent laws our hearts may make, Which they will long obey : so We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day. And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above, We'll frame the measure of our souls : 85 -a They shall be tuned to love. Then come, my Sister ! come, I pray. With speed put on your woodland dress ; And bring no book : for this one day We'll give to idleness. 40 EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. " Why, William, on that old grey stone, Thus for the length of half a day, Why, William, sit you thus alone, And dream your time away? Where are your books ?— that light bequeathed To Beings else forlorn and blind ! Up ! up ! and drink the spirit breathed From dead men to their kind. You look round on your Mother Earth, As if she for no purpose bore you ; As if you were her first-born birth, And none had lived before you ! " One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake. When life was sweet, I knew not why, To me ray good friend Matthew spake, And thus I made reply : ^ ' ' The eye — it cannot choose but see ; We cannot bid the ear be still ; Our bodies feel, where'er they be, Against, or with our will. Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. 10 16 10 El 11 If ^• WORDSWORTH. Think you, 'mid all this mighty sura Of things for ever speaking, That nothing of itself will come. But we must still be seeking ? v S5 — Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old grey stone, And dream my time away." 80 ll> :" |l! A. THE TABLES TURNED, THE TABLES TURNED. AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; Or surely you'll grow double : Up ! up ! ray Friend, and clear your looks ; Why all this toil and trouble ? The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife : Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music ! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. 10 And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings I He, too, is no mean preacher : Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. 16 ^ She has a world of rendy wealth. Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health. Truth breathed by cheerfulness. m ir I 6 WORDSWORTH. One imrulse ftom a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things :■ -iWe murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art ; Close up those barren leaves ; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. so ill. ill! ill! INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBTECTS, INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS *'i IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING THE IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 'I'hou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought I And giv'st to forms and images i breath And everlasting motion ! not in vain, By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn 5 Of childhood did'st thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul ; Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man ; But with high objects, with enduring things, With life and nature ; purifying thus 10 The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying by such discipline Both pain and fear, — until we recognise A grandeur in the be. 'ngs of the heart. ( } i Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me With stinted kindness. In November days, When vapours rolling down the valleys made A lonely scene more lonesome ; among woods At noon ; and mid the calm of summer nights, When, by the margin of the trembling lake, Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went In solitude, such intercourse was mme : Mine was it in the fields both day and night, 16 » ■f 8 WORDSWORTH, And by the waters, all the summer long. And in the frosty season, when the sun th Was set, and, visible for many a mile. The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not the summons : happy time It was indeed for al^ of us ; for me It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud so The village-clock tolled six — I wheeled about, Proud and exulting like an untired horse That cares not for his home. — All shod with steel We hissed along the polished ice, in games Confederate, imitative of the chasu 85 And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn. The pack loud-chiming, and tiie hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold wo flew, And not a voice was idle : with the din Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 40 The leafless trees and every icy crag Tinkled like iron ; while far-distant hills Into cue tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy, not unnoticed while the stars, Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west 46 The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the reflex of a star ; so Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed Upon the glassy plain • and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 66 INFLUENCE OF NATUKAL OHJECTS. 9 'II The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short ; yet still the solitary ollffs Wheeled by me— even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round ! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. «0 n ir 10 kVORDSWORTIL NUTTING. -It seoins a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth ft With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps Tow'rd the far-distant wood, a Figure qua'nt. Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds, Which for that service had beeii husbanded, 10 By exhortation of my frugal Dame — Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, — and, in truth, More ragged than need was ! O'er pathless rocks, Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, 15 Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Un visited, where not a b' oken bough Drooped with its withereu leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation ; but the hazels rose Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, ao A virgin scene ! — A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in ; and, with wise restraint, Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet ; — or beneath the trees I sate S5 Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played ; A temper known to those, who, after long NUTTING, 11 And weary expectation, have been blest With sudden happiness beyond all hope. Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leavM SO The violets of five seasons reap{)ear And fade, unseen by any human eye ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on For ever ; and I saw the sparkling foam, And — with my cheek on one of those green stones 86 That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep — I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, 40 The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones. And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash And merciless ravage : and the shady nook 45 Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being : and, unless I now Confound my present feeling with the past; Ere from the mutilated bower I turned fio Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky. — Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades In gentleness of heart ; with gentle hand fis Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods. 12 WORDSWORTH, MICHAEL. A PABTORAL POEM. 1 .1 I I If from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, fou will suppose that with an upright path Your feet must struggle ; in such bold ascent The pastoral mountains front you, faco to face. A But, courage ! for around that boisterous brook The mountains have all opened out themselves, And made a hidden valley of their own. No habitation can be seen ; but they Who journey thither find themseWes alone lo With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky. It is in truth an utter solitude ; Nor should I have made mention of this Dell But for one objjct which you might pass by, " 15 Might see and notice not. Beside the brook Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones : And to that simple object appertains, A story — unenriched with strange events, Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20 Or for the summer shade. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men Whom I already loved . — not verily For their own sakes, but for tlie fields and hills to ''I MICHAEL, IS Where was their occupation and abode. And hence this Tale, vhile 1 was yet a Boy Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by th'i gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not vay own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life. Therefore, although it be a history Homely and rude, I will relate the same For the delight of a few natural hearts ; And, with yet fonder fe^flinc:. lor the sake Of youthful Poets, who among these hills Will be ray second self when I am gone. ao < '00 I ;j Upon the forest-side in G/asmere Vale There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name ; An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength : his mind was keen, Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt And watchful more than ordinary men. Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, Of blasts of every tone ; and, oftentimes. When others heeded not, he heard the South Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock Bethought him, and he to himself would say, "The winds are now devising work for me I" And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives The traveller to a shelter, summoned him 40 4« m Sd I 'it \\ 'i \ -9 \&\\ u WORDSWORTH. I Up to the mountains : he had been alone Amid the heart of many thousand mists, That came to him, and left him, on the heights. eo So lived he till his eightieth year was past. And grossly that man errs, who should suppose That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks, Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts. Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed 65 The common air; the hills, which with vigorous step He had so often climbed ; which had impressed So many incidents upon his mind Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear ; Which, like a book, preserved the memory 70 Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts, The certainty of honorable gain ; Those fields, those hills, — what could they less? — had laid Strong hold on his affections, were to him 76 A pleasurable feeling of blind love. The pleasure which there is in life itself. His days had not been passed in singleness. His Helpmate was a comely matron, old — Though younger than himself full twenty years. She was a woman of a stirring life, Whose heart was in her house : two wheels she had Of antique form ; this large, for spinning wool ; That small, for flax ; and if one wheel had rest It was because the other was at work. The Pair had but one inmate in their house. An only Child, who had been born to them When Michael, telling o'er his years, began To deem that he was old, — in shepherd's phrase, 80 8fi MICHAEL. 15 With one foot in the grave. This only Son, 90 With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, The one of an inestimable worth. Made all their household. I may truly say, That they were as a proverb in the vale Foi endless industry. When day was gone, 95 And from their occupations out of doors The Son and Father were come home, even then, Their labour did not cease ; unless when all Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there, Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk, lOO Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes. And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when their meaJ Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) And his old Father both betook themselves To such convenient work as might employ 105 Their hands by the fire-side ; perhaps to card Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, Or other implement of house or field. :| Down from the ceiling by the chimney's edge, no That in our ancient uncouth country style With a huge and black projection overbrowed Large space beneath, as duly as the light Of day gi V dim the Housewife hung a lamp ; An aged utensil, which had performed xi6 Service beyond all others of its kind, 'arly at evening did it burn — and late, S rviving comrade of uncounted hours. Which, going hY from year to year, had found, And left the couplts neither gay perhaps iio Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, 16 WORDSWORTH, ill ill Living a life of eager industry. And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year, There by the light of this old lamp they sate, Father and Son, while late into the night IM The Housewife plied her own peculiar work, Making the cottage through the silent hours Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. This light was famous in its neighbourhood, And was a public symbol of the life 130 The thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, Their cottage on a plot of rising ground Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, And westward to the village near the lake ; iS5 And from this constant light, so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale. Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. Thus living on through such a length of years, 140 The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Have loved his Helpmate ; but to Michael's heart This son of his old age was yet more dear — Less from instinctive tenderness, the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all — 145 Than that a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man. Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail. 160 Exceeding was the love he bare to him, His heart and his heart's joy ! For oftentimes Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms. MICHAEL. 17 Had done him female service, not alone For pastime and delight, as is the use lii6 Of fathers, out with patient mind enforced To acts of tenderness ; and he had rocked His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy Had put OR boy's attire, did Michael love, iflo Albeit of a stern unbending mind, To have the Young-one in his sight, when he Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool, Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched Under the large old oak, that near his door 1(55 Stood single, and, from matchless depth of sliade, Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun, Thence in our rustic dialect was called The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears. There, while they two were sitting in the shade, 170 With others round them, earnest all and blithe, Would Michael exercise his heart with looks Of fond correction and reproof bestowed Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 176 Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. I? 'I I •1 And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek Two steady roses that were five years old ; Then Michael from a winter coppice cut With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped With iron, making it throughout in all Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, And gave it to the Boy ; wherewith equipt 180 ! I! 18 WORDSWORTH, if 'A He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 186 At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock ; And, to his office prematurely called, There stood the urchin, as you will divine. Something between a hindrance and a help ; And for this cause, not always, I believe, lOO Receiving from his Father hire of praise; '^^hough nought was left undone which staff, or voice, Or looks, or threathening- gestures, could perform. But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand Against the mountain blasts, and to the heights, 195 Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways. He with his Father daily went, and they Were as companions, why should I relate That objects which the Shepherd loved before Were dearer now ? that from the Boy there came soo Feelings and emanations — things which were Light to the sun and music to the wind : And that the old Man's heart seemed born again ? *;■! Thus in his father's sight the Boy grew up : And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year. He was his comfort and his daily hope. 205 While in this sort the simple household lived From day to day, to Michael's ear there came Distressful tidings. Long before the time Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound In surety for his brother's son, a man Of an industrious life, and ample means ; But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly 210 MICHAEL. 10 Had prest upon him ; and old Michael now Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, n5 A grievous penalty, but little less Than half his substance. This unlooked-for clainii At the first hearing, for a moment took More hope out of his life than he supposed That any old man ever could have lost. 220 As soon as he had armed himself with strength To look his trouble in the face, it seemed The Shepherd's sole refuge to sell at once A portion of his patrimonial fields. Such was his first resolve ; he though* again, J25 And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he, Two evenings after he had heard the news, •'I have been toiling more than seventy years, And in the open sunshine of God's love Have we all Lved ; yet if these fields of ours S80 Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave. Our lot is a hard lot : the sun himself Has scarcely been more diligent than I; And I have lived to be a fool at last 23o To my own family. An evil man That was, and made an evil choice, if he Were false to us ; and if he were not false. There are ten thousand to whom loss like this Had been no sorrow. I forgive hm; — but • i40 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. When I began, my purpose was to speak Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel ; the land Shall not go from us, and it shall be free ; S15 ! 20 WORDSWORTH, He shall possess it, free as is the wind That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, Another kinsman — he will be our friend In this distress. He is a prosperous man, Thriving in trade — and Luke to him shall go, 280 And with his kinsmar's help and his own thrift He quickly will repair tln^j ^osi, and then He may return to us. If here he stay, What can be done ? Where every one is poor, What can be gained ? " At this the old man paused, 866 And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times. There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, He was a parish-boy — at the church-door They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence 880 And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares ; And, with this basket on his arm, the lad Went up to London, found a master there, Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy 286 To go and overlook his merchandise Beyond the seas ; where he grew wondrous rich, And left estates and monies to the poor. And, at his birth-place, built a chapel, floored With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. 270 These thoughts, and many others of like sort, Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, And her face brightened. The old Man was glad, And thus resumed : — " Well, Isabel ! this scheme These two days, has been meat and drink to me. 276 Far more than we have lost is left us yet. — We have enough — I wish indeed that I MICHAEL. 21 Were younger ;— but this hope is a good hope. — Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best Buy for him more, and let us send him forth To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night : — If he could go, the Boy should go to-night." 280 ; ig: I Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth With a light heart. The Housewife for five days Was restless morn and night, and all day long 28n Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare Things needful for the journey of her son. But Isabel was glad when Sunday came To stop her in her work : for, when she lay By Michael's side, she through the last two nights 290 Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep : And when they rose at morning she could see That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go : 296 We have no other Child but thee to lose, None to remember — do not go away, For if thou leave thy Father he will die." The Youth made answer with a jocund voice ; And Isabel, when she had told her fears, 800 Recovered heart. That evening her best fare Did she bring forth, and all together sat Lik^i happy people round a Christmas fire. '::i 1 5 .'I With daylight Isabel resumed her work ; And all the ensuing week the house appeared As cheerful as a grove in Spring : at length The expected letter from their kinsman came, 805 2d WORDSWORTH. With kind assurances that he would do Hi:' utmost for the welfare of the Boy ; Tc which, requestr> were added, that forthwith 3io He might be sent to him. Ten times or more The letter was read over ; Isabel Went forth to show it to the neighbours round ; Nor was there at that time on English land A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel ' sifi Had to her house returned, the old Man said, "He shall depart to-morrow." To this word The Housewife answered, talking much of things Which, if at such short notice he should go, Would surely be forgotten. But at length 820 She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. I ^ 4. Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, In that deep valley, Michael ' id designed To build a Sheep-fold ; and, fore he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, 826 For this same purpose he had gathered up ,. A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge ' Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walked ; And soon as they had reached the place he stopped, sso And thus the old Man spake to him : — " My Son, To-morrow thou wilt leave me : with full heart I look upon thee, for thou art the same That wert a promise to me ere thy birth And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 385 I will relate to thee some liule part Of our two histories : 'twill do thee good When thou art from me, even if I should touch On things tho' canst not know of. After thou MICHAEL. 98 860 First cam'st into the world — as oft befalls MO To new-born infants — thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, And still I loved thee with increasing love. Never sweeter s'^nnds MS Then wlien I heard thee by our own fireside First uttering, without W'.ds, a natural tune ; While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month followed month, And in the open fields my life was passed And on the mountains ; else I think that thou Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's lances. But we were playmates, Luke : among these liills, As well thou knowest, in us the old and young Have played together, nor with me didst thou 8fi6 Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." Luke had a manly heart ; but at these words He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand, And said, " Nay, do not take it so — I see That these are things of whicl I need not speak. — Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good Father : and herein I but repay a gift which I myself Received at others' hands ; for, though now old Seyond the common life of man, I still 866 Remember them who loved me in my youth. Both of them sleep together : here they lived, As all their Forefathers had done; and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mould. 810 I wished that tliou should'st live the life they lived : But, 'tis a long timo to look back, my Son, 800 l! i i 1 t ! t ' u I- ;' !i 51 :i I. n 11; ^ WOA'DSli^OKTf/. And soo so little (j;ain from tlireoscoio joars. These fields wore burthoiied when thoy came to me ; Till I was forty years of ape, not more 37^ Than half of my inheritance was mine. I toiled and toiled ; God blessed me in my work. — And till these three weeks past the laud was free. It looks as if it never could endure Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, aw) If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou should'st go." At this the old Man paused ; Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood. Thus, after a short silence, he resumed : "This was a work for us ; and now, my Son, 385 It is a work for me. But, lay one stone — Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. Nay, Boy, be of good hope; — we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four I still am strong and hale ; — do thou thy part ; 390 I will do mine. — I will begin again With many tasks that were resigned to thee : Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do All works which I was wont to do alone, • 39.5 Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee, Boy I Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes ; it should be so — yes — yes — I knew that thou could'st never have a wish To leave me, Luke : thou hast been bound to me 400 Only by links of love : when thou art gone. What will be left to us ! — But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke, MICHAEL. S6 When thou art j;ono iiway, should ovil men 40ft He thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment ; liither turn tliy thouglits, And God will strengthen thee : amid all fear And all temptations, Luke, I pray that thou May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, 410 Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well — When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see A work which is not here : a covenant Twill be between us ; — but, whatever fate • 416 Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave." -51 The Shepherd ended here ; and Luke stooped down, And, as his Father had requested, laid The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight 410 The old Man's grief broke from him ; to his heart He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept ; And to the house together they returiied. — Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, Ere the night fell : — with morrow's dawn the Boy 423 Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face ; And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight. 480 I [ I * 1 A good report did from their Kinsman come. Of Luke and his well-doing : and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news. Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout 26 WORDSWORTH. I il '' The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 486 Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on ; and once again The Shepherd went about liis daily work With confident and cheerful thoughts ; and now Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour 440 He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meanwhile Luke began To slacken in his duty ; and, at length, He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses : ignominy and shame 446 Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart : 460 I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks 466 He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, A:id listened to the wind ; and, as before. Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time 4fl0 Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man — and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, 406 And never lifted up a single stone. MICHAEL. 27 470 There, by f,he Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen Sitting abne, or with his faithfu) Dog, Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. The length of full seven years, from time to time He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, And left tho work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her husband : at her death the estate Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. The Cottage which was named The Eveninq Star Is gone-the plouirhshare has been through the ground On which it stood ; great changes have been wrought In all the neighbourhood :— yet the oak is left That grew beside their door ; and the remains 430 Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. m 475 .1 lit i 28 iVORDSWORTH. COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS. AUGUST, 180:^ ite Faik Star of evening, Splendour of the west, Star of my Country ! — on the horizon's brink Thou ha-jgest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom ; yet well pleased to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest, ft Conspi..uou3 to the Nations. Thou, I think, Should'st be mj Country's emblem ; and should'st wink, Bright Star ! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There ! that dusky spot Beneath thee, that is England ; there she lies. lo Blessings be on you both ! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory ! — I, with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among men who do not love her, linger here. COMPOSED ON THE BEACH NEAR CALAIS. 29 COMPOSED ON THE BEACH NEAR CALAIS. It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holj^ time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 5 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : s Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder— everlastingly. Dear Child ! dear Girl ! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, ' ip Thy nature is not therefore less divine : Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ; And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God baing with thee when we know it not. \\\ t' ' 80 WORDSWORTH, IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF THAT THE FLOOD. It is not to be thought of that the Flood Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity- Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, un withstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood 6 Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous Stream in b^gs and sands Should perish ; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old : lo We must be free or die, who speak the t< ngie That Shakespeare spake ; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.— In everything we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. ia TO THE DAISY, 11 TO THE DAISY. Bright Flower, whose home is everywhere ! Bold in maternal Nature's care, And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow ; Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Griven to no other flower I see ■ "^ The forest thorough ! Is it that Man is soon deprest? A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest, Does little on his memory rest. Or on his reason, And thou would'st teach him how to find A shelter under every wind, A hope for times that are unkind And every season ? X% 15 'ttiou Wi.nder'st the wide world about. Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt, With friends to greet thee, or without, Yet pleased and willing; Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, And all things suffering from all, Thy function apostolical In peace fulfilling. so , 32 WOKDSWOKIH. THK HOME AND MAUSOLEUM OF BUR.NS, AT DUMFIMKP. AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS. SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH. I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold, At the thought of what I now behold : As vapours breathed from dungeons cold Strike pleasure dead, So sadness comes from out the mould AVhere Burns is laid. And have I, then, thy bones so near, And thou forbidden to appear? As if it were thyself tliat's here I shrink with pain ; And both my wishes and ;ny fear Alike are vain. 10 AT TPIE GRAVE OF BURNS. Off weight-nor press on weight !-away, D^trk thoughts !-the.y came, but not to stay : With chastened feelin^^s woidd I pay The tribute due To him, and aught that hides his clay From mortal view. Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth He sang, his genius '* glinted" forth Rose like a star that touching earth/ For so it seems, Doth glorify its humble birth With matchless beams. The piercing eye, the tl.ouohtful brow, Ihe struggling heart, wher« be they now ?- Full soon the Aspirant of the plough, The prompt, the brave, •Slept, with the obscurest, in the low And silent grave. I mourned with thousands, but as one More deeply grieved, for He was gone, H hose light I hailed when first it shone, And showed my vouth ilow Ver.e. .nay build a^rincely throne On humble truth. Alas ! where'er the current tends, Regret pursues and with it blends — «nge Oriffel's ho^try top ascends ' By Slviddaw seen. ;., l^eighbours we were, and loving friends We might have been : :__ 88 16 m 25 80 34 WORDSWORTH. if True friends though diversely inclined ; But heart with heart and mind with mind Where the main fihrcs are entwined, 45 Througli Nature's skill, May even by contraries be joined More closely still. The tear will start, and let it flow ; Thou "poor Inhabitant below," so At this dread moment -even so— Might we together Have sate and talked where gowans blow, Or on wild heather. What treasures would have then been placed .'>» Within my reach ; of knowledge graced By fancy what a rich repast ! But why go on? — Oh ! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast, His grave grass-grown. ijo There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, (Not three weeks past the Stripling died,) Lies gathered to his Father's side. Soul-moving sight ! Yet one to which is not denied 66 Some sad delight : For he is safe, a quiet bed Hath early found among the dead, Harboured where none can be misled, Wronged, or d is trest ; 50 And surely here it may be said That such are blest. ^7' THE GRAVE OF BURNS. And oh for Thoo, by pitying prace Ghockod oft-times in a devious race, May He who hallowGth the place Where Mai.' is laid Receive thy Spirit in the embrace For which it prayed 1 «ighinj>-, I turned away; but ere Night fell I heard, or seemed to hear. Music that sorrow comes not near, A ritual hymn, Chaunted in love that casts out ,ar ^:i Seraphim. 85 75 W 36 WORDSWORTH. U if ">\ % THOUGHTS SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE llANKs OF NITH, NEAR THE POET's UKSIDENCE. Too frail to keep the lofty vow- That must have followed when his brow Was wreathed — "Tho Vision" tells us how— With holly spray, He faltered, drifted to and fro, And passed away. Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng Our minds when, lingering all too long Over the grave of Burns Wf lung In social grief — Indulged as if it were a wrong To seek relief. But, leaving each unquiet theme Where gentlest judgments may misdeem, And prompt to welcome every gleam Of good and fair. Let us beside this limpid stream Breathe hopeful air. Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight ; Think rather of those moments bright When to the consciousness of right His course was true, When Wisdom prospered in his sight And virtue grew. 10 ifi 80 THOUGHTS. Yo8, freely let our hearts expand, Freely a? in youth's season bland, When side hy side, his book in hand, We wont to stray, Our pleasure varying at command Of each sweet Lay. How oft inspired must he have trod These pathways, yon far-stretching r( .id I There lurks his home ; n liiai Abode, With mirth elate, Or in his nobly-pensive mood. The Rustic sate. j • Proud thoughts that Image overawii, Before it humblj'^ let us pause, And ask of Nature, from what cause And by what rules She trained L jr Burns to win applause That shames the Schools. Through busiest street and oneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen : He rules mid winter snows, and when Bees fill their hives ; Deep in the general heart of inen •^ His power survives. What need of fields in some far clime Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sublime. And all that fetched the flowing rhyme ' From genuine springs. Shall dwell together till old Time ___ Folds up his Wings ? 97 80 M 40 45 50 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. 1.0 I y_ 1.25 Kim %ik WUU U ill 1.6 6" 9%k VI ^ j^^ '>>' »*► ^i**' O;^ . tnc ScMices Corporation 33 WKT MAIN STMiT WIKTM.N.Y. 145M (716)172-4503 %*-> -- . •» •o . w: ' <\ A ■' V. V-, / ♦ ^V'^EJ- 38 WORDSWORTH. Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven ; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With va.in endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced for ever. But why to Hira confine the prayer, When kindred thoughts and yearnings boar On the frail heart the purest share With all that live ?— The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive I 55 6U 65 n\ THE SOLITARY REAPER. 39 THE SOLITARY REAPER. Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass \ Reaping and singing by herself ; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain. Alii sings a melanc.holy strain ; listen ! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands : A voice so thrilling ne'er waj heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bJrd, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. 10 15 Will no one tell me what she sings?- Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things. And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay. Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ? so 40 WORDSWORTH. Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending • I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; — I listened, motionless, and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. ss 80 ODE 70 DUTY. 41 ODE TO DUTY. Stern Daughter of the Voice of God ! O Duty ! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou who art victory and law a When empf y terrors overawe ; From vain temptations dost set free ; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them ; who, in love and truth, lo Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Griad Hearts ! without reproach or blot ; Who do thy work, and know it not : Oh ! if through confidence misplaced is They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, Ard joy its own security. • ^ And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed ; Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. %\ 1, loving freedom, and untried : No sport of every random gu^st, 8ft . ! 42 WORDSWORTH. Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred ao The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if 1 may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control ; »f. But in the quietness of thought : Mc this unchartered freedom tires ; I feel the weight of chance-desires : My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. 4u Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face : Flowers laugh before thee on their bods 46 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; And th«^ most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power ! I call thee : I myself commend so Unto thy guidance from this hour ; Ob, let my weakness have an end ! Give un^^^o me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice ; The confidence of reason give ; 55 And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live ! ELEG/4C STANZAS. 43 ELEGIAC STANZAS. SLUGESTED BY A PICTURE OP PBBLB CASTLE IN A STORM, PAINTED BV SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sigljt of thee : I saw thee every day ; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure the sky. so quiet was the air ! 5 So like, so vei,7 like, was day to day ! Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there ; It trembled, but it never passed away. How perfect w^s the calm ! It seemed no sleep ; No mood, which season takes away, or brings ; 10 I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. Ah ! THEN,— if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, 15 The consecration, and the Poet's dream • I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this ! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. ao 44 WORDSWORTH. Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of lieaven ; — Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given. A Picture had it been of lasting ease, w Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion of my iieart, Such Picture would I at that time have made : so And seen the soul of truth in every part, A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed. So once it would have been. — 'tis so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : A power 5s gone, vhich nothing can restore ; si A deep distress hath humanised my Soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; This, Vvhich I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Kim whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O 'tis a passionate Work — yet wise and well, 4fi Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! ELEGIAC STANZAS. 45 And this huge Castle, standing; hore sublime, I love to see tlie look with wliicli it braves, m Cased in tlie unfeeling armour of old time, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell the hoart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! Such hap{)iness, wherever it be known, M Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer. And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! Such sights, or worse, as are before me hero. — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. oo 46 WORDSWORTH, CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOli. Who is the happy Warrior ? Who is he That every man in arras should wish to be? —It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought : Whose high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright : Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn ; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care ; Who. doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserabJe train I Tuxus his necessity to glorious gain ; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower ; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives : By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate ; Is placable— because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice ; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more ; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress ; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness —'Tis he whose law is reason ; who depends 10 16 %> CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 47 Upon that law as on the best of friends ; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, so And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labours good on good to fix, and owe*j To virtue every triumph that he knows: — Who, if he rise to station of command, sft Rises by open means ; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire. And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim ; 40 And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state; Whom they must follow ; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all : Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, 45 Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; But who, i! he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, .10 Is happy as a Lover ; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired ; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ; Or if an unexpected call succeed, 55 Come when it will, is equal to the need : —He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans I'o homefelt pleasures and to gentle .scenes ; lio 48 WORDSWORTH. Sweet imR«es ! which, wheresoo'er lie he, Are at liis heart ; and Hiich fidelity It is his darling pat'sion to approve ; More brave for this, that he hath much to love:- Tis, finally, ihe Man. who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye. Or left unthought-of in obscurity,— Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not— Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won : Whom neither shape of danger can dismay. Nor thought of tender happiness betray ; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-suri)ast : Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall to sleep without his fame. And leave a dead unproiituble name- Finds comfort in himself and in his cause ; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : This is the happy Warrior ; this is He That every Man in arm^ should wish to be. tIA 70 7S »80 86 PERSONAL TALK, 40 PERSONAL TALK. I AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk,— Of friends, who live within an easy walk, Or neighbours, daily, weekly in my s ght : And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. These all wear out of me, like Forms with chalk Painted on rich men's floors for one feast night. Better than such discourse doth silence long. Long, barren silence, square with my desire; To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, And listen to the flapping of the flame, Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. III. Wings have we,— and as far as we can go We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood. Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, h Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood. Our pastime and our happiness will grew. There find I p«»rsonal themes, a plenteous store. 50 WORDSWORTH, Matter wherein right voluble I am, To which I listen with a ready ear ; Two shall be named, pre-eminently dea" — The gentle lady married to tlie Moor ; And heavenly Una, with her milk-white Lamb. 10 nr. No» can I not beli€>ve but that hereby Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote From evil-speaking ; rancour, never sought, Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie. Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I 5 Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyotis thought ; And thus from day to day my little boat Rocks in its harbqwr, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — lo The Poets, who on earth have nade us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days. O NIGHTINGALE i THOU SURELY ART, 51 NIGHTINGALE ! THOU gURELY ART. NmHTiNGALB ! thou surely art A creature of a 'fiery heart' : — These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce ; Tumultuous harmony and fierce ! Thou sing'st as if the God oi wine Had helped thee tc a Valentine ; A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent night ; And steady bliss, and all the loves Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 10 I heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very daj'' ; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come-at by the breeze : He did not cease ; but cooeJ — and cooed, And son.ewhat pensively he wooed : He sang cA love, with quiet blending, Slow to befein, and never ending ; Of serious faith, and inward glee : That was the song — the song for me I 15 80 8^ tVOUDSWORTIt. TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. WITH THE SONNETS JO THE lilVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION, 1820. The Minstrels played their Christmas tnne To-night beneath my cottage eaves ; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, 5 That overpowered their natural green. Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings : • Keen was the air, but could not freeze. Nor check, the music of the strings ; 10 So stout and hardy were the band That scraped the chords with strenuous hand ! And who but listened ?— till was paid Respect to every Inmate's claim ; The greeting given, the music played, is In honour of each household name, Duly pronounced with lusty call, And "Merry Christmas" wished to all! Brother ! I revere the choice That took thee from thy native hills ; And it is given thee to rejoice : Though public care full often tills (Heaven only witness of the toil) A barren nd ungrateful soil. so TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. 58 Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine, J» Hadst heard this never-failing rite ; And seen on other faces shine A true revival of the light Which Nature and these ;.'ustic Powers, In simple childhood, spread through ours ! 80 For pleasure hath not ceased to wait On these expected annual rounds ; Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate Call forth the unelaborate sounds, Or they are offered at the door 85 That guards the lowliest of the poor. How touching, when, at midnight, sweep Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark, To hear — and sink again to sleep ! Or, at an earlier call, to mark, 40 By blazing fire, the still suspense Of self-complacent innocence ; The mutual uod, — the grave disguise Of hearts with gladnesf brimming o'er ; And some unbidden tears that rise 46 For names once heard, and heard no more ; Tears brightened by tha serenade For infant in the cradle laid. Ah ! not for emerald fields alone, With ambient streams more pure and bright tt Than fabled Cytherea's zone Glittering before the Thunderer's sight, Is to my heart of hearts endeared The grouikd where we were born and reared I S* WORDSWORTH. Hail, aiioient Manners ! sure defence, Where they survive, of wholesome laws ; Bemaants of love whose modest sense Thus into narrow room withdraws ; Hail, Usages of pristine mould, And ye, that guard them, Mountains old ! Bear with me, Brother I quench the thought That slights this passion, or condemns ; If thee fond Fancy ever brought From the proud margin of the Thames, And Lambeth's venerable towers, To humbler streams, and greener bowers. Yes, they can make, who fail to find, Short leisure even in busiest days ; Moments, to cast a look behind. And profit by those kindly rays That through the clouds do sometimes steal, And all the far-oflf past reveal. Hence, while the imperial City's din Beats frequent on thy satiate ear, A pleased attention I may win To agitations less severe, *rhat neither overwhelm nor cloy. But fill the hollow vale with joy I fiS 60 65 70 7fi It * !»■■ AFTER- THOUGHT. 66 AFTER-THOUGHT. I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.— Vain sympathies ! For, backward, Duddon ! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide ; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide ; The Form enaains, the Function never dies ; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise. We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish ; — be it so ! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour ; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go. Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know. 10 56 WORDSWORTH. SCORN NOT THE SONNET ; CRITIC, YOU HAVE FROWNED. Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours ; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart ; the melody Of this small lute gavo ease to Petrarch's wound • A thousand times this pipe did Tesso sound ; With it Camdens soothed an exile's grief ; The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned His visionary brow : a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways ; and, when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The Thing became a trumpet ; whence he blew Soul-animating strains— alas, too few I III THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 67 J THE PRIMROSE OP THE ROCK. A Rock there is whose homely front The passing traveller slights ; Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, Like stars, at various heights : And one coy Primrose to that Rock The vernal breeze invites. What hideous warfare hath been waged, What kingdoms overthrown, Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft And marked it for my own ; A lastirig link in Nature's chain From highest heaven let down I The flowers, still faithful to the stems, Their fellowship renew : The stems are faithful to the root, That worketh out of view ; And to the rock the root adheres In every fibre true. Close clings to earth the living rock, Though threatening still to fall ; The earth is constant to her sphere ; And God upholds them all : So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads Her annual funeral. 10 lA 90 58 WORDSWORTH. Here closed the meditative strain ; But air breathed soft that day, The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, The sunny vale looked gay, And to the Primrose of the Bock I gave this after-lay. 1 sang— Let myriads of bright flowers, Like Thee, in field and grove Revive unenvied ;— mightier far Than tremblings that reprove Our vernal tendencies to hope, Is God's redeeming love ; That love which changed — for wan disease. For sorrow that had bent O'er hopeless dust, for withered age — Their moral element, And turned the thistles of a curse To types beneficent. Sin-blighted though we are, we too, The reasoning Sons of Men, From one oblivious winter called Shall rise, and breathe again ; And in eternal summer lose Our threescore years and ten. • To humbleness of heart descends This prescience from on high, The faith that elevates the just. Before and when they die ; And makes each soul a separate heaven, A court for Deity SO w 40 45 fiO THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 59 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES. A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'.r Eildon's triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight ; s While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain Saddens his voice again, and yet again. ' Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope I 10 eo WORDSIVORTH, A POET! HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO SCHOOL. A POETI-^^ hath put his heart to school I^or dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which Art hath lodged within his hand-must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule Th> Art be Nature ; the live current quaff And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool . Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold ? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold • '" And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree ' Comes not by casting in a formal mould, But from its own divine vitality. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. A POEM. IN SIX CANTOS, TO THE MOST NOBLE JOHN JAMES MARQUIS OF ABERCORN &c. &c. &c. THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. ARCUMENT. The Scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire, The time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto. SCOTT. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. INTRODUCTION TO THE EDITION OF 1830.» After the success of " Marmion," I felt inclined to exclaim with Ulysses in tne Odyssey : — OCro$ MC)' fi>I ae9Ao$ aaaro? exrereAorat* Odys. x« 1. 5« • "One venturous game my hand has won to-day— Another, gallants, yet remains to play." The ancient manners, the habits and customs of the ab- original race by whom the Highlands of Scotland were inhabited, had always appeared to me peculiarly adapted to 10 poetry. Tiic change in their manners, too, had taken place almost within my own time, or at least I had learned many particulars concerning the ancient state of the Highlands from the old men of the last generation. I had always thought the old Scottish Gael highly adapted for poetical composi-W tion. The feuds, and political dissensions, which, half a century earlier, would have rendered the richer and *The original edition of X810 had no introduction. i» V 63 SCOTT. wealthier pert of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem, the scene of which was laid in the Highlands, were now sunk in the generous compassion which the English, 20 inore than any other nation, feel for the misfortunes of an honourable foe. The Poems of Ossian had, by their popu- larity, sufficiently shown, that if writings on Highland sub- jects were qualified to interest the reader, mere national prejudices were, in the present day, very unlikely to inter- 25 fere with their success. I had also read a great deal, seen much, and heard more, of that romantic country, where I was in the habit of spend- ing some time every autumn ; and the scenery of Loch Katrine was connected with the recollection of many a dear 30 friend and merry expedition of former days. This poem , the action of which lay among scenes so beautiful and so deeply imprinted on my recollections, was a labour of love, and it was no less so to recall the manners and incidents introduced. The frequent custom of James TV., and particularly of James 35 v., to walk through their kingdom in disguise, afforded me the hint of an incident, which never fails to be interesting if managed with the slightest address or dexterity. I may now confess, however, that the employment, though attended with great pleasure, was not without its doubts 40 and anxieties. A lady, to whom I was nearly related, and with vhom I lived, during her whole life, on the most brotherly terms of affection, was residing with me at the time when the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what I could possibly do to rise so early in the* morning 46 (that happening to be the most convenient to me for com- position). At last I told her the subject of my meditations ; and I can never forget the anxiety and affection expressed in her reply. '' Do not be so rash," she said, " my dearest cousin. You are already popular— more so, perhaps, than so you yourself will believe, or than even I, or other partial friends, can fairly allow to your merit. You stand high — do not rashly attempt to climb higher, and incur the risk m THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 6S of a fall ; for. depend upon it, a favourite will not be per- mitted even to stumble with impunity." I replied to this 56 affectionate expostulation in the words of Montrosn — " He either fuars his fate too much. Or his deserts are small. Who dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all." 00 •' If I fail," I said, for the dialogue is strong in my recol- lection, " it is a sign that I ought never to have succeeded, and I will write prose for life : you shall see no change in my temper, nor will I eat a single meal tho worse. But if I succeed, 65 Up with the boanie blue bonnet. The dirk, and the feather, and a' I " Afterwards I showed my affectionate and anxious critic the first canto of the poem, which reconciled her to my im- prudence. Nevertheless, allnough I answered thus confi-70 dently, with the obstinacy often said to be proper to those who bear my surname, I acknowledge that my confidence was considerably shaken by the warning of her excellent taste and unbiased friend^ihip. Nor was I much comforted by her retraction of the unfavourable judgment, when I recol- if* lected how likely a natural partiality was to effect that change of opinion. In such cases, affection rises like a light on the canvas, improves any favourable tints which it form- erly exhibited, and throws its defects into the shade. I remember that about the same time a friend started in 80 to " heeze up my hope," like the " sportsman with hi«» cutty gun," in the old son^. He was bred a farmer, but a man of powerful understanding, natural good taste, and a warm poetical feeling, perfectly competent to supply tho wants of imperfect or irregular education. He was a passionate 85 admirer of field sports, which we often pursued together. As this friend happened to dine with me at Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of reading to him thQ first canto of " The Lady of the Lake," in order to ascertain the ' 64 SCOTT. effect the poem was likely to produce upon a peracn who was uo but too favourable a representative of readers at large. It is of course to be supposed that I determined rather to guide my opinion by what my friend might appear to feel, than by what he might think fit to say. His reception of my recitation, or prelection, was rather singular. He placed 95 his hand across his brow, and listened with great attention through the whole account of the stag-hunt, till the dogs threw themselves into the lake to follow their master, who embarks with Ellen Douglas. He then started up with a sudden exclamation, stru^^k his haud on the table, and de- 100 Glared, in a voice of censure calculated for the occar' ^, that the dogs must have been totally ruined by being permitted to take the water after such a severe chase. I own I was much encouraged by the species of r verie which had pos- eessed so zealous a follower of the sports of the ancient Nim- 105 rod, who had been completely sarprised out of all doubts of the reality of the tale. Another of his remarks gave me less pleasure. He detected the identity of the King with the wandering knight, Fitz-James, when he winds his bugle to summon his attendants. He was probably thinking of the no lively, but somewhat licentious, old ballad, in which the denouement of a royal intrigue takes place as follows : — '* He took a bugle frae his side, He blew both loud and slirlll, And four and twe.ity belted knights Came skipping ower the hill , Then he took out a little knife, Let a' his duddies fa'. And he was the brawest gentleman That was amang them a*. And we'll go no more a-roving," etc. iir. liO This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent in his cam- let cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled me ; and I was at a good deal of pains to eflface any marks by which I thought my secret could be traced before the conclusion, 125 when I relied on it with the same hope of producin j effect, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 66 with which the Irish post-boy is said to reserve a " trot for the avenue." I took uncommon pains to verify the accuracy of the local circumstances of this story. I recollect, in particular, that 130 to ascertain whether I was telling a probable talo, I went into Perthshire, to see whether King James could actnally have ridden from the banks of Loch Vennachar to Stirling Castle within the time supposed in the poem, and had the pleasure to satisfy myself that it was quite practicable. 13.^ After a considerable delay, "The Lady of the Lake" ap- peared in June, 1810 ; and its success was certainly so extraor- dinary as to induce me for the moment to conclude that I had at last fixed a nail in the proverbially inconstant wheel of Fortune, whose stability in behalf of an individual who had 140 so boldly courted her favours for three successive times had not as 3'^et been shaken. I had att,ained, perhaps, that degree of public reputation at which prudence, or certainly timidity, would have made a halt, and discontinued efforts by which I was far more likely to diminish my fame than to increase 145 it. But, as the celebrated John Wilkes is said to have ex- plained to his late Majesty, that he himself, amid his full tide of popularity, was never a Wilkite, so I can, with honest truth, exculpate myself from having been at any time a partisan of my own poetry, even when it was in the highest iro fashion with the million. It must not be supposed that I was either so ungrateful, or so superabundantly candid, as to despise or scorn the value of those whose voice had ele- vated me so much higher than my own opinion told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, the more grateful to the 155 public, as leceiving that from partiality to me, which I could not have claimed from merit; and I endeavoured to deserve the partiality, by continuing such exertions as I was capable of for their amusement. It may be that. I did not, in this continued course of scrib- 1 >0 bling, consult either the interest of the public or my own. n-,1^ l/h^ former had eftectual means of defending themselves, 66 SCOTT. r .. f- I and could, by their coldness, sufficiently check any approach to intrusion ; and for myself, I had now for several years dedicated my hours so much to literary labour that I should i<»5 have felt difficulty in employijig myself otherwise ; and so, like Dogberry, I generously bestowed all my tediousness on the public, comforting myself with the reflection, that if posterity should think me undeserving of the favour with which I was regarded by my contemporaries, " they could 170 not but say I had the crown," and had enjoyed for a time that popularity which is so much coveted. I conceived, however, that I held the distinguished situ- ation I had obtained, however unworthily, rather like the champion of pugilism , on the condition of being always ready 175 to show proofs of my skill, than in the manner of the cham- pion of chivalry, who performs his duties only on rare and solemn occasions. I was in any case conscious that I could not long h< Id a situation which the caprice, rather than the judgment, of the public, had bestowed upon me, and pre- 180 ferred being deprived of my precedence by some more worthy rival, to sinking into contempt for my indolence, and losing my reputation by what Scottish lawyers call the negative prescription. Accordingly, those who choose to look at the Introduction to Rokeby, will be able to trace the steps by 185 which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist ; as the ballad says, Queen Eleanor suniv at Charing-Cross to rise again at Queenhithe. It only remains for me to say, that, during my short pre- eminence of popularity, I faithfully observed the rules of 190 moderation which I had resolved to follow before I began my courseus a man of letters. If a man is determined to make a noise in tliu world, he is as sure to encounter abuse and ridicule, as he who gallops furiously through a village must reckon on being followed by the curs in full cry. Experienced 195 persons know, that in stretching to flog the latter, the rider is very apt to catch a bad fall ; nor is an attempt to chastise a malignant critc attended with less danger to the author. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 67 On this principle, I let parody, burlesque, and squibs find their own level ; and while the latter hissed most fiercely,! was 200 cautious never to catch them up, as Gchoolloys do, to throw them baok against the naughty boy vho fired the. : off, wisely remembering that they are, in such cases, apt to ex- plode in the handling. Let me add, that my reign (since Byron has so called it) was marked by some instances of I'O'i good-rature as well as patience. I never refused a literary person of merit such services in smoothing his way to the public as were in my power: and I had the advantage, rather an uncommon one w ith our irritable race, to enjoy general favour without incurring permanent ill-will, so far 210 as is known to me, among any of my contemporaries. vv. s. Abbotsford, April, 1830. TJHg^T^ ''"i^-^^;^* KI^KSB^SP^^^* ii^r.^'A Am-^- n^i-sr*^ -wm- BEN LEDI AND THE BRIDGE OP CAU.ANDEp. N H N s u •A THE BRiaO OF TURK. SCOTT. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO FIRST. ^he Chii0e. Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring, And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep. Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maia to weep ? Ml 70 SCOTT. Not thus, in anciert days of Caledon, i6 Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. At each according* pause was heard aloud, Thine ardent symphon3'^ sublime and high ! 16 Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ; For still the burden of thy minstrelsy * Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty*s match- . less eye. wake once-moie ! how rude soe'er the hand That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; wake once more, though scarce my skill command Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. Yet if one heart throb higlier at its sway, The wizard note has not been touched in vain. Then silent be no more ! Enchmtress, wake again ! 80 81 I. The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Mo nan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney*s hazel shade ; But, when the sun his beacon red Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head. The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay B>esounded up the rooky way, And faint, from farther distance borne. Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 80 85 THR LADY OF THE LAKE. .71 II. As Chief, who hears his warder call, "To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," The antlered moriaich of the waste 4o Sprung fiom his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took. The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 4ii A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snu£fed the tainted gale, A moment listened to the cry, That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; Then, as the headmost foes appeared, so With one brave bound the copse he cleared, *And, St etcliing forward free and far, Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. III. Yelled on the view the opening pack ; Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back j To many a mingled sound at once The awakened mountain gave response. A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, Clattered a hundred steeds along, Their peal the merry horns rung out, A hundred voices joined the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe, Close in her covert cowered the doe, The falcon, from her cairn on high. Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 5fi 60 6ft ^ 72. scorr. Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. Faint, and more faint, its failing din Beturued from cavern, cliff, and linn, And silence settled, wide and still, On the lone wood and mighty hill. 7u IV. Less loud the sounds of sylvan war Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, A giant made his den of old ; For ere that steep ascent was won, High in his pathway hung the sun, And many a gallant, stayed perforce. Was fain to breathe his faltering horse, And of the trackers of the deer Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; So shrewdly on the mountain side Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 7A 80 86 V. The noble stag was pausing now Upon the mountain's southern brow. Where broad extended, far beneath. The varied realms of fair Menteith. With anxious eye he wandered o'er Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, And pondered refuge from his toil, By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. But nearer was the copsewood grey That waved and wept on Loch Achray, And mingled with the pine-trees blue 90 96 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, On the bold cliffs of Ben venue. Fresh vigour with the hope returned, With flying foot the heath he spurned, Held westward with unwearied race, And left behind the panting chase. 78 100 VI. 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, As swept the hunt through Cambus-moie ; What reins were tightened in despair, When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, — For twice that day, from shore to shore. The gallant stag swam stoutly o*er. Few were the stragglers, following far. That reached the lake of Vennachar ; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone. lOft 110 VII. Alone, but with unbated zeal. That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; lis For jaded now, and spent with toil. Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, While every gasp with sobs he drew. The labouring stag strained full in view. Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, lao Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, Fast on his flying traces came. And all but won that desperate game ; For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch. Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch ; 125 74 SCOTT, Nor nearer might the dogs attain, Nor farther might the quarry strain. Thus up the margin of the lake, Between the precipice and brake, O'er stock and rock their race they take. 180 VIII. The Hunter marked that mountain high, The lone lake's ^yestern boundary. And deemed the stag must turn to baj', Where that huge rampart barred the way ; Already glorying in the prize, l»R Measured his antlers with his eyes : For the death-wound and death-halloo Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew ; — But thundering as he came prepared, With ready arm and weapon bared, uo The wily quarry shunned the shock, And turned him from the opposing rock ; Then, dashing down a darksome glen, Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook i.»r> His solitary refuge took. There, while close couched, the thicket shed Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head, He heard the ' affled dogs in vain Rave through the hollow pass amain, iso Chiding tlie rocks that gelled again. IX. Close on the hounds the Hunter came, To cheer them on the vanished game ; THE LAD Y OF THE LAKE, n But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. m The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse liim with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labours o'er, Stretched In's stiff limbs, to rise no more; Then, touched with pity and remorse, 160 He sorrowed o'er the expiring hor^e. "I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! i66 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant grey ! »* X. Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, i70 The sulky leaders of the chase ; Close to their master's side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest ; But still the dingle's hollow throat Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 175 The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seemed an answering blast ; And on the Hunter hied his way, m To join some comrades of the day, Yet often paused, so strange the road, So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 76 SCOTT. m zi. The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way ; 186 Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in sliadow hid, 190 Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, 196 Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seemed fantastically pet 2ou With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever decked, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these sarth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; 206 For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o'er the unfathomable glade. All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green. And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes 810 Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. [i XII. Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. THE LADY OF THE LA KB, n Here eglantine embalmed the air,- Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; S15 The primrose pale and violet flower Found in each clif t a narrow bower ; Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Grouped their dark hues with every stain SO The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath, Grey birch and aspen wept beneath ; Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; Ml And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high. His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 230 Where glistening streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could ))arely view The summer heaven's delicious blue; So wondrouG wild, the w 'lole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream. 235 XIII. Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep A narrow inlet, still and deep. Affording scarce such breadth of brim. As served the wild duck's brood to swim. Lost for a space, through thickets veering. But broader when again appearing. Tall rocks tnd tufted knolls their face Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; And farther as the Hunter strayed, 240 nn lit I ■ I ill 78 SCOTT. Still broader sweep its channels made. 24/i The shaggy mounds no longer stood Emerging from entangled wood, But, wave-encircled, seemed to float, Like castle girdled with its moat ; Yet broader floods extending still tfio Divide them from their parent hill, Till each, retiring, claims to be An islet in an inland sea. XIV. And now, to issue from the glen, • No pathway meets the wanderer's ken tss Unless he climb, with footing nice, A far projecting precipice. '* The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid ; And thus an airy point he won, tab Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnished sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled, In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, 865 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 270 Down on the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, The fragments of an earlier world ; A wildering forest feathered o'er lH'ia ruined sides and summit hoar, ^^ if* THE LADY OF THE LAKE, ' 79 While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. XV. From the steep promontory gazed The Stranger, raptured and amazed. And, " What a scene were here,"' he cried, 28O ♦♦For princely pomp, or churchman's pride! On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; On yonder meadow, far away, The turrets of a cloister grey. ^^ How blithely might the bugle-horn Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn ! How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute Chime, when the groves were still and mute I And, when the midnight moon should lave seo Her forehead in the silver wave, How solemn on the ear would come The hol7 matins' distant hum, While the ueep peal'y commanding tone Should wake, in yonder islet lone, jj)5 A sainted hermit from his cell, To drop a bead with every knell And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, Should each bewildered stranger call To friendly feast and lighted hall. * jqo XVI. "Blithe were it then to wander here ! But now,— beshrew yon nimble deer,— Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, The copse must give my evening fare ; Some mossy bank my couch must be, 305 ii ! .Mi' • '1:1 : i 11 ■ S'-'i 80 SCOTT. Some rustling oak my canopy. Yet pass we that ; the war and chase Give little choice of resting-place ; — A summer night, in greenwood spent, Were but to-morrow's merriment : But hosts may in these wilds abound, Such as are better missed than found ; To meet with Highland plunderers here Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — I am alone; — my bugle-strain May call some straggler of the train ; Or, fall the worst that may betide. Ere now this falchion has been tried." XVII. SILVER BTRAND AND EAST SHORE OF LOCH KATRmS. But scarce again his horn he wounds When lo ! forth starting at the sound, From underneath an aged oak, That slanted from the islet rock, A Damsel guider of its way, A little skiff shot to the bay, 310 315 320 THR LADY OF THE LAKE. 81 That round the promontory steep t26 Led its deep line in graceful sweep, Eddying, in almost viewless wave, The weeping willow twig to lave, And kiss, with whispering sound and clow, The b:>ach of pebbles bright as snow. 890 The boat had touched this silver strand, Just as the Hunter left his stand, And stood concealed amid the brake To view the Lady of the Lake. The maiden paused, as if again 885 She thought to catch the distant strain. With head up-raised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent. And locks flung back, and lips apart. Like monument of Grecian art, S40 In listening mood, she seemed to standi The guardian Naiad of the strand. XVIII. And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 845 What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — The sportive toil, which, short and light. Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to shew sfiO Short glimpses of a breast of snow : What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace, — A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; 365 82 SCOTT. E'en the slight harebell raised its heed, Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, — Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, Sfio The list'ner held his breath to hear I XIX. A Chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betraj'etl. And seldom was a snood amid C65 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing ; And seldom o'er a breast so fair Mantled a plaid with modest care, 870 And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind, Her kindness and her worth to spj'^, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; ' Not Kav,.. ine, in her mirror blue, 87ft Gives back the shaggy banks more true Than every free-born glance confessed The guileless movements of her breast ; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 880 Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion poured a prayer, Or tale of injury called forth The indignant spirit of the North. » One only passion unrevealed, 885 With maiden pride the maid concealed, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — O need I tell that passion's name I xx. Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne :— "Fatlier !" she cried ; the rocks around Loved to prolong- the gentle sound. A while she paused, no answer came,— " Malcolm, was thine the blast ?" the name, Less resolutely uttered, fell. The echoes could not catch the swell. "A stranger I," the Huntsman said, Advancing from the hazel shade. The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar. Pushed her light shallop from the shore. And when a space was gained between, Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; (So forth the startled swan would swing, So turn to prune his ruffled wing.) Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, She paused, and on the stranger gazed. Not his the form, nor his the eye, That youthful maidens wont to fly. XXI. On his bold visage middle age Had slightly pressed its signet sage, Yet had not quenched the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth ; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare. The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, Of hasty love or headlong ire. 83 8{)0 S95 400 I 406 I 410 41S 84 SCOTT. His limbs were cast in manly mould, For liard3' sports or contests bold ; And though in peaceful garb arrayed, And weaponless, except his blade, His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride. As if a Baron's crest he wore, And sheathed in armour trod the shore. Slighting the petty need he showed, He told of his benighted road ; His ready speech flowed f«,ir and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland, Less used to sue than to command. 420 4S6 480 m XXII. A while the maid the Stranger eyed, And, reassured, at length replied. That Highland halls were open still To wildered wanderers of the hill. "Nor think you unexpected come To yon lone isle, our desert home ; Before the heath had lost the dew, This morn, a couch was pulled for you ; On yonder mountain's purple head Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, And our broad nets have swept the mere To furnish forth your evening cheer." — ' ' Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, Your courtesy has erred," he said ; "No right have I to claim, misplaced, The welcome of expected guest. A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 485 440 44B THE LADY OF THE LAKE. My way, my friends, my courser lost, I ne'er before, believe me, fair, Have ever drawn your mountain air, Till on this lake's romantic strand, I found a fay in fairy land ! »*— XXIII. **I well believe," the maid replied, As her light skiff approached the side,— "I well believe, that ne'er before Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore; But yet, as far as yesternight. Old Allan-bane foretold your plight,— A grey-haired sire, whose e^e intent Was on the visioned future bent. He saw your steed, a dappled grey, Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; Painted exact your form and mien, Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, That tasseled horn so gaily gilt. That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. That cap with heron plumage trim. And yon two hounds so dark and grim. He bade that all should ready be To grace a guest of fair degree ; But light I held his prophecy. And deemed it was my father's horn Whose echo o'er the lake was borne."— XXIV. The Stranger smiled :— " Since to your home A destined errant-knight I come, Announced by prophet sooth and old. Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 466 las MS 470 475 r SCOTT. I'll lightly front each high emprise For one kind glance of those bright eyes. Permit me, first, the task to guide 480 Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." The maid, with smile suppressed and sly, The toil unwonted saw him try ; For seldom sure, if e'er before, His noble hand had grasped an oar : 485 Yet with main strength his strokes he drew. And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; With heads erect and whimpering cry, The hounds behind their passage ply. Nor frequent does the bright oar break 480 The darkening mirror of the lake, Until the rocky isle ihey reach, And moor their shallop on the beach. XXV. The Stranger viewed the shore around ; 'Twas all so close with copsewood bound, 495 Nor track nor pathway might declare That human foot frequented there, Until the mountain-maiden shewed A clambering unsuspected road. That winded through the tangled screen, fioo And opened on a narrow green, Where weeping birch and willow round With their long fibres swept the ground. Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, Some chief had framed a rustic bower. ta& XXVI. It was a lodge of ample size, But strange of structure and device ; 111 II THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 91 Of such materials as around The workman's hand had readiest found. Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared, .^lo And by the hatchet rudely squared, To give the walls their destined height, The sturdy oak and ash unite, While moss and clay and leaves combined To fence each crevice from the wind. 616 The lighter pine-trees, overhead, Their slender length fox rafters spread, And withered heath and rushes dry Supplied a russet canopy. Due westward, fronting to the green, 610 A rural portico was seen, Aloft on native pillars borne. Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine The ivy and Idsean vine, 686 The clematis, the favoured flower Which boasts the name of virgin-bower, And every hardy plant could bear Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. An instant in this porch she stayed, 680 And gaily to the Stranger said, "On heaven and on thy lady call. And enter the enchanted hall ! " — XXVII. '•My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee ! " — He crossed the threshold — and a clang Of angry steel that instant rang. To his bold brow his spirit rublied. 586 SCOTT. But soon for vain alarm he blush^il, When on the floor he saw displayed, 540 Cause of the din, a naked blade Dropped from the sheath, that careless f^ung Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; For all around, the walls to crace, Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 645 A target there, a bugle here, A battle-axe, a hunting spear, And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, With the tusked trophies of the boar. Here grins the wolf as when he died, 650 And there the wild-cat's brindled hide The frontlet of the elk adorns, Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; Pennons and flags defaced and stained, The blackening streaks of blood retained, 665 The deer-skins, dappled, dun and white, With otter's fur and seal's unite. In rude and uncouth tapestry nil, To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 1^': ir XXVIII. The wondering Stranger round him gazed, 500 And next the fallen weapon raised : — Few were the arms whose s" lewy strength Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. And as the brand he poised and swayed, ** I never knew but one," he said, 565 ** Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield A blade like this in battle-field." She sighed, then smiled and took the^ord ; ) THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 680 "You see the guardian champion's sword: As light it trembles in his hand 670 Aa in my grasp a hazel waud ; My sire's tall form might grace the part Of Forragus, or Asoabart ; But in the absent giant's hold Are women now, and menials old.** ftTfi XXIX. The mistress of the mansion came, Mature oi age, a graceful dame ; Whose easy step and stately port Had well become a princely court ; To whom, though more than kindred knew, Young Ellen ^ave a mother's due. Meet welcon to her guest she made, And every courteous rite was paid That hospitality could claim. Though all unasked his birth and name. Such then the reverence to the guest That f ellest foe n: ight join the feast, And from his deadliest foeman's door Unquestioned turn, the banquet. o*er. At length his rank the Stranger names, "The Knight of Snowdoun, James Pitz- James; Lord of a barren heritage. Which his brave sires, from age to age. By their good swords had held with toil ; His sire had fallen in such turmoil. And he, G-od wot, was forced to stand Oft for his right with blade in hand. This morning with Lord Moray's train He chased a sjtalwart stag in vain, 68ft % M 90 SCOTT. Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer, Lost his good steed, and wandered here." erx) xxx. Fain would the Knight in turn require The iip-me and state of Ellen's sire. Well shewed the elder lady's mien, That courts and cities she had seen ; 605 Ellen, though more her looks displayed The simple grace of sylvan maid. In speech and gesture, form and tace, Shewed she was come of gentle race. 'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 610 Such looks, such manners, and such mind. Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ; Or Ellen, innocently gay, Turued all enquiry light away : — , -615 "Weird women we ! by dale and down We dwell, afar from tower and town. We stem the flood, we ride the blast, On wandering knights our spells we cast ; While viewless minstrels touch rhe string, 620 'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." Slie sung, and still a harp unseen Filled up the symphony between. « XXXI (Song. '•Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the slaep that knoyvs not breaking : ^ib Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 91 In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. Dream of fijjhting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toll, nor night of waking. ' ' No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bi.tern sound his drum. Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near. Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 6S0 635 640 645 I XX I. She paused— then, blushing, led the lay To grace the stranger of the djiy. Her mellow notes awhile prolong The cadence of the flowing song, Till to her lips in measured frame The minstrel verse spontaneous came. ^ ,§ong routittueb. ** Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, •oo t&s lit 92 SCOTT. Dream not, with the rising sun, Bn lea Jiere shall sound reveilld. Slee^ ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman , rest ! thy chase is donet Think not of the rising sun. For at dawning to assail ye Here no bugles sound reveille." eeo i66 XXXIII. The hall was cleared — the Stranger's bed, Was there of mountain heather spread, Whore oft a hundred guests had lain, And dreamed their forest sports again. But vainly did the heath-flower shed wo Its moorland fragrance round his head ; Not Ellen's spell bad lulled to rest The fever of his troubled breast. In broken dreams tho image rose Of varied perils, pains, and woes ; * 676 His steed now flounders in the brake, Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; Now leader of a broken host, His standard falls, his honour's lost. Then,— from my couch may heavenly might 68o Chase that worst phantom of the night I — Again returned the scenes of youth. Of confidert, undoubting truth ; Again his soul he interchanged ^ With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 686 They come, in dim procession led, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; As warm each hand, each brow as gay, As if they parted yesterday. And doubts distract him at the view, were his senses false or true ! Dreamed he of death, or broken vow, Or i» it all a vision now ! XXXIV. At length, with Ellen in a grove He seemed to walic, and speak of love ; M She listened with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high. He sought her yieldp.d hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 700 Upon its head a helmet shone ; Slowly enlarged to giant size,' With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar. To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 705 He woke, and, r)anting with affright, Recalled the vision of the night. The hearth's decaying brands were red, And deep and dusky lustre shed. Half showing, half concealing, all 710 The uncouth trophies of the hall. Mid those the Stranger fixed his eye Where that huge falchion hung on high. And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng. Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, 718 Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose, and sought the moonshine puro. 94 SCOTT. XXXV. The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom Wasted around their rich perfume : The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm ; 720 The aspens slept beneath the calm ; The silver light, with quivering glance, Played on the water's still expanse, — Wild were the heart whose passion's sway Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 726 He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast : — "Why is it, at each turn I trace Some memory jf that exiled race ? Can I not mountain-maiden spy, 780 But she must bear the Douglas eye V Can I not view a Highland brand, But it must match the Douglas hand ? Can I not frame a fevered dream, But still the Douglas is the theme V — 735 I'll dream no more — by manly mind Not even in &leep is will resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more.'"' His midnight orisons he told, 740 A prayer with every bead of gold, Consigned to heaven his cares and woes. And sunk in undisturbed repose ; Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, And morning dawned on Benvenue. 74f» ELLKX'S IST.E, LOCH KATRINE. CANTO SECOND. I. At morn the black-cock trims liis jetty wing, 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blitliest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day ; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel grey. And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan- bane ! 'll. §ong. "Not faster yonder rowers' might Flings from their oars the spray, Not faster yonder rippling bright, That tracks the shallop's course in light, Melts in the lake away, 10 96 SCOTT. Than men from memory erase 16 The benefits of former days ; Then, Stranger, go ! good speed the while, Nor think again of the lonely isle. • *'High place to thse in royal court, High place in battle line, ao Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, Where beauty sees the brave resort, The honoured meed be thine ! True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 25 And lost in lovers and friendship's smile Be memory of the lonely isle. III. §ong rontiniteb. / **But if beneath yon southern sky A plaided stranger roam, Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh. And sunken cheek and heavy eye. Pine for his Highland home ; Then, warrior, then be thine to show The care that soothes ^ wanderer's woe ; Remember then thy hap erewhile, A stranger in the lonely isle. •'Or if on life's uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail; If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. Woe, want, and exile thou sustain Beneath the fickle gale ; so 35 40 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, on friends estranged But come where kindred worth shall smile, 10 greet thee in the lonely isle." IV. As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, And ere his onward way he took, The Stranger cast a lingering look, Where easily his eye might reach The Harper on the islet beach. Reclined against a blighted tree, As wasted, grey, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given. His reverend brow was raised to heaven, As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire, Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat as those who wait Till judgment speak the doom of fate; So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of hoary hair ; So still, as life itself were fled,' In the last sound his harp had sped. V. Upon a rock with lichens wild, Beside him Ellen sate and smiled.— Smiled she to see the stately drake Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, While her vexed spaniel, from the beach, 97 « fiO 66 flO 65 W 98 SCOTT. ll i' III -11 Bayed at the prize beyond his reach? Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, Why deepened on her cheek the rose ? — Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! Perchance the maiden smiled to see 75 Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, And stop and turn to wave anew ; And, lovely ladies, ere your ire Condemn the heroine of my lyre, Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 80 And prize such conquest of her eye ! VI. While yet he loitered on the spot, It secjmed as Ellen marked him not ; But when he turned him to the ghide, One courteous parting sign she made ; 85 And after, oft the knight would say, That not when prize of festal day Was dealt him by the brightest fair Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, So highly did his bosom swell 90 As at that simple mute farewell. Now with a trustj' mountain-guide, And his dark sLag-hounds by his side. He parts — the maid, unconscious still. Watched him wind slowly round the hill ; 95 But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid — "Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid ! " 'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, — "Not so had Malcolm idly hung lOO On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue ; THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 99 Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy. " — " Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried To the old minstrel by her side. — "Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme. And warm thee with a noble name ; Pour forth the glory of the Grseme ! ** Scarce from her lips the word had rushed. When deep the conscious maiden blushed; For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Grseme w c*s held the flower. 105 110 VII. The Minstrel waked his harp — three times Arose the well-known martial chimes, 115 And thrice their high heroic pride In melancholy murmurs died. "Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," Clasping his withered hands, he said, "Vainly thou bid'st rae wake the strain, ISO Though all un\ nt to bid in vain. Alas ! than mine a mightier hand Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned! I touch the chords of joy, but low And mournful answer notes of woe ; ISS And the proud march, which victors tread, Sinks in the wailing for the dead. O well for me, if mine alone That dirge's deep prophetic tone I If, as my tuneful fathers said, 180 Thie harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed. - I 100 SC0T7, Can thus its master's fate foretell, Then welcome be the minstrel's knell ! VIII. "But ah I dear lady, thus it sighed, The eve thy sainted mother died ; isi And such the sounds which, while I strove To wake a lay of war or love. Came marring all the festal mirth. Appalling me who gave them birth, ' And, disobedient to my call, i40 Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall. Ere Douglases, to ruin driv(m. Were exiled from their native heaven. — ! if yet worse mishap and woe My master's house must undergo, 145 Or aught but weal to Ellen fair Brood in these accents of despair. No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling Triumph or rapture from thy string ; One short, one final strain shall flow, iso Fraught with unutterable woe, Then shiveried shall thy fragments lie, Thy master cast him down and die ! " IX. Soothing she answered him : "Assuage, Mine honoured friend, the fears of age ; i55 All melodies to thee are known, That harp has rung or pipe has blown. In Lowland vale or Highland glen. From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. At times, unbidden notes should rise, 160 mm THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 101 Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush n'^ng, The war-march with the funeral song? — Small ground is now for boding fear ; Obscure, but safe, we restusheio. ISft My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning Icudship, lands, and state, Not then tcfrartunc more resigned Than yonder oak might give the wind ; The graceful foliage storms may ro.ive, 170 The noble stem they cannot grieve. For me" — she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue harebell from the ground, — "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, 175 This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be ; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the King's own garden grows ; And wlien I place it in my hair, 180 Allan, a bard is bound to swear He never saw coronet so fair." Then playfully the chaplet wild Slie wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled. X. Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 185 Wiled the old harper's mood away. With such a look as hermits throw, When angels stoop to soothe the i woe, He gazed, till fond regret and pride Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied : ifo ** Loveliest and best ! thou little know'st 108 SCOTT. The rank, the honours, thou hast lost ! O might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland's court, thy birthright place, To see my favourite's step advance. The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant's sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel's art, The Lady of trhe Bleeding Heart ! "— 19:) 200 ZI. "Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, (Light was her accent, yet siie sighed), *' Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy ; Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 205 In oourtly dance than blithe strathspey. Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine. And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering ej'e, 210 Thou, flattering ! rd ! thyself will say. That grim Sir Koderick owns its sway. The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thon know'st, delay 216 A Lennox foray — for a day." — THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 103 XII. :>f^-'' ^^^VtT"-VV:ki'-^^' HOLY-ROOD PALACE, NEAU EPIVBURGH. The ancient bard her glee repressed ; "111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled V 220 In Holy -Rood a knight he slew ; I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide ; And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 225 Full sternly kept his mountain land. Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day, That I such hated truth should say — The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disowned by every noble peer, 28a 104 SCOTT, Ever, ^he rude refuge we have here? Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 235 Full soon may dispensation sought, To back his suit, from Rome be brought. Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still Be held in reverence and fear ; 24o And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear That thou might'st guide with silken thread, Slave of thj'' will^ this chieftain dread, Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! Thy hand is on a lion's mane." — ^\h XIII. "Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her e^'e, "My debts to Roderick's house I know : All that a mother conld bestow To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild • She soirowed o'er her sister's child ; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, A deeper, holier debt is owed ; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan ! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life, — but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A vctaresp in Maronnan's cell ; Bather through realms beyond the sea, 260 S55 aoo THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 105 Seeking the world's cold charity, Where m'er M'as spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, An outc'ist pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love. 2(55 XIV, BRACKLINN FALLS. **Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses gray, That pleading look, what can it say But what I own ? — I grant him brave, But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave ; i«7o And generous, — save vindictive mood, 106 SCOTT. Or jealous transport, chafe his blood : I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand ; But O ! that very blade of steel 27ft More mercy for a foe would feel : I grant him liberal, to fling Among his clan the wealth they bring, When back by lake and glen thev wind, And in the Lowland leave behind, 28() Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, A mass of ashes slaked with blood. The hand that for my father fought I honour, as his daughter ought ; But can I clasp it reeking i-ed 285 From peasants slaughtered in their shed? No ! wildly while his virtues gleam. They make his passions darker seem. And flash along his spirit high, Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 29o While yet a child. — and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — I shuddered at his brow of gloom. His shadowy plaid, and sab]e plume ; A maiden grown, I ill could bear 29.5 His haughty mien and lordly air : But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, In serious mood, to Roderick's name, I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er A Douglas knew the word, with fear. soo To change such odious theme were best, — What think'st thou of our stranger guest?"— THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 107 XV. ** What think I of him ? — woe the while That brought such wanderer to our isle ! Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 805 For Tine-man forged by fairy lore, What time he leagued, no longer foes, His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow The footstep of a secret foe. 8io If courtly spy hath harboured liere, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deemed of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? If neither spy nor foe, I pray 3i5 What yet may jealous Roderick say ? • -Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, Bethink thee of the discord dread That kindled when at Beltane game Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Grseme ; S20 Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud : Beware ! — But hark ! what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 326 Nor breath is dimpling in the lake; Still is the canna's hoary beard. Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — And hark again ! some pipe of war Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 380 XVI. Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four darkening; specks upon the tide, I ^l n 108 SCOTT. That, flow enlarging on the view, Four manned and masted barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 335 Steered full upon the lonely isle ; The point of Brianchoil they passed. And, to the windward as they cast. Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine". 340 Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, spikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave : Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 345 As his tough oar the rower plies ; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke ; See the proud pipers on the bow. And mark the gaudy streamers flow 350 From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain. XVII. Ever, as on they bore, more loud 355 And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sounds, by distance tame. Mellowed along the waters came. And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, 360 Then bursting bolder on the ear The cian*s shrill Gathering they could hear, Those thrilling sounds that call the might THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 100 Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 865 The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And hurrying at the signal dread, The battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, , 870 Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broadsword upon tFTc;et jarred ; And groaning pause, ere yet again, 875 Condensed, the battle yelled 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, 880 Nor ended thus the strain, but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell For wild lament o'er those that fell. XVIII. The war-pipes ceased ; 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 a hundred clansmen raise Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. Each boatman, bending to his oar, With measured sweep the burden bore. In such wild cadence, as the breeze Makes through December's leafless trees. 885 890 110 SCOTT. The chorus first could Allan know, "Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iro ! " And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed. !'!'-1 XIX. §oat (Song. Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine ! 400 Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 406 While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 4io When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall CI an- Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock. Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 416 Menteith and Bradalbane, then, Echo his praise again, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" u i-i ■■ XX. Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Banuochar's groans to our slogan replied ; 420 ¥' THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 111 Q-len Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ; 426 Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " u Row, vassals, row for the pride of the Highlands ! Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 430 O ! that the rosebud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine ! that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow ! 436 Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from the deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe 1" XXI. With all her joyful female band, Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. Loose on the breeze their trissses flew, And high their snowy arms they threw. As echoing back with shrill acclaim, And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; While prompt to please, with mother's art, The darling passion of his heart. The Dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land : "Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou. 440 446 112 SCOTT. And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ?" 450 Reluctantly and slow, the maid The unwelcome summoning obeyed, And, when a distant bugle rung. In the mid-path aside she sprung : — "List, Allan-bane ! From mainland cast, 465 I hear my fai>h*^r's signal blast. Be ours," she cried, "the skifE to guide. And waft him from the mountain-side." Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, She darted to her shallop light, 460 And, eagerly while Roderick scanned. For her dear form, his mother's band, The islet far behind her lay, And she had landed in the bay. XXII. Some feelings are to mortals given 465 With less of earth in them than heaven ; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek It would not stain an angel's cheek, 470 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous dau^ghter's head ! And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressed, Such holy drops her tresses steeped, 476 Though 'twas a hero's eye that weeped. Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung. Marked she that feav — affection's proof — Still held a graceful youth aloof ; 4» THE LADY OF THE LAKE, US No ! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth wa3 Malcolm Grseme. XXIII. Allan, with wistful look the while, Mariced Roderick landirg on the isle ; His master piteously he eyed, 485 Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed, with hasty hand, away From his dimmed eye tiie gathering spray ; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 490 ** Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye? I'll tell thee : — he recalls the day When in my praise he led the lay O'er the arched gate of Both well proud, 495 While many a minstrel answered loud, When Percy's Norman pennon, won In bloody field, before me shore, And twice ten knights, the least a name As mighty as yon Chief may claim, 800 Gracing my pomp, behind me came. Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud Was I of all that marshalled crowd. Though the waned crescent owned my might, And in my train trooped lord and knight, £05 Though Blantj^re hymned her holiest lays. And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, As when this old man's silent tear, And this poor maid's affection dear, A welcome give more kind and true 610 Than aught my better fortunes knew. 114 SCOTT. Forgive, my friend, a father's boast,- 0, it out-beggars all I lost 1'* .1 :i I: XXIV. Delightful praise! — like summer rose, That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 616 The bashful maiden's cheek appeamd, For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; The loved caresses of the maid 520 The dogs with crouch and whimper paid ; And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favourite stand, Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye. Nor, though unheeded, sought to fly. 619 And, trust, while in such guise she stood, Like fabled Godde of the Wood That if a father's partial thought O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught, Well might the lover's judgraenu fail 630 To balance with a juster scale ; For with each secret glance he stole, The fond enthusiast sent his soul. ■i^rfti';" I I t xxy. Of stature fair, and slender frame. But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue. Curled closely round his bonnet blue. Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 686 540 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 115 The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe. When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 515 And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer : Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind ftfio Lively^ and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame ; It danced as lightsome in his breast. As played the feather on his crest. SSS Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth. His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. And bards, who saw his features bold, When kindled by the tales of old, Said, were that youtl to manhood grown, MO Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame. But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. XXVI. Now back they wend their watery way, And, " my sire !" did Ellen say, 565 " Why urge thy chase so far astrny ? And why so late returned? And why**— The rest was in her speaking eye. "My child, the chase I follow far, 'Tis mimicry of noble war ; 570 And with that gallant pastime reft 116 SCOTT, Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I strayed Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade ; Nor strayed I safe, for, all around, Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward, Risked life and land to be my guard. And through the passes of the wood Guided my steps, not unpursued ; And Roderick shall his welcome make. Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, Nor peril aught for me again." vn HO 1 ■L XXVII. Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 685 Reddened at sight of Malcolm Gieeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality. In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day ; 890 But at high noon a courier light Held secret parley with the knight. Whose moody aspect soon declared That evil were the news he heard. Deep thought seemed toiling in his head ; 696 Yet was the evening banquet made Ere he assembled round the flame His mother, Douglas, and the Grseme, And Ellen, too ; then cast arourid His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, eoo As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 117 Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said XXVIII. ♦♦ Short be my speech ; — nor time affords, 605 Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father, — if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; Mine honoured mother ; Ellen — why, My cousin, turn away thine eye? — 6io And Grseme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command. And leading in thy native land, — List all ! — The King's vindictive pride 6i5 Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's sylvan game. Themselves in bloody toils were snared; And when the banquet they prepared, 820 And wide their loyal portals fiung, O'er their own gateway struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from M6ggat's mead, From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 625 And from the silver Teviot's side ; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless and so ruthless known, 630 Now hither comes ; his end tlie same, The same pretext of sylvan game. What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge j'e I! 118 SCOTT, By fate of Border chivalry. Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green, Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know : Tour counsel in the streight I show." 885 a 1 XXIX. Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty colour went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme ; But from his glance it well appeared 'Twas but for Ellen that he feared ; While, sorrov, ful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said : •'Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It rasiy but thunder and pass o'er ; Nor will I here remain an hour. To draw the lightning on thy bower j For well thou know'st, at this grey head The royal bolt were fiercest sped. For thee, who, at thy King's command. Canst aid him with a gallant band. Submission, homage, humbled pride. Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will s&k, apart, The refuge of some forest cell. There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. Till on the mountain and the moor The stern pursuit be passed and o'er,'* — 640 645 650 656 660 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 119 XXX, *'No, by mine honour," Roderick said, 666 "So lielp me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine, My father's ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 670 Hear my blunt speech : grant me this maid To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock enow ; Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 675 Will bind to us each Western Chief. When the loud pipes my bridal tell, The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; And, when I light the nuptial torch, 680 A thousand villages in flames ^^y-'r^.^-<--y:-,: Shall scare the slumbers of King James ! — Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs , I pray; I meant not all my heat might say. — 685 Small need of inroad or of fight, When the sage Douglas may unite Each mountain clan in friendly band To guard the passes of their land. Till the foiled King from pathless gleD ^o Shall bootless turn him home again.'* XXXI. There are wh") have, at midnight hour, In slumber scaled a dizzj'^ tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er 120 SCOTT. The ocean-tide*s incessant roar, 895 Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, And saw unmeasured depth around, 700 And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, Jt '"aved like cobweb in the gale; — Aii»:'d his senses' giddy wheel, Did he not desperate impulse feel, fos Headlong to plunge himself below, And meet the worst his fears foreshow ?— Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound, As sudden ruin yawned around, ^ By crossing terrors wildly tossed, ^ "^tiif. Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand. To buy his safety with her hand. ; .it .1.' i ' !! XXXII. .■•/^::,'.-::n;, .v'-',:: Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, And eager rose to speak — but ere His tongue could hurr^'^ forth his fear. Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood. One instant rushed the throbbing blood. Then ebbing back with sudden swa3' Left its domain as wan as clay. "E-oderick, enough ! enough ! " he cried, "My daughter cannot be thy bride; m fS6 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 121 Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear. It may not be — forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief. Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 780 Will level a rebellious spear. 'Twas I that taught his youthful hand To rein a steed and wield a brand; I see him yet, the princely boy ! Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; TB6 I love him still, despite my wrongs ' ' By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues. O, seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined ! " — aXXIII. Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode ; 7io The waving of his tartans broad, And darkened brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied. Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, Like the ill Demon of the night. til Stooping his pinions' shadow}' sway Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : But, unrequited Love ! thy dart Plunged deejiest its envenomed smart, And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, IM At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes that mocked at tears before With bitter drops were running o'er. The death-pangs of long-cherisiied hope Scarce in tiiat ample breast had scope, fl|l But, struggling with his spirit proud, ~^^ :'^1 w 122 SCOTT, Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, "While every sob — so mute were all — Was heard distinctly through the hall. The son's despair, the mother's look, 111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Grseme. 760 XXXIV. Then Roderick from the Douglas broke : — As flashes flame through sable smoke, 765 Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, So the deep anguish of despair Burst, in fierce jealously, to air. With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 770 On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : " Back, beardless boy ! " he sternly said, *'Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught ^ The lesson I so lately taught ? This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 776 Thank thou for punishment delayed." — Eager as greyhound on his garie, . i. , Fiercely with Roderick grapp^ Grseme. "Perish my name, if aught afford Its Chieftain safety save his sword ! " — 780 Thus as they strove their desperate hand Griped to the dagger or the brand, And death had been — but Douglas rose, And thrust between the struggling foes His giant strength : — "Chieftains, forego ! 785 I hold the first who strikes my foe. — Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! I \ .J£. . . WL. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 123 What I is the Douglas fallen so far, His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil Of such dishonourable broil ! " — Sullen and slowly they unclasp, As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, And each upon his rival glared, With foot advanced and blade half barecl. 790 XXXV. Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, As faltered through terrific dream. Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, And voilod his wrath in scornful word. " Rest safe till morning ; pity 'twere Such cheek should feel the midnight air ! Then may'st thou to James Stuart tell, Roderick will keep the lake and fell, ^- •. Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, The pageant pomp of earthly man. More would he of Q] in-Alpine know, Thou canst our strength and passes show. — Malise, what ho ! " — his henchman came; •' Give our safe-conduct to the G-raeme." — Young Malcolm, answered, calm and bold : '* Fear nothing for thy favourite hold ; The spot an angel deigned to grace Is blessed, though robbert; haunt the place. Thy churMsh courtesy ior those Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. As safe to me the mountain way At midnight as in blaze of day, ^ ~— - '^ST"^. 800 805 810 815 124 SCOTT, Though with his boldest at his ck Even Roderick Dhu beset the tr; k. — Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay, Naught here of parting will I say. Earth does not hold a lonesome glen So secret but we meet again. — Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour."- He said, and left the sylvan bower. 820 825 XXXVI. Old Allan followed to the strand — (Such was the Douglas's command,) And anxious told, how, on the morn, The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn, 830 The Fiery Cross should circle o'er Dale, glen, and vaPey, down, and moor. Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the signal came ; Far up the lake 'twere safest laud, 83ft Himself would row him to the strand. He gave his counsel to the wind. While Malcolm did, unlieeding, bind. Round dirk and pouch and broadsword rolled. His ample plaid in tightened fold, 840 And stripped his limbs to such array As best might suit the watery way. XXXVII. Then spoke abrupt : ♦' Farewell to thee, Pattern of old fidelity ! " The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed,— " ! could I point a place of rest ! My sovereign holds in ward my land, 84ft THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 12S My uncle leads my vassal band ; To tame his foes, his friends to aid, Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. S&O Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme Who loves the Chieftain of his name, Not long shall honoured Douglas dwell Like hunted stag in mountain cell ; Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare, — 865 I may not give the rest to air ! Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him naught, Not the poor service of a boat. To waft me to yon mountain side." Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 800 Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, And stoutly steered him from the shore; And Allan strained his anxious eye, Far mid the lake his form to spy, Darkening across each puny wave, 865 To which the moon her silver gave. Fast as the cormorant could skim, The swimmer plied each active limb ; Then, landing in the moonlight dell, Loud shouted of his weal to tell. MO The Minstrel heard the far halloo, And joyful from the shore withdrew. ii 126 SCOTT. LOCH LOMOND. CANTO THIRD. i;he fathering. I. Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea. How are they blotted from the things that be ! 6 How few, all weak and withered of their force. Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his ceaseless course. Yet live there still who can remember well. How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 10 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 127 Both field and forest, dingle, c]iff, and dell, And solitary heath, the signal knew ; And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly wound, 15 What time aloft their liindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound, And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. II. The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch Katrine blue; 10 Mildly and soft the western broezpi Just kissed the lake, just stinod the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; The mountain-shadows on her breast tt 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 reared of silver bright ; W The doe awoke, and to the lawn, Begemmed with dewdrops, led her fawn ; The grey mist left the mountain side, The torrent showed its glistening pride ; Invisible in flecked sky 16 The lark sent down her revelry ; The blackbird and the speckled thrush Good-morrow gave from brake and bush ; In answer cooed the cushat dove Her notes of peace and rest and love. 40 1S8 SCOTT. in. No thought of peace, no thought of rest, Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. With sheathed broadsword in his hand. Abrupt he paced the islet strand, And eyed the rising sun, and laid 4B His hand on his impatient blade. Beneath a reck, his vassals' 'care Was prompt the ritual to prepare, With deep and deathful moaning fraught; For such Antiquity had taught fiO Was preface meet, ere yet abroad The Cross of Fire should take its road. The shrinking band stood oft aghast At the impatient glance he cast ; — Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 56 As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, She spread her dark sails '^n the wind, And, high in middle hea^ n reclined, With her broad shadow on the lake. Silenced the warblers of the brake. 60 IV. A heap of withered boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, Mingled with shivers from the oak, Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. Brian, the Hermit, by it stood, Barefooted, in his frock and hood. His grizzled beard and matted hair Obscured a visage of despair ; His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, e6 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 129 The scars of frantic penjinoe bore. 70 ^Miat Monk, of savai^e ffum and face, The iinpeudinR danj;er of his race Had (Is awn from deepest solitude, Far In Benharrow's bosom rude. Not his the mien of Christian priest, 7;') But Diuid's, from the pjrave released, Whoso hardened heart and ej'e might brook On human sacrifict lo look ; And much, 'twas ^ lid, of heathen lore M xed iu tlie chani' ; he muttered or; *) The hallowed creed ^ ;ivc ojJy worse And deadlier emphasis of curse. No peasant sought that Hermit's pra^-er, His cave the pilgrim shunned with care ; 'JMie eager liuntsman knew his bounu, 8.'i And in mid chase called off his iiuund ; Or if, in lonely glen or strath, Tlie desert-dweller met his path, Ho pray( 1, and signed the cross between, While terror took dovotion's mien. 90 V. Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. His mother watched a midnight fold, Built deep within a dreary glen, Where scattered lay the bones of men, In some forgotten battle slain, And bleached by drifting wind and rain. It might have tamed a, warrior's heart To view such mockei\v of his art! The knot-grass fettered there the hand Which once could burst an iron band ; 05 100 ..^... IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V 1.0 1.1 Bil^ 12.3 ■^ 1^ ||_2.2 [If |J4 iMS Z t& 12.0 L25 III 1.4 III 1.6 Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STReCT WnSTIR.N.Y. t4590 (716)S73-4S03 6^ 180 SCOTT, Beneath the broad and ample bone That bucklered heart to fear unknown, A feeble and a timorous guest, The fieldfare framed her lowly nest ; There the slow blind worm Ifslt his siime 105 On the fleet limbs that mocked at time ; And there, roo, lay the leader's skull, Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full, For heath-bell with her purple bloom Supplied the bonnet and the plume. no All night, in this sad glen, the maid Sat shrouded in her mantle's shade : — She said, no shepherd sought her side, No hunter's hand her snood untied, Yet ne'er again to braid her hair ij/s The virgin snood did Alice wear ; Grone was her maiden glee and sport, Her maiden girdle all too short, Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite, 120 But locked her secret in her breast, And died in travail, unconfessed. Alone, among his young compeers, Was Brian from his infant years ; A moody and heart-broken boy, igs Estranged from sympathy and joy. Bearing each taunt which careless tongue On his mysterious lineage flung. Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale To wood and stream his hap to wail, uo Till, frantic, he as truth received THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 131 What of his birth the crowd believed, And sought, in mist and meteor fire, To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, The cloister oped her pitying gate ; In vain the learning of the age Unclasped the sable-lettered page ; Even in its trer.sures he could find Food for the fever cf his mind. Eager he read whatever tells Of magic, cabala, and spells. And every dark pursuit allied To curioaff and presumptuous pride ; Till with fii-ed brain and nerves o'erstrung. And heart with myscio horrors wrung, Dssperate he sought Benharrow's den, And hid him from tlio haunts of men. 1S5 140 145 VII. The desert gave him visions wild. Such as might suit the spectre's child. Where with black cliffs the torrents toil. He watched the wlieeling eddies boil, Till from their foam his dazzled eyes Beheld the River Demon rise : The mountain mist took form and limb Of noontide hag or goblin grim ; The midnight wind came wild and dread, Swelled with the voices of the dead ; Far on the future battie-heath His eye beheld the ranks of death : Thus the lone Soer, from mankind hurled, Shaped forth a disembodied world. 18^ 1R5 IflO fii! '■ m hi i :' 132 SCOTT. One lingering sympathy of mind Still bound him to tho mortal kind j The only parent he could claim 155 Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ; Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast Of charging steeds, careering fast 170 Along Benharrow's shingly side. Where mortal horsemen no'er might ride ; The thunderbolt had split the pine, — All augured ill to Alpine's line. He girt his loins, and came to show 175 The signals of impending woe, And now stood prompt to bless or ban, As bade the Chieftain of his clan. VIII. 'Twas all prepared ;— and from the rock A goat, the patriarch of the flock, lao Before the kindling pile was laid, And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. Patient the sickening victim eyed The life-blood ebb in crimson tide Dov/n his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 185 Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, A slender crosslet framed with care, A cubit's length in measure due ; The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 190 Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave. And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 133 Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. The Cross thus formed he held on high, With wasted hand and haggard eye, And strange and mingled feelings woke, While his anathema he spoke. 195 IX. " Woe to the clansman who shall view This symbol of sepulchral yew, Forgetful that its branches grew Where weep the heavens their holiest dew On Alpine's dwelling low ! Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe." He paused ;— the word the vassals took, With forward step and fiery look. On high their naked brands they shook, Their clattering targets wildly strook ; And first in murmur low, Then, like the billow in his course, That far to seaward finds his source. And fiinc^ to shore his mustered force. Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, ' ' Wee to the traitor, \ e ! " Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew. The joyous wolf from covert drew. The exulting eagle screamed afar, — They knew the voice of Alpine's war. seo 205 no ns w> w 134 SCOTT. The shout was hushed on lake and fell, The Monk resumed his muttered spell. Dismal and low its accents came, 886 The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; And the few words that reached the air, Although the holiest name was there. Had more of blasphemy than prayer. But when he shook above the crowd 880 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud :— "Woe to the wretch who fails to rear At this dread sign the ready spear ! For, as the flames this symbol sear, His home, the refuge of his fear, sss A kindred fate shall know ; Far o'er its roof the volumed flame Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, While maids and matrons on his name Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 840 And infamy and woe." — Then rose the cry of females, shrill As goshawk's whistle on the hill, Denouncing misery and ill, Mingled with childhood's babbling trill S45 Of curses stammered slow ; Answering, with imprecation dread, •* Sunk be his home in embers red ! And curs6d be the meanest shed That e'er shall hide the houseless head 260 We dc^m to want and woe ! " A sharp and shrieking echo gave, Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! THF LADY OF THE LAKE. 135 And the grey pass where birches wave On Beala-nam-bo. 855 Zl. Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his labouring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed liki. fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread. And dsadlier, en the clansman's head Who, summoned to his Chiertain's aid, The signal saw and disobeyed. Tlie crosslet's points of sparkling wood He quenched among the bubbling blood, And, as again the sign he reared^ Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : " When flits this Cross from man to man, Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan. Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! May ravens tear the careless eyes, Wolves make the coward heart their prize ! As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth ! As dies in hissing gore the spark, Quench thou his light. Destruction dark I And be the grace to him denied, Bought by this sign to all beside ! " He ceased \ no echo gave again The murmur of the deep Amen. 2CO 866 870 275 13d SCOT^T. XII. Then Roderick, 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 Lanrick mead- Instant the time—speed, Malise, speed !"— Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew : High stood tiie henchman on the prow ; So rapidly the barge-men row. The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared 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. M5 890 890 XIII. Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide 800 On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 805 With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass ; Across the brook like roebuck bound. And thread the brake like questing hound • The crug is high, the scaur is deep, sio Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : THE LADY OF THE LAKE. m Parclied 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 ! ^\s The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace With rivals in the mountain race ; But danger, death, and wa'-rior deed 8fO Are in thy course— speed, Malise, speed ! XIV. Fast as the fatal symbol flies, Ir. arms che huts and hamlets rise ; From winding glen, from upland brown. They poured each hardy tenant down. Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamour and surprise behind. The fishermen forsook the strand, The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swathe his scythe; The herds without a keeper straj'ed, The plough was in mid-furrow stayed, The falconer tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at bay ; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; So swept the tumult and affray Along the margin of Achray. Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 825 880 885 840 138 SCOTT. Thy banks should echo sounds of fear I The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep. The lark's blithe carol from the cloud Seems for the scene too gayly loud. 846 i I XV. Speed, Malise, speed ! The lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 350 Half hidden in the copse so green ; There may'st thou rest, thy labour done, Their lord shall speed the signal on. — As stoops the hi 'vk upon his prey, The henchman shot him down the way. 8S5 — What woeful accents load the gale I The funeral yell, the female wail ! A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, A valiant warrior fights no more. Who, in f>h6 battle or the chase, sao At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — Within the hall, where torches' ray Supplies the excluded beams of day, Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 865 His stripling son stands mournful by, His youngest weeps, but knows not why ; The village maids and matrons round The dismal coronach resound. THE LADY OF THE LAK'S, XVI, doronach. He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, V7hen our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary. But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the con oi. Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray. How sound is thy slumber I Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever I •70 175 880 XVII. See Stumah, who, the bier beside. His master's corpse with wonder eyed, Pocr Stumah 1 whom his least halloo 885 ' I "P»^ mmr^fjl^mmmiiimmfiiim 140 SCO IT. Could send like liKhtnitift- o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points Ins eurs, As if some stranger stop lie hears. 'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste or deadly fear Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast : -unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall ; Esfore the dead man's bier he stood ; Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood ; *' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed ! " 400 405 XVIII. Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 4^0 Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, 415 Back to her opened arms he flew, Pressed on her lips a fond adieu— "Alas ! " she sobbed, — "and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son ! "— One look he cast upon the biev, 420 Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his labouring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest. Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, 425 He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 141 Suspended was the wldovv'H tear While yet his footsteps she couhl liear ; And when she mai-ked the henchman's eye 43a Wet with unwonted sympatliy, "Kinsman," she said, "his race is run That should have sped thine errand on ; The oak has fallen,— tlie sapling hough Js all DuMcraggan's shelter now. 425 Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will p;ua»-d my son. — And you, in many a danger true, At Duncan's hest your hlades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head f 44^ Let babes and women wail the dead." — ThcMi weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 445 And short and flitting energy Glanced fjom the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force ; 4fio Grief claimed his right, and tearp their course. XIX. Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew^ Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; The tear thai: gatliered in his eye He left the mountain-breeze to dr}' ; Until, where Teith's young waters roll 456 142 SCOTT, i Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable stratl« with g'reen, 400 The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. Swoln was the streaa, remote the bridge. But Angus paused not on the edge ; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 4G5 He daf id amid the torrent's roar ; His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide And stay his footir.^ in the tide. He stumbled twice — the foam splashed high, -i7o With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; And had he fallen, — forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! But still, as if in parting life. Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 47.5 Until the opposing bank he gained. And up the chapel pathway strained. XX. A blithesome rout that morning-tide Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Hor troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, hoir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch. The bridal now resumed their march. In rude but glad procession came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooded maiden would not hear ; And childreii, that, unwitting why. Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 480 485 riTE LADY OF THE LA ICE, 148 And minstrels, that in measures vied 100 Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step and bashful hand She held the kerchief's snowy band. fi)5 The gallant bridegroom by her side Beheld his prize with victor's pride, And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer, XXI. Who meets them at the churchyard gate? 500 The messenger of fear and fate ! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 606 The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word : *' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed !" — And must he change so soon the hand, wo Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day, so blithe that rose. And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide 516 The bridegroom from the plighted bride ? O fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! Clan Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's truf , Her summons dread, brook no delay ; Stretch to the race— away ! away I 6I0 SIBOi 144 SCOTT, LOCH LUBNAIG. 1» XXII. Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ; Then, trusting not a second look, In liaste he sped him up tlie brcok. Nor backward glanced, till on the heath Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. 525 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 145 — What in the racer's bosom stirred ? The sickening pn.ng of liopo deferred, And memory, with a torturirsg train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingled with love's impatience, came The manly thirst for martial fa^ne ; The stormy joy of mountaineers, Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; And zeal for Clan and Chitftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returnin With war's red honours on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and br Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve and feeling strong Burst into voluntary song. n? ae, fiSi »S5 MO XXIII. gong. The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread. Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid. My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid ! It will not waken me. Mary ! I may not, dare not, fa cy .ow. The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow. And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know ; hOi 650 ft.W 146 SCOTT. When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught, For, if I fall in battle fought. Thy hapless lover's dying thought Shall be a thought on thee, Mary, And if returned from conquered foes, How blithely will the evening clojje, How sweet the linnet sing repose, To my young bride and me, Mary I fi6U 6G5 ■I li % li i n li ■■: ii i XXIV. Not fastei o'er the heathery braes, Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, 070 Bashing, in conflagration strong, Thy deep ravines and dells along, Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow. And reddening the dark lakes below ; Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 575 As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. The signal roused to martial coil The sullen margin of Loch Voil, Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source. Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 680 Thence southward turned its rapid road Adown Strath-Gar tney's valley broad. Till rose in arms each man might claim A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, From the grey sire, whose trembling hand 585 Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow J. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 147 Were yet scarce torror to the crow. Each valley, each sequestered glen, Mustered its little i >rde of men, aoo That met as torrents from the height In Highland dales their streams unite, Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong, Till at the rendezvous they stooa 805 By hundreds, prompt for blows and blood ; Each trained to arms since life began, Owing no tie but to his clan, No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand, No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. floo XXV. That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce ; 6ori Still lay each martial Grseme and Bruce, In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone. Nor scared the herons from Loch Con ; 6io All seemed at peace. — Now, wot ye why The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scanned with care?— In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 815 A fair, though cruel, pledge was left ; For Douglas, to his promise true, That morning from the isle withdrew, 148 SCOTT. And in a df.ep sequestered dell Had sought a low and lonely cell. By many a bard, in Celtic tong;ue, Has Coir-nan-Urlskin been sung ; A softer name the Saxons gave, And called the grot the Goblin-cave. 620 Hi x-:vi. It was a wild and strange retreat, As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, iipon the mountain's crest, Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast : Its trench had staid full many a lock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock From Benvenue's grey summit wild, And here, in random ruin piled. They frowned incumbent o'er the spot, And formed the rugged sylvan grot. The oak and birch, with mir. gled shade, At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurit3^ No murmur waked the solemn still Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke The incessant war of v ave and rock. Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway. Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey. From such a den the wolf had sprung, i-'ii 6."(i «;.-. 645 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 140 Tn snch the wild cat leaves her young; 6fiO Yet Douf>las and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Grey Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar trend ; For there, she said, did fays resort, esr. And satyrs hold their sylvan court. By moonlight tread their mystic mn?:e, And blast the rash beholder's gaze. XXVII. Now eve, with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, efi(» When Roderick, with a chosen few, Repassed the heights of Benvenue. Above the Goblin-cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo; The prompt retainers speed before ecf) To launch: the shallop from the shore, For cross Loch Katrine lies his way To view the panses of Achray, And place his clansmen in array. Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 670 Unwonted sight, his men behind. A single page, to bear his sword Alone attended on his lord ; The rest their waj'^ through thickets break, And soon await him by the lake. 075 It was a fair and gallant sight, To view them from the neighbouring height. By the low-levelled sunbeam's light ! For strength and stature, from the clan Each warrior was a chosen man, flW 160 SCOTT. As even afar might well be seen, By their proud step and martial mien. Their feathers dance, their tartans floac, Their targets gleam, as by the boat A wild and warlike group they stand, That well became such mountain strand. 885 XXVIII. Their Chief, with step reluctant, still Was lingering on the craggj' hill, Hard by where turned apart the road To Douglas's obscure abode. It was but with that dawning morn That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn To drown his love in war's wild roar, Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; But he who stems a stream with sand, And fetters flame with flaxen band, Has yet a harder task to prove — By firm resolve to conquer love ! Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost ; For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye. Still fondly strains his anxious ear The accents of her voice to hear. And inly did he curse the breeze That waked to sound the rustling trees. But hark ! what mingles in the strajn ? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measure slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 695 70<) 705 710 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. What melting voice attends the strings ? 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings. Ml XXIX. mit to the 'Btrgitt. A'm Maria ! maiden mild ! Liste? to a maiden's prayer ! Thou canst hear though from the wild, 7W Thou canst save amid despair. Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, Though banished, outcast, and reviled — Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; Mother, hear a suppliant child ! Tto Ave Maria! Ave Maria ! undefiled ! The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled, If thy protection hover there. The murky cavern's heavy air 725 Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ; Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer, Mother, list a suppliant child I Ave Maria I Ave Maria ! Stainless styled ! Foul demons of the earth and air, 730 From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care. Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; r 162 SCOTT. Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child ! Aw, Maria ! 785 i^' i XX'X. Died on the harp tlic closing hymn — Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page, with humble sign. Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, '* It is the last time— 'tis the last," He muttered thrice, — "the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear !"— It was a goading thought — his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side ; Sullen he flung him in the boat, And instant cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way, Till, with the latest beams of light. The band arrived on Lanrick height, Where mustered, in the vale below, Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 74'» 715 If*) 7W |-i*i I ■ !:'* XXXI A various scene the clansmen made, Some sat. some stood, some slowly strayed ; But most, with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye 100 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 16.1 From the deep lieather where they lie, So vv'gU was matched tlie tnrtaii sciven With heath-l)ell dark and hiackens j[;rreii ; Unless where, liere and there, a blade, 7fti Or lanoe's point, a f;linimer made, Like glow-worm t\vinklin<;' throu}>h the shade. But when, advanf'ini; thron,i;h the i^^looni, They saw the Cliief^'iin's cajole plume. Tiioir shout of welcome, shrill and wide, 771 Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times returned the martial yell ; It died upon Bochtistle's plain. And Silence claimed her evening reij-n. 776 ii'fi COm-NAK-UlilSKIN, THK GOULIN-CAVK, UKNVK^UK. iu4 SCOTT, PASS OF THE TROSSACHS. CANTO FOURTH. I. * • The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, / I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years ! " Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar*s broad wave. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 166 II. Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, lo Lovo prompted to the bridegroom's tonp:ue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His axe and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood A wakeful sentinel he stood. 16 Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. "Stand, or tliou diest! — What, Malise?— soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, 20 Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." (For while the Fiery Cross hied on, On distant scout had Malise gone.) " Where sleeps the Chief ? " the henchman said "Apart, in yonder misty glade; 26 To his lone couch I'll be your guide." — Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow— "Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain ; on the track 80 Keep eagle watch till I come back." — III. Together up the pass they sped : " What of the foemen ? " Norman said.— * ' Varying reports from near and far ; This certain, — that a band of war Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command to march from Doune; King James the while, with princely powers, Holds revelry in Stirling towers. as 156 SCOTT. Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 40 Speak on our glens in thunder loud. Inured to bide such bitter bout, The warrior's plaid may bear it out ; But. Norman, how wilt thou provide A shelter for thj"- bonny bride? "— 46 " What ! know ye not that Roderick's care To the lone isle hath caused repair Each maid and matron of the clan, And ever^'^ child and aged man Unfit for arms ; and given his charge, 80 Nor ^kiff nor shallop, boat nor barge. Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the isl^i moor. That such dear pledge may rest secure? " — IV. •"Ts well advised — the Chieftain's plan • f6 Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true? " — "It is because last evening-tide Brian an augnry hath tried, flO Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghalrm called ; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew," — 68 i MALISE. *• Ah ! well thf gallant, brute I knew ! The choicest of the prey we had When swept our merrymen Gallangad. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. His hide was snow, his hornb were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark ; So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road. And sharp the imrrying pikeman't^ goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row A child might scathless stroke his brow."- 157 70 75 V. NOUMAN. " That bull wrs slain ; his recking hide They stretched the cataract beside, Whose waters their wild tumult toss Adown the black and craggy boss Of that huge cliff whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, Close where the thundering torrents sink, Rocking beneath their headlong sway. And drizzled by the ceaseless spray. Midst groan of rock and roar of stream, The wizard waits prophetic dream. Nor distant rests the Chief ;— but hush ! See, gliding slow through mist and hush, The Hermit gains yon rock, and stands To gaze upon our slumbering bands. Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? Or raven on the blasted oak, ()0 85 90 08 168 SCOTT. That, watching while the deer is broke, His morsel claims with sullen croak ? " MALISE. — " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me loo Thy words were evil augury ; But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, Yon fiend-btjsotten Monk can tell. 105 The Chieftain joins him, sf . -and now Together they descend the brow." VI. And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord The Hermit Monk held solemn word : " Roderick ! it is a fearful strife, 110 For man endowed with mortal life, Whose shroud of sentient clay can still Feel feverish pang and fainting chill. Whose eye can stare in stony trance. Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, — us 'TIS hard for such to view, unfurled, The curtain of the future world. Yet, witness every quaking limb. My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim, My soul with harrowing anguish torn, 120 This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — The shapes that sought my fearful couth An human tongue may ne'er avouch ; No mortal man,— save he, who, bred Between the living and the dead, x^ Is gifted beyond nature's law,— ^ THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 159 ilad e'er survived to say he saw. At length the fateful answer came In characters of living flame ! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, uo But borne and branded on my soul : — WinCH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, That party conquers in the strife. " Hit .! t ' 'i VII. '* Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! Good is thine augury, and fair. us Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood But first our broadswords tasted blood. A surer victim still I know, Self-offered to the auspicious blow : A spy has sought my land this morn,— )m No eve shall witness his return ! My followers guard each pass's mouth, To east, to westward, and to south ; Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, Has charge to lead his steps aside, 145 Till, in deep path or dingle brown, He light on those shall bring him down. — But see, who comes his news to show I Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? " — VIII. " At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 160 Two Barons proud their banners wave. I saw the Moray's silver star. And marked the sable pale of Mar." — "By Alpine's soul, high tidings those I I love to bear of worthy foes. IW 160 SCOTT. When move they on ? " — " To-morrow's noon Will see them here for battle boune." - "Then shall it see a meeting stern ! — But, for the place, — say, could'f?t thou learn Nought of the friendly cians of Earn ? leo Strengthened by them, we well might bido The battle on Benledi's side. Thou could'st not?— well ! Clan-Alpine's men Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen ; Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, 166 All in our maids' and matrons' sight. Each for his heavth and household fire, Father for child, and son for sire, Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — • Is It the breeze affects mine eye ? 170 Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear ! A messenger of doubt or fear ? No ! sooner may the Saxon lance Unfix Benledi from his stance, Than doubt or terror can pierce through i7o The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ! 'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. — Each to his post ! — all know their charge." The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, The broadswords gleam, the banners dance, I8J Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. — I turn me from the martial roar, And seek Colr-Uriskin once more. IX. Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone ; And Ellen sits on the grey stone Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 186 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 161 While vainly Allan's words of cheer Are poured on her unheeding ear. — ** He will return— dear lady, trust !— With joy return ; — he will— he must. Well was it time to seek afar Some refuge from impending war, When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm Are cowed by the approaching storm. I saw their boats witli many a light, Floating the livelong yesternight, Shifting like flashes darted forth By the red streamers of the north ; I marked at morn how close they ride. Thick moored by the lone islet's side. Like wild ducks couching in the fen When stoops the hawk upon the glen. Since this rude race dare not abide The peril on the mainland side, Shall not thy noble father's cara Some safe retreat for tliee prepare ? " 190 195 lOG S06 ELLEN. "No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind My wakeful terrors could not blind. When in such tender tone, yet grave, Douglas a parting bles.^ing gave, The tear that glistened in his eye Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his ; e'en as the lake, Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, no fl8 162 SCOTT, Reflects the invulnerable rock. He hears reports of battle rife, He deems himself the cause of strife. I saw him redden, when the theme Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream. 220 Of Malcolm Grcbme, in fetters bound, Which 1, thou said'st, about him wound. Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught ? Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought For the kind youth — for Roderick too — 225 (Let me be just) that friend so true ; In danger both, and in our cause ! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, ' If not on earth, we meet in heaven ! * 23D Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again. Am I to hie, and make me known ? Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own ; — 285 He goes to do— what I had done. Had Douglas' daughter been his son ! " — XI. " Nay, lovely Ellen !— dearest, nay ! If aught should his return delay, He only named yon holy fane A» fitting place to meet again. Bo sure he's safe ; and for the Grseme, — Hes^ven's blessing on his gallant name !— My visioned sight may yet prove true. Nor ?iode of ill to him or 3^ou. When did my gifted dream beguile? 140 Uh THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 163 Think of the stranger at the isle, And think upon the harpings slow, That presaged this approaching woe ! Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; Believe it when it augurs cheer. Would we had left this dismal spot I 111 luck still hauntd a fairy grot. Of such a wondrous tale I know- Dear lady, chpnge that look of woe, My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."- ELLEN. ' ' Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear." The Minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart. 250 855 S60 XII. f allab. ALICE BRAND. Merry it is in the good greenwood. When the mavis and merle are sinnjing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are m cry. And the hunter's horn is ringing. •'0 Alice Brand, my native land Is lost for love of you ; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do. 'O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks ro bright, And 'twas for all thine eyes so blue, That, on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew. 965 (10 164 SCOTT, V ,;! ♦• Now must I teach to hew the beech The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed And stakes to fence our cave. '« And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer To keep the cold away." — "0 Richard ! if my brother died, 'Twas but a fatal chance ; For darkling was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance. '• If pall and vair no more I wear, Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, As gay the forest-green. " And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand." >T5 89) sgo XIII. ISaiUb fontinticb. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood ; So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; On the beech's pride and the oak's brown side Iiord Richard's axe is ringing. ■9fi THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Up spoke the moody Elfiii King, Who woned wiihiu the hill, — Like wind in the porch of a ruined cliurch, His voice was ghostly shrill. '* Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen ? Or who comes here to chase the deer Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? Or who may dare on wold to wear The fairies' fatal green ? '* Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hio. For thou wert christened man ; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For muttered word or ban. " Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye ; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die." XIV. $aUa!b contintteb. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. Though the birds have stilled their singing ; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf. Before Lord Richard stands, And, as he crossed and blessed himself, " I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, ♦ ' That is made with bloody hands. " 166 I'm \m too w no tl5 pi 1 1 166 SCOTT. But out then spoke slie, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear, — **And if there's blood upon his hand, *Tis but the blood of deer." — " Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood. The blood of Ether t Brand." Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign, — '* And if there's blood on Richard's hand, A spotless hand is mine. "And I conjure thee, Demon elf, By Him whom Demons fear, To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here ? " — 825 830 835 XV. Ipallab fontittucb. *"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing : *' And gayly shines the Fairy. land — But all is glistening show, Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow. "And fading, like that varied gleam. Is our inconstant shape, 810 848 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, Who now like knight and lady seem, And now like dwarf and ape. "It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away To the joyless Elfin bower. "But wist I of a woman bold. Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould, As fair a form as thine." She crossed him once— she crossed him twice That lady was so brave ; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She crossed him thrice, that lady bold ; He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish mould Her brother, Ether t Brand ! Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, When all the bells were ringing. XVI. Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed, A stranger climbed the steepy glade ; His martial step, his stately mien, His hunting-suit of Lincoln green, His eagle glance, remembrance claims— 107 •80 SfiS an S65 870 871 168 SCOTT. *Tis Snowdoiin's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream, Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream: 880 *' Stranger ! in such hour of fear What evil hap has brought thee here ? " — "An evil hap how can it be That bids me look attain on thee ? By promise bounJ, my former guide 888 Met rae betimes this morning-tide, And marshalled, over bank and bourne, The happy path of my return," •'The happy path ! — what ! said he naught Of war, of battle to be fought, 890 Of guarded pass?" — " No, by my faith ! Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." — "0 haste thee, Allan, to the kern, — Yonder his tartans I discern ; Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 888 That he will guide the stranger sure ! — What prompted thee, unhappy man ? The meanest serf in Roderick's clan Had not been bribed, by love or fear. Unknown to him to guide thee here." — 400 W I XVII. •' P-veet Ellen, dear my life must be, Sin- e it is woi-thy care from thee ; Yet life I hold but idle breath When love or honour's weigned with death. Then let me profit by my chance, And speak my purpose bold at once. I come to bear thee from a wild Where ne'er before such blossom smiled, 4afi I'lt Ji THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 169 By this soft hand to lead thoe far From frpiitic scenes of feud and wcr. HO Near Bochastle my horses wait ; They bear us soon to Stirling gate. I'll place thee in a lovely bower, I'll guard thee like a tender flower — " *' O hush, Sir Knight ! 'twere female art, US To say I do not read thy heart ; Too much, before, my selfish ear Was idly soothed ray praise to hear. That fatal bait hath lured thee b'lck. In death fill hour, o'er dangerous track ; 100 And how, how, can I atone The wreck my vanity brought on 1 — One way remains — I'll tell him \\.\\. — Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 4W Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! But first — my father is a man Outlawed and exiled, under ban ; The price of blood is on his head, With me 'twere infamy to wed. 430 Still would'st thou speak? — then hear the truth ! Fitz-James, there is a noble youth, — If yet he is ! — exposed for me And mine to dread extremity — Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 4SS Forgive, be generous, and depart !" XVIII. Fitz-James knew every wily train A lady's fickle heart to gain, But here he know and felt them vain. 170 SCOTT. There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 440 To give her steadfast speech the lie ; In maiden confidence she stood, Though mantled in her cheek tlie blood. And told her love with such a sigh Of deep and hopeless agony, 44fi As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, But not with hope fled sympathy. He proffered to attend her side, 450 As brother would a sister guide. — *' O little know'st thou Roderick's heart ! Safer for both we go apart. O haste thee, and from Allan learn If thou may'st trut»t yon wily kern." 46ft With hand upon his forehead laid, The conflict of his mind to shade, A parting step or two he made ; Then, as some thought had crossed his brain, He paused, and turned, and came again. 460 XIX. '" Hear, lady, yet a parting word ! — It chanced in fight that m>' poor sword Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. This ring the grateful Monarch gave, And bade, when I had boon to crave, To bring it back, and boldly claim The recompense that I would name, Ellen, I am no courtly lord. But one who lives by lance and sword. Whose castle is his helm and shield, 46ft 470 il THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 171 His lordship the embattled field. What from a prince can I demand, Who neither reck of state nor land ? Ellen, thy hand— the ring is thine ; Each guard and usher knows the sign. 47ft Seek thou the King witljout delay ; This signet shall secure thy way : And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, As ransom of his pledge to me." He placed the f»;olden circlet on, 480 Paused— kissed her hand — and then was gone. The aged Minstrel stood aghast, So hastily Fitz-James shot past. He joined his guide, and wending down The rid<53s of the mountain brown, 486 Across the stream they took their way That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 1 1 XX. All in the Trosachs' glen was still, Noontide was sleeping on the hill : Sudden his guiu whooped loud and high — 490 '♦ Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? " — He stammered forth, — " I shout to scare Yon raven from his dainty fare." He looked — he knew the raven's prey, His own brave steed :— " Ah ! gallant grey ! 4D5 For thee — for me, perchance— 'twere well We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. — Murdoch, move first — but silently ; Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die ! " — Jealous and sullen on they fared, 500 Each silent, each upon his guard. 172 SCOTT, XXI. Now wound the path its dizzy ledge Around a precipice's edge, When lo ! a wasted female form, Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, fios In tattered weeds and wild array, Stood on a clifE beside the way, And glancing round her restless eye Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy. ftio He. brow wao wreathed with gaudy broom ; With gesture wild she waved a plume Of feathers, which the eagles fling To crag and cliff from dusky wir^g ; Such spoils her desperate step hud sought, 515 Where scarce was footing for the goat. The tartan plaid she first descried, And shrieked till all the rocks replied ; As loud she laughed when near they drew, For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 580 And then her hands she wildly wrung. And then she wept, and then she sung — She sung ! — the voice, in better time, Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; And now, though strained and roughened, f ■• 625 Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. XXII. Song. They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, They say my brain is warped and wrung — I cannot sleep on Highland brae, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 178 I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 880 But were I now where Allan glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides, So sweetly would I rest, and pray That Heaven would close ray wintry day ! 'Twas thus my hair they bade me bra-d, A8& They made me to the church repair ; It was my bridal morn they said, And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile That drowned in blood the morning smile ! 540 And woe betide the fairy dream I I only waked to sob and scream. XXIII. '.' Who is this maid ? what means her lay ? She hovers o'er the hollow way, And flutters wide her mantle grey, 545 As the lone heron spreads his wing. By twilight o'er a haunted spring." — " 'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, " A crazed and captive Lowla^".! maid, Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 560 When Roderick forayed Devan-side. The gay bridegroom resistance made, And felt our Chief's unconquered blade. I marvel she is now at large. But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. — 555 Hence, brain-sick fool ! "—He raised his bow : — " Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far A.S ever peasant pitched a bar ! " — 1 . 'T 174 SCOTT. (( Thanks, champion, than4cs !" the Maniac cried, noo And pressed her to Fitz-James's side. See the grey pennons I prepare, To seek my true love tin ough tlie air ! I will not lend that savage groom. To break his fall, one downy plume ! 60* No ! — deep amid disjointed stones. The wolves shall batten on his bones, And then shall his detested plaid, By brush and brier in mid-air sta3'ed, Wave forth a banner fair and free, 670 Meet signal for their revelry." — XXIV. '*Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still ! "— '* O ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. — Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green ; And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 675 ( ( For my sweet William was forester true. He stole poor Blanche's heart awa}- ! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, And so blithely he trilled the lowland lay! 58j ' ' It was not that I meant to tell . . . But thou art wise and guessost well." — Then, in a low and broken tone. And hurried note, the song went on. Still on the Clansman fearfully She fixed her apprehensive eye. Then turned it on the Knight, and then Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 38ft THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 175 XXV. **The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, — 590 Ever sing merrily, merrily ; The bows they bend and the knives they whet, Hunters live so ciieerily. "It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing his branches sturdily ; 605 He came stately down the glen, — Ever sing hardily, hardily, " It was there lie met witli a wounded doSi She was bleeding deathfullj' ; Slie warned him of the toils below, WO O, so faithfully, faithfully ! " He had an eye, and he could heed, — Ever sing warily, warily ; He had a foot, and he could speed, — Hunters watch so narrowly." 605 ' i XXVT. Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed, When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ; But Murdocli's shout suspicion wrought, And Blanche's song conviction brought. — Not like a stag that spies the snare. But lion of the hunt aware, He waved at once his blade on high, " Disclose thy treachery, or die ! " — Forth at full speed the Clansmen flew, But in his race his bow he drew. The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast. — 610 61S 176 SCOTT. Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed, For ne'er had Alpine's son such need ; With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 620 The fierce avenger is behind ! Fate judges of the rapid strife — The forfeit death,— the prize is life ! Thy kindred ambush lies before, Close crouched upon the heathery moor ; 625 Them could 'st thou reach ! — it may not be — Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! — Resistless speeds the deadly thrust. As lightning strikes the pine to dust ; flso With foot and hand Fitz- James must strain, Ere he can win his blade again. Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye. He grimly smiled to see him die ; Then slower wended back his way, 6S5 Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. XXVII. She sat beneath the birchen tree, Her elbow resting on her knee ; She had withdrawn the fatal shaft. And gazed on it, and feebly laughed ; Her wreath of broom and feathers grey. Draggled with blood, beside her lay. The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried, — *' Stranger, it is in vain ! " she cried. "This hour of death has given me more Of reason's power than years before ; For, as these ebbing veins decay, My frenzied visions fade away. 840 645 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 177 A lielpless injured wretch I die, And something tells me in thine eye, 650 That thou weit mine avenger born. — Seest thou tliis tress?— O, still I've worn This little tress of yellow hair, Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! It once was bright and clear as thine, 655 But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. I will not tell thee when 'twas shred, Nor from what guiltless victim's head — My brain would turn ; but it shall wavt Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 660 Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, And thou wilt bring it me again. — I waver still ! — O God ! more bright Let reason beam her parting light ! — O, by thy knighthood's honoured sign, 665 And for thy life preserved by mine. When thou shalt see a darksome man, Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan, With tartans broad and shadowy plume, And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 670 Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong ♦ — They watch for tliee by pass and fell . . . Avoid the path . . . O God ! . . . farewell." XXVIII. A kindly heart had brave Fitz- James ; Fast poured his eyes at pity's claims ; And now, with mingled grief and ire, He saw the murdered maid expire. "God, in my need, be my relief. 675 !!' 178 SCOTT. As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! " 680 A lock from Blanche's tresses fair \ He blended with her bridegroom's hair; The mingled braid in blood he dj'ed, And placed it on his bonnet-side : "By Him whose word is truth ! I swear, 68ft No other favour will I wear, Till this sad token I imbrue In the best blood of. Roderick Dhu ! — But hark ! what means yon faint halloo V The chase is up, — but they shall know, gdo The stag at bay's a dangerous foe," Barred from the known but guarded way, Through copse and cliffs Fitz- James must stray, And oft must change his desperate track, By stream and precipice turned back. («»'. Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, From lack of food and loss of strength. He couched him in a thicket hoar, And thought his toils and perils o'er : — '* Of all my rash adventures past, 7oo This frantic feat must prove the last ! Who e'er so mad but might have guessed, That all this Highland hornet's nest Would muster up in swarms so soon As e'er they heard of bands at Doune V— 70ft Like bloodhounds now they search me out, — Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! — If farther through the wilds I go, I only fall upon the foe : I'll couch me here till evening grey, no Then darkling try my dangerous way." THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 179 XXIX. The shades of eve corne slowly down, The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, The owl awakens from her dell, The fox is heard upon the fell ; * 716 Enough remains of glimmering light To guide the wanderer's steps aright, Yet not enough from far to show His figure to the watchful foe. With cautious step, and ear awake, 720 He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; And not the summer solstice there Tempered the midnight mountain air, But every breeze that swept the wold Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 725 In dread, in danger, and alone, Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, Tangled and steep, he journeyed on ; Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, A watch-fire close before h. a burned. 780 XXX. Beside its embers red and clear. Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; And up he sprung with sword in hand, — "Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! ** — " A stranger."— " What dost thou require?" — 73!^ " Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost, The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." — ** Art thou a friend to Roderick ?"—" No."— " Thou darest not call thyself a foe ? " — 740 * * I dare ! to him and all the band I 180 SCOTT, He brings to aid his miirderQus hand." — " Bold words !— but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, 74ft Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever recked, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure tliey lie, Who say thou earnest a secret spy ! " — 750 •• They do, by Heaven !— come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two, And let me but till morning rest, I write the falsehood on their crest." — "If by the blaze I mark aright, 766 Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight." — "Then by these tokens may'st thou know Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — "Enough, enougii ; sit down and sliare A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 760 XXXI. He gave him of his Highland cheer, The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; Dry fuel on the fire he laid. And bade tiie Saxon share his plaid. He tended him like welcome guest, Then thus his further speech addressed. '* Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu A clansman born, a kinsman true ; Each word against his honour spoke Demands of me avenging stroke ; Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said, A mighty augury is la'd. 766 770 fini THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 181 It rests with me to wind my horn, — Thou art with numbers overborne ; It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 776 Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, Will I depart from honour's laws ; To assail a wearied man were shame. And stranger is a holy name ; 78o Guidance and rest, and food and fire, In vain he never must require. Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; Myself will guide thee on the way, O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 785 Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, As far as Coilantogle's ford ; From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — •'I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, As freely as 'tis nobly given ! " — 790 " Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." With that he shook the gathered heath, And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; And the brave foemen, side by side, 79.^ Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, And slept until the dawning beam Purpled the mountain and the stream. J:ht, Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! — — But hate and fury ill supplied 42.'i Tiie stream of life's exhausted tide. And all too late the advantage came To turn the odds of deadly game ; For, while the dagger gleamed on higli. Reelec oul and sense, reeled brain anil eye. 430 Down came the blow ! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; Un wounded from the dreadful close, i^f^ But breathless all, Fitz- James arose. XVII. He faltered thanks to Heaven for life. Redeemed, unlioped, from desperate strife; THE LADY OF THE LAKE. m Next on his foe his look lie cast, Whose every gasp appeared his last; 440 In Roderick's gore he dipped the hraid, — " Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid ; Yet with thy foe must die. or live, Tho praise that Faith and Valour give." With that he blew a bngle-nore, 44.1 Undid the collar from his throat, Unbonneted, and by the wave Sate down his brow and hands to lave. Then faint afar are heard the feet Of rushing steads in gallop fleet ; 4fio The sounds nicrease, and now are seen Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; Two who bear lance, and two who lead, By loosened rein, a saddled steed ; Eitch onward held his headlong course, «5 And by Fitz-James reined up his horse, — With wonder viewed the bloody spot — — "Exclaim not, gallants ! question not, — You. Herbert and Luffness, alight. And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 460 Let the grey palfrey bear his weight. We destined for a fairer freight, And bring him on to Stirling straight; I will before at better speed, To seek fresh horse'and fitting weed. 4ffi The sun rides high ; — I must be boune To see the archer-game at noon ; But lightly Bayard clears tl e lea. — De Vaux and Herries, follow me. \» 202 SCOTT. And noble dame and damsel bright, Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay Of the steep street and crowded way. — But in the train you might discern Dark lowering brow and visage stern ; There nobles mourned their pride restrained, And the mean burgher's joys disdained ; And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, Were each from home a banished man. There thought upon their own grey tower, Their waving woods, their feudal power, And deemed themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 600 605 XXII. Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their chequered bands the joyous rout. eio There morricers, with bell at heel, And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; But chief, beside the butts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band, — Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, 616 Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone. Scarlet, and Mutch, and little John ; Their hugles challenge all that will, In archery to prove their skill. 620 The Douglas bent a bow of might, — His first shaft centred in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain. From the King's hand must Douglas take 625 A silver dart, the archer's stake ; THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 203 Fondly he watched, with watery eye, Some answering- glance of sympathy, — No kind emotion made reply ! Indifferent as to archer wight. The Monarch gave the arrow bright. 610 I' XXIII. Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand, The manly wrestlers take their stand. Two o'er the rest superior rose, And proud demanded mightier foes. Nor called in vain, for Douglas came. — For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, Whom senseless home his comrades bear. Prize of the wrestling match, the King To Douglas gave a golden ring, While coldly glanced his eye of blue, As frozen drop of wintry dew. Douglas would speak, but in his breast His struggling soul his words suppressed ; Indignant then he turned him where Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, To hurl the massive bar in air. When each his utmost strength had shewn, The Douglas rent an earth- fast stone From its deep bed, then heaved it high, And sent the fragment through the sky A rood beyond the farthest mark ; — And still in Stirling's royal park. The grey-haired sires, who know the past, To strangers point the Douglas-cast, MO 645 6B0 655 204 SCOTT. And moralize on the decay Of Scottish strength in modern day. ■^ II %\ XXIV. The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. ewi The King, with look unmoved, bestowed A purse well filled with pieces broad. Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, And threw the gold among the crov.'d, Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, 660 And sharper glance, the dark grey man ; Till whispers rose among the throng. That heart so free, and hand so strong. Must to the Douglas blood belong ; The old men marked and shook the head 67(i To see his hair with silver spread, And winked aside, and told each son Of feats upon the English done, Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand "Was exiled from his native land. 67;') The women praised his stately form, Though wrecked by many a winter's storm ; The youth with awe and wonder saw^ His strength surpassing Nature's law. Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 68O Till murmurs rose to clamours loud. But not a glance from that proud ring Of peers who circled round the King With Douglas held communion kind, Or called the banished man to mind ; 685 No, not from those who, at the cliase, Once held his side the honoured place, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 205 Bogirt his board, and, in tlie field, Found safety underneath his shield ; I'or he, whom royal eyes disown. When was his form to courtiers known I 680 XXV. The Monarch saw the gambols flag, And bade let loose a gallant stag, Whose pride, the holiday to crown, Two favourite greyhounds should pull down, That venison free and Bordeaux wine Might serve the archerv to dine. But Lufra,— whom from Douglas' side Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, The fleetest hound in all the North, — Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. She left the royal hounds mid-way, And, dashing on the antlered prey, Sunk lier sharp muzzle in his flank. And deep the flowing life-blood drank. Tne King's stout huntsman saw the sport By strange intruder broken short. Came up, and, with his leash unbound, In anger struck the noble hound. — The Douglas had endured, that morn, The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, And last, and worst to spirit proud, Had borne the pity of the crowd ; But Lufra had been fondly bred. To share his board, to watch his bed, And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck. In maiden glee, with garlands deck ; They were such playmates, that with name 700 706 710 715 i If 11 206 SCOTT. Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. His stifled wrath is brimming liigli, In darkened brow and flashing eye ; — As waves before the bark divide, The crowd gave way before his stride ; Needs but a buffet ai d no more, The grooiii lios senseless in his gore. Such blow no other hand could deal, Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 720 72ft XXVI. Then clamoured loud the royal train, And brandished swords and staves amain. But stern the Baron's warning—" Back ! 780 Back, on your lives, ye meninl pack ! Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold. King James ! The Douglas, doomed of old, And vainly sought for near and far, A victim to atone the war, 73ft A willing victim now attends. Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." — " Thus is my clemency repaid ? Presumptuous Lord ! " the Monarch said ; *' Of tliy mis-proud, ambitious clan, /40 Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, The only man, in whom a foe My woman-mercy would not know ; But shall a Monarch's presence brook Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 74ft What ho ! the Captain of our Guard ! Give the offender fitting ward. — Break off the sports ! " — for tumult ro.se, And 3'eomen 'gan to bend their bows, — THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 207 *' Break off the sports !" he said, and frowned, 7.10 *' And bid our horsemen clear the ground." XXVII. Then uproar wild and misarray Marred the fair form of festal day. The horsemen pricked among the crowd, Repelled by threats and insult loud ; 7r>5 To earth are borne the old anl weak, The timorous fly, the women shriek ; With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, The hardier urge tumultuous war. At once round Douglas darkly sweep 760 The royal spears in circle deep. And slowly scale the pathway steep ; While on the rear in thunder pour The rabble with disordered roar. With grief the noble Douglas saw 76r> The Commons rise against the law. And to the leading Foldier said, — " Sir John of Hyndford, 'twas my blade That knighthood on tliy shoulder laid ; For that good deed permit me then 77© A word with these misguided men. — ( ( XXVIII. Hear, gentle friends, ere yet for me Ye break the bands of fealty. My life, my honour, and my cause, I tender free to Scotland's laws. Are these so weak as must require The aid of your misguided ire ? Or, if I sufTer causeless wrong, 776 SCOTT. Is then my selfish rage so strong, My sense of public weal so low, 780 That, for mean vengeunco on a foe, Those cords of love I should unbind Which knit my country and my kind ? ; no ! Believe, in yonder tower It will not soothe my captive hour, 78.') To know those spears our foe should droad For me in kindrod gore are red ; ?» To know, in fruitless brawl bogun, For me that mother wails her son ; For me that widow's mate expires ; im For me that orphans weep their sires ; That patriots mourn insulted laws, And curse the Douglas for the cause. O let your patience ward such ill, And keei our right to love me still I ^ ■ tus t-:M i\\ XXIX. ;,.; ;. The crowd's wild fury sunk again In tears, as tempests melt in rain. With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed For blessings on his generous head, Who for his country felt alone. And prized her blood beyond his own. Old men upon the verge of life Blessed him who stayed the civil strife ; And mothers held their babes on high, The self-devoted Chief to spy, Triumphant over wrongs and ire. To whom the prattlers owed a sire. Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; As if behind some bier beloved. 8l^> SOfi THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 209 With trailiiii; arms and drooping head, gio The Dou«>h>s up the hill he led, And at the Castle's hattled verge, With sighs resigned his honouied charge. XXX. The offonded Monarcii lode apart, With hi Iter thoughts and swelling heart, 8U And would not now vouchsafe again Through Stirling streets to lead his train. "O Lennox, who would wish to rule This cliangeling crowd, this common fool? Hear'st thou," he said, • the loud acclaim 820 With which thej' shout the Douglas name? With like accLiim the vulgar throat Strained for King James their morning note; With like acclaim they hailed the day When first I broke the Douglas sway ; 825 And like iicclaim would Douglas greet, If he could hurl mo from my seat. Who o'er tie herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, 8Su And fickle as a changeful dream ; Fantastic as a woman's mood. And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. Thou many-headed monster-thing, who would wisli to be thy king I — 835 XXXI. "But soft ! what messenger of sj^eed Spurs hitherward his panting steed? 1 guess his cognizance afar — iLS, 210 SCOTT. What from our cousin, John of Mar?"— ■ "He pi'uys, my liege, your sports keep Louiid rid "Within the safe and guarded ground : For some foul purpose yet unknown, — Most sure for evil to the tlirone, — The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Has summoned his rehellious crew ; 846 'Tis said, in James of Botliwell's aid These loose banditti stand arrayed. The Earl of Mar, tliis morn, from Doune To break their muster marched, and soon Your Grace will hear of battle fouglit ; 8M) But earnestly' the Earl besought, Till for such danger he provide. With scanty train you will not ride." If XXXII. " Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, - I should have earlier looked to this ; I lost it in this bustling day. < — Retrace with speed thy former way ; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, We do forbid the intended war ; Roderick, this morn, in single fight, Was made our prisoner by a knight, And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel. For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. 866 86U 8U5 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Bear Mar our message, Braco ; fly ! " — He turned his steed, — "My liet;o, I liie, Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, I fear the broadswords will be drawn." The turf the flying courser spurned, And to his towers the Kinj; returned. 211 MO t75 XXXIII. Ill with King James's mood that day Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; Soon were dismissed tlie courtly throng, And soon cut short the festal song. Nor less upon the saddened town 880 The evening sunk in sorrow down. The burghers spoke of civil jar. Of rumoured feuds and mountain war, Of Moray, Mar, and Iloderick Dhu, All up in arms ; — the Douglas too, 885 They mourned him pent within the hold, " Where stout Earl William was of old." — And there his word the speaker stayed, And finger on his lip he laid, Or pointed to his dagger blade. 8B0 But jaded horsemen from the west At evening to the Castle pressed ; And busy talkers said they bore Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore} At noon the deadly fray begun, 8B5 And lastid till the set of sun. Thus giddy rumour shook the town, Till closed the Night her pennons brown. '«'3 212 SC07T, PTIKLING CASILE. I CANTO SIXTH. "^he Oluarb-^oom. Hi \4k I. The sun, awakening, througli tlie smoky air Of the dark city, casts a sullrn glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning studevit pale to leave his pen. And yield his drowsy eyes to tlie kind nurse of men. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 213 What various scenes, and ! what scenes of woe, lO Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream ; ^ The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 15 The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream ; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail. : H: At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, *) While drums with rolling note foretell Relief to weary sentinel. ' Through narrow loop and casement barred. The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, 85 Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone ^ The lights through a.oh of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war. Faces deformed with beard and scar, 80 All haggard from the midnight watch. And fevered with the stern debauch ; ^ For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 96 Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; Some laboured still their thirst to quench ; Some, chilled with v/atching, spread their hands r 214 SCOTT, ■:■■ O'er fche huge chimney's dying brands, While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung. 10 in. These drew not for their fields tha sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, ' Nor owned the patriarchal claim • ^ Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; Adventurers they, from far who roved. To live by battle which they loved. There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace ; so The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air ; The Fleming there despised the soil That paid so ill the labourer's toil ; Their rolls showed French and German name ; 55 And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, * Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield ; 60 In camps licentious, wild, and bold ; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled ; And now, by holy tide and feast, From rules of discipline released, IV. They held debate of bloody fray, 85 Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce wa? their speech, and 'mid their words Th^ir hands oft grappled to their swords ; - iHB THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 215 Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, 70 Whose mangled limbs and bodies gored Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard, Their prayers and feverish wails were heard,— Sad burden to the rufii.ui joke, 75 And savage oath by fury spoke ! — At length up started John of Brent, A yeoman from the ba.iks of Trent ; A stranger to respect or fear, In peace a chaser of the deer, ■ 80 In host a hardy mutineer, But still the boldest of the crew When deed of danger was to do. He grieved, that day, their games cut short. And marred the dicer's brawling sport, 85 And shouted loud, '■ Renew the bowl ! And, while a merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear." <§olbtcr'0 §ong. Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule oo Laid a swinging long ourse on the bonny brown howl, That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack ; Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy liquor, Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar f 95 218 SCOTT. Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, Says that Beelzebub lurks in lier kerchief so sly, And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye ; Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker, ipo Till she bloom like a rose, and a fiy; for the vicar ! Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he not ? For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. io5 Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar ! VI. The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went, — no " Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent ; j; And— beat for jubilee the drum ! — A maid and minstrel with him come." Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarred, Was entering now t Court of Guard, lis A harper with him, a .d, in plaid • All muffled close, a mountain maid, ' > Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous ciew. * " What news ? " they roared : — " I only know, 120. From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untameable As the rude mountains where they dwell ; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast." — i2fi THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 217 " But whence thy captives, friend? Such spoil As theirs must needs reward tliy toil. Old dost thou wax, and w^ars grow sharp ; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, ^ 130 The leader of a juggler band." — ; ■ll ^1 Vll. '• No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, < And, having audience of the Earl, i3f. Mar bade I should purvey tliem steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your roirtli and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm." — " Hear ye his boast V " cried John of Brent. 14(7 Ever to strife and jangling bent ; " ' " Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous niggard grudge To pay the forester his fee ? I'll have iny share, howe'er it be, 145 Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." Bertram his forward step withstood ; And, burning in his vengeful mood, Old Allan, though unfit for strife, Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; _,.- 150 But Ellen boldly stepped between, And dropped p.t once the tartan screen : — So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May, throug]i summer tears. The savage soldiery, amazed, 165 As on descended angel gazed ; .^J ,^-ji-T^>-- ,- -^ \ ■»imn.-*.; m 218 SCOTT. Even hardy Brent, ab. tied and tamed, Stood half admiring, h^^.f ashamed. VIII. Boldly she spoke : — " Soldiers, attend ! My father was the soldier's friend ; 160 Cheered him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled. Not from the valiant, or the strong. Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." — Answei'ed De Brent, most forward still ids In every feat of good or ill, — " I shame me of the part I played ; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid ! An outlaw I by forest laws, And mervy Needwood knows the cause. V^ Poor Rose, — if Rose be living now," — He wiped > is 'ron eye and brow, — " Must bear such age, I think, as thou. — ^ - Hear ye, my matfes ! — I go to call . The Captain of our watch to hall : its There lies my h albert on the floor ; :. And he that steps my halbert o'er ^ ; To do the maid injurious part, ^ My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! — Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 180 '' Ye all know John de Brent. Enough." - ..-.>-y ■'-. ■ ■. ' W. ..,-.---, ^ Their Captain came, a gallant young, — (Of TuUibardine's house he sprung,) Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; ♦ Gay was his mien, his humour light, ' isB L THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 219 And, though by courtesy controlled, Forwjiitf his si)eech, his bearing bold. The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look And dauntless eye ;^and yet, in sooth, 180 Young Lewis was a generous youth ; But Ellen's lovely face and mien, III suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange. And give loose fancy scope to range. 195 " Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid I Come 3'e to seek a champion's aid. On palfrey white, with harper hoar, / Like errant damosel of yore ? Does thy high quest a knight require. Or may the venture suit a squire?" — Her dark eye flashed ; — she paused and sighed, " what have I to do with pride ! — — Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life, ' I crave an audience of the King. Behold, to back my suit, a ring, The royal pledge of grateful claims, Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.** 'Phe signet-r'ng young Lewis took no With deep respect and altered look ; And said, — " This ring our duties own ; And pardon, if to worth unknown, In semblance mean obscurely veiled, Lady, in aught my folly failed, lift Soon as the day flings wide his g&tes, ■ -V S 1 f 220 SCOTT. The King shall know what suitor waits. Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower Repose you till his waking hour ; Female attendance shall obey 180 Your best, for service or array. Permit I marshal you the way." But, ere she followed, with the grace And open bounty of her race, She bade her slender purse be shared ttft Among the soldiers of the guard. The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; But Brent, with shy and awkward look. On the reluctant maiden's hold Forced bluntly back the proffered gold : — 880 "Forgive a haughty English heart, And forget its ruder part ! The vacant purse shall be my share, Which in my barret-cap I'll bear. Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 835 Where gayer crests may keep afar.*' With thanks, — 'twas all she could, — the maid His rugged courtesy repaid. .: I 111 XIII. As the tall ship, whose lofty prore Shall never stem the billows more, Deserted by her gallant band, Amiu the breakers lies astrand, — THE LADY OF Tf/E LAKE. 22H 110 So, on his couch, lay Roilerick Dhu I And oft his fevered limbs lie; threw In toss abrupt, as when her sides Lie rocking in tlic .idvancing tides, That shake hei* frame with ceaseless beat, Yet cannot heave her from her seat; — tl6 O ! how lailike her course at sea ! Or his free step on hill and lea ! — Soon as the Minstrel hecouid scan, — " What of ihy lady ?— of my clan ? — My mother .•' — Douglas? — tell me all ! • iflllt Have they been ruined in my fall? Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here! ;j^; Yet speak, — speak boldly,— Jo not fear." — ' . • (For Allan, who his mood well knew, Was choked with grief and terror too ) — sss "Who fought — who fled '■: — Old man, be brief ; — Some might — for they had lost their Chief. Who basely live? — who bravely died?" — " 0, calm thee, Chief ! " the Minstrel cried, " Ellen is safe . " — "For that thank Heaven ! " 330 " And hopes, are for the Doutilas ^iven; — The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; And for thy clan, — on field or fell, ^ Has never harp of minstrel told Of combat fought so true and bold. Ml Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, Though many a goodly bough is rent." ..;-;.; XIV. , , • The Chieftain reared his form on high, And fever's fire was in his eye; \ But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks ^^^ ; :~T^^^ S40 t: H 1 t ' , ^ ,,j. ' i ^^. ^ t M- 4t IMAGE EVALUATrON TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. ^y ^ /^^ #j^ ^<5 t 1.0 I.I 111.25 i 1.4 Ui jj^B |2.5 •i> Kli 112.2 Site *- 11.6 - 6" -^ ^. VI *V-^ ^5^ 75 PhotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTM.N.r. 14SM (716) t/a-^joa \^ :' ^^■^^^^^^■^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^■it 224 SCOTT. Checkered his swarthy brow and cheeks. — "Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play, With measure bold on festal day, In j'on lone isle, . . . asain where ne'er Shall harper play or warrior hear ! . . . 34a That stirring air that peals on high, O'erDermid's race our victory. — Strike it ! — ^and then, (for well thou canst,) Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced, Fling me the picture of the fight, aw When met ray clan the Saxon might. I'll listen, till my fancy hears The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then For the fair field of fighting men, s.'i.'i And my free spirit burst away, As if it soared from battle fray.*' — The trembling Bard witii awe obeyed, — Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; But soon remembrance of the sight 8flo He witnessed from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awakened the full power of song, And bore him in career along ; — As shallop launched on river's tide, 365 That slow and fearful leaves the side, But, when it feels the middle stream, Drives downward swift us lightning's beam. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 225 THK TUOSSACUS, LOCH ACHUAY, AND liUNVKNUU. XV. Rattle Qi IJJear an guiuc. "The Minstrel came onco more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For, ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — Wliere shall he find, in foreign land. So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — There is no breeze upon the fern, No ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake ; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, 370 87A :VU! 880 226 SCOTT. So darkly glooms yon thunder-clciid, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Beiiledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sounci That mutters deep and dread, t4 Or echoes from the groaning ground TJie warrior's measured tread ? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance too The sun's retiring beams ? — I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star. Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far ! 895 To hero boune for battle-strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years '■': peaceful M»/ One glance at their array ! XVI, "Their light-armed archers far arid nek 400 Surveyed the tangled ground. Their centre ranks, with pike an»t spear A twilight forest frowned. Their barded horsemen in the rear Tiie stern battalia crowned. 405 No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum ; Save heavy tread and armour's clanjijf The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests (a sLctke, 4io Or wave their flags abroad ; |{:!i! THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 227 Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, That shadowed o'er their road. Tiieir vaward scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, 415 Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe ; The host moves like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High-sv/elling, dark, and slow. 420 The lake is passed, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain. Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; And liere the horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen, 4Sft Dive through the pass the aroher-men. XVII. "At once there rose so wild a yell. Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends from heaven that fell Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 480 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaS before the wind of heaven, The archery appear : For life ! for life ! their flight they ply — And shriek, id shout, and battle-cry, 4s.i> And plaids and bonnets waving high. And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursue! ; 440 Before that tide of flight and chase. How shall it keep its rooted place, I,! i il i :< 228 SCOTT, The spearmen's twilight wood ? — * Down, down,* cried Mar, •your lances down ! Bear back both friend and foe ! ' — 44fl Like reeds before the tempest'- frown, That serried grove of lances brown At once lay levelled low ; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 460 ' We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As th'dir Tinchel cows the game ! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.' — XVIII. *• Bearing before them in their course 4fi6 The relics of the archer force, Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan- Alpine come. Above the tide, each broadsword bright Was brandishing like beam of light, 460 Each targe was dark below ; And with the ocean's mighty swing, When heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurled them on the foe. I heard the lance's shivering crash, 465 As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; I iieard the broadsword's deadly clang, As if an hundred anvils rang ! - But Moray wheeled his rearward rank Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank. — ' 4TO — ' My banner-man advance ! I see,' he cried, 'their column shako. — Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, . THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 229 Upcn them with the lance ! ' — The horsemen dashed among the rout, 476 As deer break through the broom ; Their steeds are stout, their swo-ds are out, They soon make lightsome room. Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — Where, w^ere was Roderick then I 480 One blast upon his bugle-horn Were worth a thousand men. And refluent through the pass of fear The battle's tide was poured ; Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 486 Vanished the mountain-sword. As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, Receives her roaring linn, As the dark caverns of the deep Suck the wild whirlpool in, 400 So did the deep and darksome pass Devour the battle's mingled mass ; None linger now upon the plain, Save those who ne'er shall fight again. XIX. '* Now westward rolls the battle's din, That deep and doubling pass within. — Minstrel, away ! the work of fate Is bearing on ; its issue wait, Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. — Grey Ben venue I soon repassed. Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. The sun is set ;— the clouds are met, The lowering scowl of heaven 486 flOO s4ff 280 SCOTT. ni-'i 1 An inky hue of livid blue flOA To the deep lake has given ; Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen Swept o'er the lake, tlien sunk again. I heeded not the eddying; surge, Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge, 610 Mine ear but heard that sullen sound, Which like an earthqv.ake shook the ground, And spoke the stern and desperate strife That parts not but with parting life, Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 616 The dirge of many a passing soul. Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen The martial flood disgorged again, But not in mingled tide ; The plaided warriors of the North i^ High on the mountain thunder forth And overhang its side, While by the lake below appears The darkening cloud of Saxon spears. At weary bay each shatterec' band, .^26 Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; Their banners stream like tattered sail That flings its fragments to the gale, And broken arms and disarray Marked the fell havoc of the day. tm m XX. ** Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, The Saxons stood in sullen trance, Till Moray pointed with his lance. And cried, — 'Behold yon isle !— See ! none are Jeft to gunrd its strand .oai ''HE LADY OF THE LAKE, 231 But women weak, that wring the hand : Tis there of yore the robber band Their booty wont to pile ; — My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, 640 And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war- wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.* — Forth from the ranks a spearman spi'ung, On earth his casque and corslet rung, 645 He plunged him in the wave : — AH sav/ the deed — the purpose know. And to their clamours Benvenue A mingled echo gave ; The Saxons shout their mate to cheer, 880 The helpless females scream for fear, And yells for rage the mountaineer. 'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, Poured down at once the lowering heaven ; A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast, 555 Her billows reared their snowy srest. Well for the swimmer swelled they high. To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail, The vengeful arrows of the Gael. — 56o In vain.— He nears the isle — and lo ! His hand is on a shallop's bow. Just then a flash of lightning came. It tinged the waves and strand with flame ;— I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame, 865 Behind an oak I saw her stand, A naked dirk gleamed in her hand : — It darkened, — but amid the moan Ml I 111 •232 SCOTT. Of waves I heard a dying groan ; — Another flasl) ! — the spearman floats MC A weltering corse beside the boats, And the stern Matron o'er him stood, Her hand and dagger streaming blood. XXI. " 'Revenge ! revenge ! ' the Saxons cried, The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 675 Despite the elemental rage, Again they hurried to engage ; But, ere they closed in desperate fight, Bloody with spurring came a knight, Spru ig from his horse, and from a crag 680 Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. Clarion and trumpet by his side Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, , While, in the Monarch's irame, afar An herald's voice forbade the war, 686 "For Bothwell's lord- and Roderick bold Were both, he said, in captive hold." — But here the lay made sudden stand. The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! — Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 680 How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy : At first, the Chioftain, to the chime, With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong Varied his look as changed the song ; 886 At length no more his deafened ear The minstrel melody can hear ; His face grows sharp, — his hands are clenched. As.if some pang his heart-strings wrenched ; THR LADY OF TVS LAKE. Set are his teeth, his fading eye Is sternly fixed on vacan ^y ; — Thus, motionless and moanless, drew His parting breath stout Roderick Dhu I— ~ Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, While grim and still his spirit passed ; But when he saw that life was fled, He poured his wailing o'er the dead. XXII. Ipamcut. '• And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's shade ! For thee shall none a requiem say ? — For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay, For thee, of Both well's house the stay. The shelter of her exiled line, E'en in this prison-house of thine, I'll wail for Alpine's honoured Pine ! " What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill ! What tears of burning rage shall thrill. When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! There breathes not clansman of thy line, —But would have given his life for thine.- O woe for Alpine's honoured Pine ! " Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — The captive thrush may brook the cage. 2S3 oo ^^^Bl i^^K '$ ei6 1 li (MO 6Sft ■Bfl H: 284 SCOTT. The prisoned eagle dies for rage. Brave spirit, do not acorn my strain ! And, wlien its notes awake again, 880 Even she, so lony; beloved in vain, Shall with my ha»'p her voice combine, And mix her woe and tears with mine, To wail Clan- Alpine's honoured Pine." XXIII. Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 686 Remained in lordly bower apart. Where played, with many-coloured gleams, Through storied pane the rising beams. In vain on gilded roof they fall, And ligiitened up a tapestried wall, 610 And for her use a menial train A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the cliamber gay, Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; Or if she looked, 'twas but to say, 616 With better omen dawned the day In that lone isle, where waved on high The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; Where oft her noble father shared The simple meal her care prepared, 680 While Lufra, crouching by her side, Her station claimed with jealous pride. And Douglas, bent on woodland game, Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grseme, Whose answer oft at random made, 655 The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. — Those who such simple joys have known Are taught to prize them when they're gone. THE r.ADY OF THE LAKE. But sudden, see, she lifts her head f The window seeks with cautious tread. What distant muhic has the power To win her in this woeful hour ? 'Twas from a turrent that o'erliunp Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 235 66n XXIV. Ifap of the Impriaonci) Sw^teman. "My hawk is tired of perch and liood, My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall. I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that's the life is meet for rae. ^' I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing ; These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me. '* No more at dawning mom I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's ej'es, Drive the fleet deer the forest through. And homeward wend with evening dew ; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 60ft •76 685 238 SCOTT. And lay my trophies ai her feet, While fied the eve on wing of glee,- That life is lost to love and me ! '* ir,.,:;. ii: . ; XXV. The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The listener had not turned her head, ew It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, • And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain. «95 ** Oh welcome, brave Fitz- James ! " she said ; "How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt—" "0 say not so ! To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 700 And bid thy noble father live ; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. No tyrant he, though ire and pride May lay his better mood aside. 70.5 Come, Ellen, come !— *tis more than time, He holds his court at moi'ning prime." With beating heart, and bosom wrung, As to a brother's arm she clung. Gently he dried the falling tear, 710 And gently whispered hope and chee? ; Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair and high arcade. Till, at his touch, its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide. 716 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 237 XXVI. Within 'fcwas brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright ; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even, 710 And from their tissue fancy frames AariaJ knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed ; A few faint steps she forward made, Then slow her drooping head she raised, 785 And fearful round the presence gazed ; For him she sought, who owned this state, The di^aded Prince whose will was fate ! — She gazed on many a princely port Might well have ruled a royal court ; 7ao On many a splendid garb she gazed,— Then turned bewildered and amazed. For all stood bare ; and in the room Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's lock was lent ; ns On him eacli courtier's eye was bent ; Midat furs and silks and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green, The centre of the glittering ring, — And Snowdoun'fi Knight is Scotland's King ! 740 XXVII. As wreath of snow on .aountain-breast Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay. And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; Uu 238 SCOTT. •I' li ¥ !8? No word her choking voice commands, — 746 She showed the ring — she clasped her hands. ! not a moment could he brook, The generous Prince, that suppliant look ! Gently he raised her, — and, the while, Checked with a glance the circle's smile ; 750 Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And bade her terrors be dismissed : — •' Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz- James The fealty of Scotland claims. To him thy woes, thj'^ wishes, bring ; 765 He will redeem his signet ring. Ask naught for Douglas ; — y ester even. His Prince and he have much forgiven ; Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 760 We would not, to the vulgar crowd, Yield what they craved with clamour loud ; Calmly we heard and judged his cause. Our council aided and our laws. 1 staunched thy father's death-feud stern 765 With stout De Vaux ard Grrey Glencairn ; And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our Throne. — . But, lovely infidel, how now? What clouds thy misbelieviiig brow? 770 Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; . Thou must confirm this doubting maid." r*!" XXVIII. Then forth the ncble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. The Monarch drank, that happy hour, 775 mi THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 23^ The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — When it can say with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! Yet would not James the general eye On nature's raptures long should pry ; 780 He stepped between — "Nay, Douglas, nay; Steal not my proselyte away ! The riddle 'tis my right to read. That brought this happy chance to speed. — Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 785 In life's more low but happier wa}', 'Tis under name which veils my power, Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. And Normans call me James Fitz-Jan*es. T90 Thug watch I o'er insulted laws, Thus learn to right the injured cause." — Then, in a tone apart and low, — "Ah, little traitress! none ~aust know. What idle dream, what lighter thought, 796 What vanity full dearly bought, Joined to thine eye's darl: witchcraft, drew My spell-bound steps to Benvenue In dangerous hour, and all but gave Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive ! " — 80O Aloud he spoke, — " Thou still dost hold That little talisman of gold, Pledge of my faith, Fltz-James's ring — What seeks fair Ellen of the King?" XXIX. Full well the conscious maiden guessed He probed the weakness of her breast ; 806 340 SCOTT. But with that consciousness there came A lightening of her fears for Grseme. And more she deemed the Monarch's ire Kindled 'gainst him who for her sire 810 Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; And, to her generous feeling Irue, She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. — '* Forbear thy suit ; — the King of Kings Alone can stay life's parting wings. sift I know his heart, I know his hand, Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand : — My fairest earldom would I give To bid Clan- Alpine's Chieftain live ! — Hast thou no other boon to crave ? sao No other captive friend to save? " — Blushing, she turned her from the King, And to the Douglas gave the ring, As if she wished her sire to speak The suit that stalmd her glowing cheek. — 825 "Nay, tv^en, my pledge has lost its force. And stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth ! " — And, at the word, Down kneeled the Grseme to Scotland's Lord. "For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 830 From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, -Who, nurtured undei'neath our smile, Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, And sought amid thy faithful clan A refuge for an outlawed man, sss Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. — Fetters and warder for the Grseme ! " — His chain of gold the King unstrung, The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flun^, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Then gen'V drew the j;littering band, And laid tlie clasp on Ellen's hand. 241 840 Haup of the North, fai'evvell ! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper slrude descending ; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 84A Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from»the fold and lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp ! t61 Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 8B5 Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawned wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. That I o'erlive such w^oes, Enchantress ! is thine own. Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860 Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string I 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter an4 fainter down the rugged dell ; 886 And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — And now, 'tis silent all!— Enchantress, fare thee well! ;:!t ! NOTES ^Hji'' 1 1 r 1 1 i NOTES, WORDSWORTH. TO MY SISTER. Text. The text of this and other poems of Wordsworth is Knight's reprint of Wordsworth's final text of 1849. Various readings of other editions are given, partly from collations, chiefly from Knight's list of variants. Circumstances of composition. — This poem was com- posed in 1798, in front of Alfoxden House (Fen wick note*), and first published in Lyrical Ballads, first ed. The title will be clearer if the earlier title in the edd. 1798-1815 be recalled — "Lines written at a small distance from my house, and sent by my little boy to the person to whom they were addressed." The present title was adopted in 1845. Theme. Ostensibly chronicling a trivial incident in daily life, the poem really develops a fundamental part of the new philosophy of the interaction of nature and human life, which it was Wordsworth's mission to ' proclaim. Page I. My Sister. Dorothy Wordsworth, to whom the lines are addressed, was the younger and only sister of William. She Avas born in 1771, and lived until 1788 with her uncle at Forncett Rectory, Norwich. She became * Wordsworth dictated many memoranda conceining his poems to Miss Fenwick in the year 1843. m- L'46 NOTES. devotedly attached to the poet, and put aside the attrac- tions of the worldly society opou to her to join horsolf to her brother's fortunes. Their life at Racedown, Alfoxden, and (Jrasmere, was one of poverty and self-denial, joined with high intellectual and emotional delight in nature and poetry. In 1832 her mind was affected and she re- mained an invalid till her death in 1855. See also p. xviii. Coleridge describes Dorothy Wordsworth: — "She is a woman indeed, in mind I mean, and heart; for her person is such that if you expect to see a pretty woman, you would think her ordinary ; or if you expected to see an ordinary woman you would think her pretty ; but her manners are simple, ardent, impressive. In every motion her innocent soul outbeams so brightly, that who saw her would say, 'Guile was a thing impossible with her.' Her information various; her life watchful in minutest observation of nature; and her taste i per- fect electrometer." De Quincey's testimony is that'- Some subtle fire of impassioned intellect burned within her." Further study of this admirable woman can be made in Wordsworth's other poems To a Butterfly (both poems), The Sparrow's Nest, Prelude, Bks. xi., xii., xiv., Recluse, and in De Quincey, Lake Poets — Wordsworth, and her own Journals, edited by Knight (Macmillau). 1. 1. — It is the first mild day of March. Cf. the opening of another poem of the same time and place — I heard a thousand blended notes, etc. The season is that of southern England. ^ 1. 2. — before. The punctuation of our text is the read- ing of all standard editions. L 3. — the tall larch. The larch mentioned . . . was standing when I revisited the place in May, 1841, more than forty years after. — Wordsworth. It is now gone. 1. 7. — Moun^^'ins. The Quantock Hills. See Introduc- tion, p. XXi TO MY SISTER. 847 1. 10. — Your morning task. l>orothy'9 Journal at Alfoxdou inakos very clear that the hoiisohold work was done by her — washing, ironing, lianging out linen, going for eggs. McMuoranda of that sort are varied by such records as tl-.is : '"March (>'ih. A pleasant morning, the sea white and bright, and full to the brim. I walked to see Coleridge in the evening. William wont with mo to the wood," etc. Page 2. 1. 13. — Edward. "My little boy messenger on this occasion was the son of Basil Montagu." — Words- worth). This child, the son of a London barrister, was in Wordsworth's cliarge for a few years. See Words- worth's Anecdote for Fathers. 1. 17. — No joyless forms. Note the reaction from even the calendar of civilization. I. 23. — From earth to man, from man to earth. The eternal dialogue of the spirit of man and the spirit of the universe — Wordsworth's essential terching. This is more definitely taught in the Influence of Natural Objects^ where he tells how the Soul of the universe wove into his being the '' helpful passions " of life through intercourse in soli- tude amidst woods, hills, and quiet lakes. One feels the same thought current in Nutting. II. 25-6.— One moment now . . . toiling reason. A further development of Wordsworth's philosophy. The spirit of man that is quietlj' receptive of the influences of nature, may gain from it, he held, more truth and strength than froi \ the study of books or human affairs. The same theory is the basis of the four poems that follow this and others such as Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower and, in part. The Highland Girl. Thoreau, the recluse of Walden, believed the theory. Rousseau is largely re- sponsible for this belief in the high efficacy of nature as a teacher of humanity. Wordsworth's views in this respect are derived, with large modifications, from Eousseau. •-MS NOTES. Their value lias l)cou criticiseitation there is seen As journty thither. but such I. 17.— Appears. Until 1827— There is. II. 18 f.— And to that simple object. The reading of 1836. This first ran — 1800. And to that place a story appertains, Winch, thouf^li it be un^arn slied with events, Is not untit . . . 1. 22.— Of those domestic tales. Till 1827 this read— The earliest of tliose talcs that spake to me. 260 t/OTES. li 11. 28f. — men... I already loved. Wordsworth tells us in The Prelude, viii,, — "That noticeable kindliness of heart Spranj? out of toiintuin.s, there atioundin^ir most, Where sovereij?n Nature dietated the tasks And occupations which hor beauty ndorued, And Shepherds were the men that pleased me first," 1. 23. — Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys. Wordswortli eNowhoro piyH duo tribute to mon like Michnel — the dales- men of (Jrasmoro : — Labour here preserves His rosy face, a servant only hero Of the fireside or of the open field, A Freeujan, therefore, sound and unimpaired I Tiiat exti\iHic penury is hero unknown... Where kindred independence of estate Is prevalent, where ho who tills the field, He, happy man ! is master of the field, And treads the mountains widch his Fathers trod. —The Recluse. Page 13. 1. 40. — Grasmere Vale. " There was a quiet splen- dour, almost grawdeur, about Grasmere Vale, such as I had not seen else whore, — a kind of monumental beauty and dig- nity that agreed well with one's conception of the loftier strains of the poet. It is not too much dominated by mountains, though shut in on all sides by them ; that stately level floor of the valley keeps them back and de- fines them, and they rise from its outer margin like rug- ged, green-tufted, and green-draped walls. "-^John Bur- roughs, Fresh Field s. 1.50. — Tkie South ... subterraneous music. The prelude of a storm from the sea. Elsewhere the poet describes the same phenomenon — I would stand, If nigtit blackened with a coming storm, Beneath some rock, listening: to notes that are The {ghostly lanuruage of the ancient earth, Or make tlieir dim al)ode in^distant Avinds. Tlie Prelude, ii. MIC HA EI,. 261 Page 14. I. ()(>.— The hills, which with vigorous step. Till 183(> thirf ran— The hills, which he so oft Hiul elimlHrd witli vigorous steps. II. 72fT.— linking to such acts... those hills. Till 1827 this read, — Linl i- nds in the village of Ings. .. The free scluxd was endowed with land in li Milton. The Shakh- PEKIAN SONNET arranges its rimes ahah cdcd efef fjff, and the whole rhythm progresses with almost even force through its fourteen lines till clinched and ended in the concluding couplet. The Miltonic sonnet agrees with the Shaksperian in preserving an unbroken continuity of riiythm throughout, but differs from i - in rime-structure. Its rimes in the first eight lines are abba ahba, but the last six lines rime with great freedom, always however avoid- ing a final couplet. The normal Italian or Petrarcan SONNET, while similar to the Miltonic sonnet in rime- order, differ"^ from it and the Shaksperian sonnet in the peculiar movement of its rhythm. The poem is broken into a " octave " (first eight lines) and a '' sestet " (last six lines), and the melody rising with the major part, subsides and dies away in the minor ; so that it may fitly be described in these lines : » A sonnet is a wave of melody : From heavinj? waters of the 'mpa?sloned soul A biilo'.v of tidal music one and whole Flows in the "octave," then ri'turniuf^ free, Its ebbinj^ surj?es in the " sestet " roll Back to the deeps of Life's tumultuous sea. — Theodore \Vatti<. These three forms — the Shaksperian, the Miltonic, and the Petrarcan Sonnet — ai'o the standard lornis of English ! j I i NOTES. sonnets. While tliey have formal differences, they agree in requiring that the poem bo of fourteen decasyllabic linos, the evolution of one single thought or emotion, in- evitable in its progress, full of thought, dignity, repose, and splendidly sonorous — Snrelling loudly Up to its climax, and ttien dying proudly, ns Keats said. Examples of Shaksperian, Mil tonic, and Petrarcaii sonnet-forms will be found in the Appendix. Wordsworth's sonnets, it will be seen, bear the closest relationship to Milton's, though often tlie Petrarcan rhythm is observed. " In the cottage at Town-end, Cras- mere," said the poet, "one afternoon in 1801, my sister read me the Sonnets of Milt. a.. T ■^vas particularly struck on that occasion by tho di^uilied simplicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of them, — in character so totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's fine Sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced three Sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote, except an irregular one at school." — Pen wick note to Happy the Feeling. Theme. "How simple are the elements of these de- lights! There is nothing here except fraternal alTec- tion, a sunrise, a sunset, a flock of bright wild flowers; and yet the sonnets on Weiitminster Br>" • and Calais Sandu, and the stanzas on the Daffodils, hi ' iken their place among the permanent records of tho r loundost human joy." — Myers. Page 28. 1. 12. — with many & feat. The poet was not blind to the evils of contemporary England — its reactionary spirit before the prospect of liberal reform, its commercial- ism, its union with the monarchial powers of Europe against France. See the sonnets of this period : Written COMPOSED ON THE BEACH, CALAIS. 2G7 in London, September, 1<902, Milton ! thou should^d he liv- ing at this hoar, Great Men have been among us, When 1 have borne in memory ivhat has tamed. This last sonnet seems an answer to the present one. ^See Appendix.) COMPOSED ON THE BEACH NEAR CALAIS. Composition. See note to preceding sonnet. It was published in Poems, 1807. Pag^e 29. 1.1. — It is a beauteous evening. The first reading and the last. 1S36. Air sleeps,— from strife or stir tlie clouds are free. 1812. A fairer face of evening cannot be. 1. 2. — quiet as a nun. The poet had a suggestion pos- sibly from Milton. Rolio quotes — Wlien the prray-hooded Even, Lilte a sad votarist in palmer's weed. —C'oinus, 1. 18i). 1. 5. — is on. Changed in od. 1836 to — broods o'er. 1. 6.— Listen 1 Changed in ed. 1836— But list ! the mig^hty Being^. " In the Sonnet on Calais Beach the sea is regarded . . . with a sympathy . . . which needs no help from an imaginary impersonation, but strikes back to a sense of kinship which seems antecedent to the origin of man." — Myers. 1. 9. — Dear Child. His sister Dorothy. 1. 12.— liest in Abraham's bosom. A biblical metaphor for paradise. See Luke xvi. 22. 1. 13. — Temple's inner shrine. The basis of the fi<;ure is the Hebrew " holy of holies," into which only the high- priest might enter to worship — See Heb. ix. 7. it •268 NOTES. IT IS NOT TO BK TIIOUafIT OF THAT THE FLOOD. Composition. This sonnet belongs to the same period as the precc:Hng. It was composed in 18 )2 or ISOB, and published in The Mornint/ Post, 1808, and Poems, 1807. Page 30. 1 4, — "with pomp of waters." Dovvdeu notes the source of the quotation — Anrtlook how Thames. . . Glides oil with pomp of waters, uiiwithstood. —Daniel, History of the Civil War, ii. vii. I. 5. — Roused thoug^h it be, etc. The reading of 1827. 1807. And bear our freiffhts of worth to foreign lands, Road by which all might come and go that would. TO THE DAISY. Composition. " This, and the other poems addressed to the same flower (i.e. In yotUh from rock to rock I went, and With little here to do or see) were composed at Town-end, Grasmere, during the earlier part of my residence there. I have been censured for the last Hue but one — ' thy func- tion apostolical' — as being little less than profane. How could it be thought so? The word is adopted with refer- ence to its derivation, implying something sent on a mission ; and assuredly this little flower, especially when the suVect of verse, may be regarded, in its humble degree, as administering both to moral and to spiritual purposes." (Fenwick note.) The poet even omitted the stanza containing the line in the edd. 1827, 1832. The poem was composed in 1802. and published in Poems, 1807. Theme. "It is curiously characteristic that Words- worth, who taught his philosophy by examples taken from the field, Michael, Margaret, and their like, should have exercised his fancy upon the blossoms of the hedgerow. In ■ contrast to Tennyson, whose idylls were of the king, and whose honoy was won from roses, Wordsworth went to humble life for his people and his flowers alike. He made beautiful the ' unassuming commonplace of Na- ifli TO THE DA/SY. 269 ture,' and recurred again and again to the daisy, tlio primrose, the violet, and the common pilewort, as par- allel types to his heroes of the plough." — Magnus. Page 31. I- 1- — Bright flower. The reading of 1843. 1817. A pilgrim bold in Nature's care. The ed. of 183G changed the first three lines — Confiding' Flower, by Nature's care, Made bold,— who, lodging here or there. Art all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow. 1. B. — Some concord. The ed. 7u /rev onm viU — a confession at once devout, poetical, and human — a history in the shajjc of a prophecy." 1. 53. — gowans. The Scotch word for daisy ((Jael. gugan, bud, flower, daisy). Cf. We twa hae run alMJiit i\w braes, , And pu'd tlie gowans line. — Burn.s; A%ild Lang Syne. 1. 61. — A Son. Francis Walhieo Dnrns, the second son, who died at the ago of fourteen, on June f)th, 180H. Pag^e 35. 1. 82.— A ritual hymn. One sung with all fitting ceremonial. THOUGHTS SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING. Composition. Dora continues her Journal. — August 19th: — "In our road to Brownhill, the next stage, we passed Ellisland at a littU Ustance on our right, his farm- house. We might have nad more pleasure in looking round, if we had been nearer to the spot ; but there is no thought surviving in connection with Bunis's daily life that is not heart-depressing. Travelled through the Vale of Nith, here little like a vale it is so broad, with irregular hills rising up on each side." In a letter to Profpssor Reed, 1839, Wordsworth ^aid : — " The other day I chanced to bo looking over a MS. poem belonging to the year 1803, though not actually composed till many years afterwards. It was suggested by visiting the neighbourhood of Dumfries, in which Burns had re- sided, and where he died : it concludes thus : Sweet mercy ! to the gates pf heaven, etc., I instantly added — But why to him confine the prayer, etc. ;tl 274 NO'J'ES. Tho nioro I reflect upon this, the more T feol justified in atfciicliing comparatively small impoitance to any liter- ary nioniitiient that I may ho enabled to leave hehind." (Quoted l»y Knight.) The poom was puhlished in 1845. Theme. The thoirio of the preceding poem is hero con- tinued, with the change of scene, to tho associations of Ellisland. In 1788 Burns, enriched by tho successful Edinburgh edition of his ])oems, leased Ellisland, five or six miles above Dumfries. This farm is on the banks of tho Nitli, which was duly celebrated in the poet's verse; but the Ellisland life is chiefly memorable for t'.io composititm of Tant. o' Shanter and Highland Mary. In 1701 Burns, hav- ing failed in his farming of Ellisland, removed to Dum- fries, where ho had a small post as exciseman, and where five years later ho died. Page 36. The Nith. A little rivt r flowing through West Dumfriesshire, through Dumfries, into Solway Firth. 1. 3. — ** The Vision." Burn's poem di'scribing his vision of Coila, tho Scottish muse of poetry, who crowned the poet with holly as she passed away. '* And wear thou this," she solemn said, AmJ l)oun(l the holly round my head : The polished leaves, and berries red, Did rustlin{? play ; • And, like a passing? thought, she fled In light away. , Page 37. 1. 28. — wont. Properly, as here, tho past tonse of " won," to dwell, to be used to (A.S. wuniauy to dwell, re- main). Cf. Talbot is taken whom we wont to fear. —Henry VI., i. ii. 14. 1. 32. — ^Yon far-stre*ching road. Glasgow, past Ellisland, That from Dumfries to THE SOLITARY REAPER. 275 I. 12. — the Schools. Soliolastic, acadoniic training, of which Burns had little ; horo especially tho literary tradi- tions and forms which support, while they restrain, the educated poet. II. 19. — fields in some far clime, etc. An allusion to tho Elysian fields of classical auticiuity, where the shades of the niijjhty dead wandered upon asphodel meadows. Page 38. 1. 62. — when kindred thoughts, etc. Tho struj^gles and aspirations of Burns are significant of the life of all frail mortality, and are tho finest part of their nature ; and all therefore nood the hand of mercy equally. THE SOLITARY REAPER. Composition. See introductory notes to the preceding poems. From Dum.ries tho travellers made their way up Loch Lomond into the Highlands. Passing through the Trossachs, they ascended to tho head of Loch Voil. Dorothy describes the scene : — '• The vale pastoral and unenclosed, not m my dwellings, and but few trees: tho mountains. . .are in large unbroken masses, combining with the vale to give an impression of bold simplicity. " As we descended, tho scene became more fertile, our way being pleasantly varied through coppices or open fields, and passing farm-houses, though always with an intermixture of uncultivated ground. It was harvest- time, and the fields were quietly — might I be allowed to say pensively ? — enlivened by small companies of reapers. It is not uncommon in the more lonely parts of the High- lands to see a single person so employed. The following poem {The SolUary Reaper) was suggested to William by a beautiful sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's Tour in Scot- land.''' Knight has made clear that the sentence in question is i 27e NOTES. from WilkinHon's Tonra to the liritiah Muxmtaina, 1821, which Wordsworth saw in MS. Tho MS. reads : " PasHod by a fomale reaping alone and singing in Erso as aho l)ont over her Hieklo, tho sweetest Ininian voice I over hoard. Her strains wcro tenderly melancholy, and felt deliciou*: long after they were no more hoard." Tho poem was composed between 1803 and 1805, and published in Poenin, 1807. Theme. The poem is tho conf^mmation of Words- worth's genius — theme, imagery, irradiation of imagi- nation, and philosophy of life. " The peculiar province of Wordsworth is that of the covimon a powerful imagi- nation directed upon common objects, and upon the simple incidents of life. What Wordsworth saw or heard or felt was of little consequence ; the important thing was the manlier in which ho saw, heard, and felt, and how he interpreted his sensations." (Legouis.) Page 39. 1. 7. — Vale See above. »te the suggestion of loneliness and even silence the called up here — an experience that peculiarly affected Wordsworth — The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep thai, is among the lonely hills. — Brougham Castle. 1. 13. — A voice so thrilling. The reading adopted in 1836. 1807. No sweeter voice wa8 ever heard. 18.'7. Such thrilliuK voice was never heard. 1.16. — farthest Hebrides. An echo of "the stormy Hebrides " of Lycidos and of — The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. —Milton, On the Death of Damon. m "Milton's suggestive use of proper name is unequalled. " The Song Thrush is asstciated in my memory with the Hebrides . . . When no sound comes on the ear save at intervals the faint murmur of the waves... tho song of ODE TO DUTY, 277 the thrush is poured forth from the summit of some gran- ite block. . , The cuckoo calls to his mate from the cairn on the hill. Again all is silent. The streaks in the channel show that the tide is ohVing ; a thin white vapour is spread over the distant islands." — Macgillivray. • Page 40. 1. 29.— I listened, motionless and still. Till 1820 this read — I listened till I had my fill. 1.80. — And, as I mounted. In 1827 — And when I mounted. 1. 31.— The music in my heart I love. A characteristic ending. Wordsworth insists that such experiences pass into our subconscious life, and permanently affect our natures for good. The close of The Highland Girl, I wan- dered lonely aa a cloud, are further illustrations of this. ODE TO DUTY. Composition. " This ode is on the model of Cray's Ode to Adversity, which is copied from Horace's Ode to Fortune. Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister for having forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern law-giver. Transgressor, indeed, I have been, from hour to hour, from day to day: I ->ould fain hope, however, not more flagrantly or in a worse way than most of my tuneful brethren. But these last words are in a wrong strain. We should be rigorous to ourselves, and forbearing, if not indulgent, to others, and, if we make companions at all, it ought to be with those who have morally excelled us. "Jam non consilio bonus, sed more e6 perductus, ut non tantum rect^ facere possim, sed nisi rect^ facere non possim." (Fenwick note.) ri It i \ i 278 NOTES. This Odo was composed in 1805, and printed in Poema, 1807. A cancollod vorsion, " in all prolxibility tlio first draft," is printed i»y Tutin in liis Wordairorth Dictionary. It is manifostly inferior in qua'ity to tho present one. Page 41.— Ode. Its Form. Tlio word odb ((ik. ode, cbuIo, I ain«?) was primarily applied to achunt sung to musical ac- co:npanitnent. Tho term onibraocd tho triuniplial odes of Pindar as well as tho simpler strains of lyric verso. Tho simpler varieties wore favoured by Latin poets sucli as TTorace and Catullus, and have been most generally imi- tated. English ( des began with Spenser's lofty Epithalamium. written under eitlior Crook or Italian influence; but it was tho classical spirit of Bon Jonson that made tho man- ner popular. Horrick in tho lighter vein, Mi lon in tho grandiose (as in The Nalivitj/), Cowloy, Dryden, and, above all, Gray, in their Pindaric odes (cf. The Bard), Collins in his Horatian imitations (as in Evening ; see Appendix), carried on the history of tho odo through the eighteenth century. With the Romantic revival tho odo was eagerly seized on to embody bho highest passion of an age of lyrical feeling. Abandoning all attempts to imitate the measures of antiquity, tho now pcjots sought after subtle harmonics in cadence, variation in length of line and stanza, and in tho order of the rimes. C( leridgo's France, 1797, "Words- worth'*s Intimnt tons of Jminortality ^ 1808-0, and Duty, 1805, Koats's Nightingale, 1819, Shelley's Skylark, 1820, all show the varied form of tho odo, at Lhe same time that they show tho common element, — " the strain of enthusiastic and exalted lyrical verso, directed to a fixed purpose, and dealing progressively with one dignified theme" (Edmund CJosse). Gray's TTymn to Adversity, upon which this odo is mod- elled, will be found in the Appendix. ODE TO DUTY. 279 1. 1. — Daughter of the Voice of God. So Oray bogins, addrosniiig Advorwifcy an daiightor of .lovo, being of divino ordor, loading" mon to wisdom. Wordswortli's words are siiggostod by biblical ]»asaagos, as wluiii Mosos was to re(5(;i » (! tiu) CoinniiindiiHUits. "(Jod answorod with a voice" (Kx. xix. 19j, JJuty followed from the cominand. 1. H. -light to guide. Cf. Psalms cxix. 105. a rod. . .to reprove. Cf. Provorbs xxix. 15. 1. ;■). — victory and law. Duty amidst tlm tumult of our fears mak'^ clear to us our course following which wo ar<» given victory over our ttirrors. 1. 8.— And calm'st the weary strife. Till 181 5 this road— From strjfo and from despair ; aprlorious ministry. I. 12. —the genial sense of youth. Tlio instinctive im- pul-t(!S of youth, which Wordsworth's philosophy treats as of divino origin. Cf. p 2, 1. 29, and , I moved amonj^ mankind With prcnial f(;»;li:i'^.s .stiil predominant '. Wlien crrinj::, (irrin^' in tlie Ixitter part And in liio Itindcr spirit. — The Vr elude, xl. II. 15f. — Oh I if through confidence misplaced, etc. The reading of ISiiG. 1807 May joy In; thciis wliile life sha!! last ' And tl:oii. if tliey should totter, teacli them to stand fast t 1827. Long may i\v. kindly impulse last ' But thou, if tlxey should iwtter, teach them to stajid fast ! I. 20. —its own secrxity. Needing no outside help to pre- serve it. The impulses of a Juippy nature are just ; joy, therefore, will bo preserved through its very nature. II. 21f.~And they a blissful course, etc. Until 1827 this read— A;:d hleat are they who in the main This faith, even now, do entertain. 51 ill li \ \ 280 NOTES. 1. 23. — this creed. Belief in the sufFering of love and joy. 1. 24. — Yet seek thy firm support. The reading of 1845. 1807. Yet find tluat otlip.r stretiKih, according' to their need. IsaC). Yet find they tirni support, according to their need. I. 25. — untried. In the sense of 1 Peter, tv. 12. Page 42. 1. 27. — being to myself a guide. Thi:^ toach of the poet's personal history is developed in The Prelude, xi. — Personal Liberty Which to the blind restraints of general laws Superior, magisterially adopts One guide, tlie light of circumstances, flashed Upon an indt^pendent intellect. . . wished that Man Should. . .spread abroad the wings of Liberty, Lord of himself, m undisturbed delight. II. '29ff. —And oft when in my heart. . .stray. The read- ing of 1827. 1807. Resolved that nothing e'er should press Upon my present happiness, I shoved unwelcome tasks away. 1815 And oft when in my heart w s heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task imposed from day to day. 1. B7. — unchartered freedom. Liberty not guaranteed hy law — like the liberties of a town not guaranteed by a charter from the Crov/n. Cf. Who have felt the weight of too much liberty. —Wordsworth, Sonnet, Nuv 8 fret not. 1. 40, —that ever. Till 1827— which ever. 1, 45. — Flowers laugh. Wordsworth transfers to Duty iihe gifts of Venus, at the touch of whose feet the earth burst into bloom. il £ LEG/AC STANZAS. 281 ELEGIAC STANZAS. Composition. "Sir George Beaumont painted two pic- tures of this subject (Peele Castle), one of which ho gave to Mrs. Wordsworth, saying that she ought to have it; but Lady Beaumont interfered, and after Sir George's death she gave it to Sir Uvedalc Price, at whose house at Foxley I have seen it." (Fenwick note.) "One of the pictures of ' Peele C«stlo in a Storm ' .... is still in the gallery of Sir George Beaumont at Coleorton Hall." — Knight. The poem was written in 1805, and published in Poems, 1807. Theme. .John Wordsworth, whose tragic death affected Wordsworth so deeply, was a much loved younger bro- ther of the poet. H« was bom in 1772 ; he lived some time at Dove Cottage ; and was drowned off Weymouth in command of the East-Indiaman, " The Earl of Aber- gavenny," 1805. He is " the never- resting Pilgrim of the Sea " in The Prelude. He is in largo part Leonard in The Brothers, and joins with Nelson as the original of The Character of the Happy Warrior. See also Klegiac Stanzas^ 1805 — " The sheep- boy whistled loud, and lo I" The story of his death is thus given by Myers : •' John Wordsworth . . . looked forward to Grasm ere as the final goal to his wanderings, and intended to use his own sav- ings to set the poet free from worldly cares. Two more voyages the sailor made Avith such hopes as those, and amid a frequent interchange of books and letters with his brother at home. Then in February, 1805, he set sail from Portsmouth, in command of the 'Abergavenny' East- Indiaman, bound for India and China. Through the in- competence of the pilot who was taking her out of the Channel, the ship struck on the Shambles, off the Bill of i ■■^ hi Ml 1^' i •" 4. r« . w 282 NOTES. Portland, on February 5, 1805.'' "She struck," says Words- worth, " at 5 p.m. Guns were fired immediately, and were continued to be fired. She was gotten off the rock at half- past seven, but had taken in so much water, in spite of constant pumping, as to be water-logged. 'I hey liad, how- ever, hope that sho might still be run upon Weymouth sands, and with this view continued pumping and bailing until eleven, when she went down. ... A few minutes before the ship went down my brother was seen talking to the first mate with apparent cheerfulness ; and ho was standing on the hen-coop, which is the point from which he could overlook the whole ship, the moment she went down — dj'ing, as he had lived, in the very place and point where his duty stationed him." — Wordsworth, Letter to Sir George Beaumont, March 12, 1805. " Through all Wordsworth's poetry. . .composed bef('re the age of thirty-five, there runs a vein of Optimism. . . Hitherto human sorrow had been to him but a " still sad music" far away. But when, in 1805, Nature, with her night and tempest, drove his favourite brother's ship on the Shambles of Portland Head, and wrecked the life ho greatly loved, then he learned that sho was not always serene, but could be stern and cruel. Then scrrow came home to him, and entered into his inmost soul. . . From thut time on, the sights and sounds of Nature tc ok to Wordsworth a soberer hue, a more solemn tone. The change of mood is grandly expressed in the Elegiac Stanzas on a Picture of PeeleCastfe, where he says that he now could look no more on — A smiling sea and be wluit I liave been. Yet he gives way to no weak or selfish lamentation, but sets himself to draw from the sorrow fortitude for himself, sympathy and tenderness for others : — Then welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sit^lits of what is to be Ixn-ne ; Such sights, or worse, as are before nic liere ; — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. ELEGIAC STANZAS. 283 ii That is manly and nealth-giving sorrow." — Shairp, 0\\ . Poetic Interpretation of Nature. Page 43. Elegiac Stanzas. Elelod hedgerows and the thickly Avcoded banks of streams aro tho favourite haunts of this bird ... It sings incessantly from the pairing-timo in April until tho young aro hatched in Juno. Tho song of tho nightingale has possibly boon ov(n'praised. . . Tho nightingale does not always sing in tho hours of night, as is very po])ularly believed to bo the case ; and it may bo heard warbling at all hours of tho day." — Seobohm, i. 277f. Tho poobs from Aristophanes to the present time have represented the song of the bird as passionately melan- choly, which is, according to tho natui'alists, an instance of transferred emotion. The pronunciation of tho word, it may be added, is nl'tinyCd, and tho derivation, A.S. nihtegale, night's sinp""r. T:.t) stock-dove is tho European wild-pigeon, getting its name from tho erroneous belief that it was the stock or original breed of tho domestic pigeon, or from its habit of resting on tho stocks of trees. It can scarcely bo regarded as a forest bird, though it is partial to well-timbered parks (Soebohm). It is, however, tho pigeon or ring-dove that "Wt)rdsworth really means, since tho stock-dove's song is a grunt (Wintringham, cited by Dowdon). The treatment of the theme is characteristically Words- worthian. Wordsworth is too fine a poet not to recog- nize the superb strains of Nature's best siug-er, but he O NIC 1 1 1 INGA LEI J JJO U S Uf5. In tho 1815 edition only, Wordsworth printed this — A creature of ebullient heart. I. 5. — God of Wine. Bacchus. The inspired priestesses of Bacchus — tho Bacchantes — wore given over to the wildest frenzy in their revels. Tlie nightingale sings her love-song with just such frenzy. 1.6. — Valentine. Lover. The obsolete practice of maids and bachelors drawiiig names on St. Valentine's evo and {)f being each other's valentine lor tho ensuing year, lives on in this souse of the word. 1. 13. — His voice was buried among^ trees. ' ' A metaphor expressing the love of seclusion by which this bird is marked ; and characterizing its note as not partaking of the shrill and piercing, and therefore more easily deadened by the intervening shade ; yet a noto so peculiar, and withal so pleasing, that the breeze, gifted with that love of sound which the Poet feels, penetrates tho shades in which it is entombed, and conveys it to tho ear of the listener." — Wordsworth, Preface to edition of 1815, il f trngt J 20^ NO'JES. 11. 15f. — ccoed .... pensively. Wordsworth says— com- mcntiug on tho line, Over his own sweet voice the stoek-dove broods, — " The stock-dove is said to coo, a sound well imitating the note of the l;)ird, but, by the intervention of tho nietaph(;r hroodu, the affections are called in by tho iniapfination to assist in marking tho manner in which tho bird reiterates and prolongs her soft note, as if herself delighting to listen to it." — Preface to edition of 1815. TO THE UEV. DR. WORDSWORTH. Composition. In 1820 Wordsworth, publishing a series of sonnets on themes suggested by his remembrances of the river Duddon, dedicated the volume to his brother by means of this poem. It was printed in the second edi- tion of the volume. The poem opens with a vignette of life at Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's home from 1813 till his death. Theme. The theme is that of tho man who can rejoice at duty nobly done in crowded cities, but who still feels he has himself cliosen the better part in keeping to the honest simplicity of country life, especially life ennobled by intercourse with nature among the mountains and with the dalesmen, rugged guardians of tho primitive virtues. The Pev. Dr. Wordsworth was Christopher Words- worth, the younger brother of the poet, bcrn at Cocker- mouth in 1774, educated at Hawkshead and Trinity Col- lege, Cambridge, died 1816. Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, and Rector of Uckfield, Sussex. He was made Chaplain of the House of Commons in 181R. At the time of the writing of this poem (1820) he was Rector of Lam- beth parish (see 1. 65). TO THE AEV. DR. VVORDSWORTH. "m Page 52. — The River Duddon rises upon Wrynose Fell, on the confines of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Lanoa- shirb. . .enters the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Walney ond the Lordship of Milium. — Wordsworth note. 1. J . — The Minstrels played. An allusion to the old cus- tom of the " waits," musicians who wont about all night long before Christmas, playing before particular houses, add receiving entertainment from the people thus hon- oured. Page 53. I. 29. — rustic Powers. Influence" • • iountry life other than those of nature — customs, tn »ht.^ . s, manners (1. 55). I. 42. — Sfj "-complacent innocence This repeats, in a more abstract Vi'ay, the picture of the poet's daughter Catherine : — As a fftjifgot sparkles on the hearth-. ' . ,'' Not less if unattended and alone '1 nau when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity ; ,| • J,: V - Even so this happy Creature of herself h .*" r Is all-sufficient, solitude to her i: Is blithe society, who fills the air With g'iadnesa and involuntary song's. —Wordsworth, Characteristics o/a Child Three Years Old. I. 43. —the grave disguise. The Httlo outward courtesy did not betray their feeliTigs. I. 4(). — names once heard. A touch of personal sorrow. In 1812, the poet lost his young children — Thomas, born 1800, and Catherine, born 1808. II. 47f. —Tears brightened ... for infant, A suggestion, perhaps, of the poet's personal loss in 1812, mingled with a recollection of his youngest child, born in 1810. But the picture is a genenil truth of human life. 1. 49. — emerald fields. The moisture of the air in the Lake District is /ery great. The turf is fine and t' k, "the tenderness and freshness of the gn^ou tints v ere something to remember, — the hue of the first springing ': ' ry.«iifcittMf,i»t.-nc;itM^. 294 Notes. April grass, massed and wide-spread in midsummer" (Burroughs). 1. 50, — ambient streams. Encompassing (Lat. amhiens. going about). The streams are the clear-running moun- tain streams about Cockermouth and Hawkshead. Fondly I pursued, Even when a child, the Streams . . . viewed The sullen reservoirs whence their hold l)rood— Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and preen, Poured down the hills, a choral multitude. —Wordsworth, The Elver Duddon, xxvi. 1. 51. — Cytherea'.s zone. Venus Aphrodite (Gk. apkros, foam), the foam-born, was fabled to have sprung from tho sea-foam, and to have been carried by the west wind to the island of Cythera, or Cerigo (hence her name Cytherea). Her zone (Gk. zone^ girdle,) is the ocean foam. 1. 52. — The Thunderer. Jupiter Tonans. 1. 53.— heart of hearts. Cf. Hamlet, iii., ii., 78. Page 54. 1. 55. — Manners. Not knowledge of etiquette, but deep-seated principles of which outward actions are the expression. Cf. Give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. —Wordsworth, London, 1802. 1. 57. — Remnants of love. Subordinate to "manners" (1. 55). The kindly feelings (1. 44) of humanity, once wide-spread, have been supplanted in cities, and now are withdrawn modestly into the seclusion of mountain dales. 1. 65. — Lambeth's venerable towers. The official resi- dence of the Archbishop of Canterbury is the great edifice, Lambeth Palace, built in part in 1244, situated on the banks of the Thames, in the south-western part of London. 1. 70.— And profit by those kindly rays. Cf. Ode on Intiviations of Immortality, especiaiUy stanza ix. — Those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which be they what they may. Are yet the fountain light of all our dav IB* AFTE R- THO UGH T, 295 AFTEE-TIIOTJGHT. Composition. Added as an opilogno to tho Duddon sonnet series. Composed and published in 1820. Theme. Tho transiency of human life set again =t eternal nature— that is the contrast from which so mucli poetry springs. Note tho optimisin. however, that cheers the poet. Comparisons may he drawn from Tennyson's Brook and George Eliot's Choir Invisible. Page 55. 1. 1.— My partner and my guide. See introductory notes to To Dr. Wordsvorth. In the sonnet scries the poet follows tho Duddon from its source to the sea. 1. 2.— As being past away. The concluding sonnet of this series has merged the river in the sea— The Wanderer seeks tliat receptacle vast Where all his unambitious functions fail. 1. 5.— Still glides the Stream ... for ever glide. 'Twill murmur on a tlionsand years, And tlow as now it Hows. —Wordsworth, The, Fonntnin. All which served as a suggestion for Tennyson's well known verses in The Brook. Tho line till 1810 ran— Still glides the stream and shall not cease to glide. \\, 7ff. —While we, the brave, . . . must vanish. "The allusion to the Creek poet will he obvious to the classical reader."— Wordsworth. Professor Jebb refers tho ])as- sage (Knight) to Moscus, 'E/r/ra^/w B/wvof, Dirge for Bion, 11. 103-8.— "Ah me, when the mallow^s wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day they live again, and spring in another year; but wo men, we, tho groat and mighty, or wise, when once we have died, in hollow earth we sleep, gone down into silence ; a right long, and endless, and un- awakening sleep."— tr. Lang. " The ' mallows,' ' parsley,' H m I., 2M NOTES. 'anise' of the Greek poet's garden — vhich are to live again — are represented by Wordsworth's stream, which ' shall forever glide ' " ( Jebb). 1. 10. — something^ from our hands have power. Cf. Wordsworth's estimate of his poetry: "To console the afflicted, to add sunshine to daylight, by making the happy happier ; to teach the young and the gracious of every age to see, to think, and feel, and therefore, to be- come more actively r.nd surely virtuous ; this is their office, which I trust they will faithfully perform, long after we (that is, all that is mortal of us,) are mouldered in our graves." — Wordsworth, Letter to Lady Beaumont, 1807. 1. 14. — We feel that v^re are greater than we know. Wordsworth compares Milton's line — And feel that I am happier than I know. —Varadiae Lost^ viii., 282. SCOEN NOT THE SONNET. Composition. Composed, almost extern p( re, in a short walk on the western side of Rydal Lake (Fenwick note). This was before 1827, when the sonnet appeared in the poet's edition of collected works issued in that year. Theme. See the note on the Sonnet, pp. 2G4iT. The objec- tions to the sonnet are due to its exquisitely wrought form, which seems to check pure and direct expression, and to its narrow field of fourteen lines, which seems to limit thought. The latter objection is met by Wordsworth in the Sonnet — quoted in the Appendix — Nuns fret not at their convenes narrow room. A Renaissance form , too, its revival in the latter half of the eighteenth century may be taken as part of the Romantic movement, and the partisans of the narrow classical school looked upon it with disfavour. Dr. Johnson remarked of it, "The fabric of a sonnet, SCORN NOT 7 HE SONNET. 297 however adapted to the Italian language, has never suc- ceeded in ours, whicli, having greater variety of termina- tion, Tequires the rliyraus to bo often changed." 1. 3. — Shakespeare unlocked his heart. Against Word - worth's belief may bo set Browning's disbelief in Shaks- poro's personal revelation in the Sonnets — With, this same key Shakenpeare unlocked his heart., once more ! Did Sluikspearc ? If so, the less Shak.spearc he ! — House. The question has divided poets and scholars into two camps — Hugo, Hallam, Swinburne, Dowden, Furnivall, Sidney Lee, it^gard them as autobiographical ; Browning, Halliwell-Phillipps, Stoddard, regard them as pure poetry. Present controversy is concerned only in determining who are the characters of the sonnets. They seem to tell the story of Shakspore's love of the Earl of Southampton and of an unknown "dark lady", who, until recently, was thought to be Mary Fitton. 1. 4. — lute. A stringed instrument of music resembling a guitar, but requiring great skill in its use ; once in high favour for chamber-music. Petrarch's wound. Francesco Petrarch (pe'trark) was born at Arezzo in 1801 and died at Arqui in 1374. His father was banishol from Florence in 1301 along with Dante, both being " Whites " or democratic republicans. Avignon, Franco, became the home of the former. There Petrarch saw, in the church of St. Clara, the Laura who inspired his canzones and sonnets, the faithful wife of Hugo de Sade. Near Avignon he wrote those sonnets in the Tus- can dialect which give him a share in the glory of Dante of having founded a new language. In 1341 he received the laurel crown at Rome as the greatest living poet. 1. 5. — Tasso. Torquato Tasso (1544-1595), one of the greatest and most unhappy of poets, conquered the hom- age of Italy by his poetic gifts even in early youth. He , 293 NOTES, was called to the court of Alfonso d'Este, duke of Ferrara. In 1572 ho Avroto Aminta ; in ir)75 ho had finished his great opicof Jerusalem Delivered. Already liismisfortulies had be'^un. Fable says that he was chased from the court for loving his patron's sister, and finally shut up in a mad- house by the order of the duke. Always verging on madness, ho spent his last da3^s wandering among the Italian cities. Death even deprived him of the triumpli and crown of laurel that were prepared f(,r him in Rome in 1595. Tasso's sonnets frequently have Leonora d'Este as their theme. She was to Tasscf, says Hasell, " nhat the dead Beatrice was to Dante — an inspiration, an ennobling and elevating influence." 1. 0. — Camoens (kam'o enz). Luiz de Camoens (1524- 1579), the chief poet of Portugal. His great poem is the epic Os Lusiados^ The LiisUanians ; but he is the author as well of more than three hundred and fifty sonnets. His life was full of mishap. He spent sixteen years in exile in India, consoled by the memory of his love of Donna Caterina Ataida, in whose honour many of his sonnets were written. The most beautiful of these is given, in Southey's version, in the Appendix. The line read in 1827— Camoens soothed with it an exile's grief. 1. 7. — gay myrtle leaf. The myrtle is a fragrant ever- green shrub or small tree, with shining green leaves and white flowers. In antiquity it was sacred to Venus, and used in festivals. 1. 8— cypress. Regarded, because of its gloomy foliage, as symbolic of mourning — here of sad meditation on his country and his own misfortunes. These gave the tone of the Divine Comedy, a " vision" of the Inferno, Purga- tory, and Paradise. Dante. This greatest of Italian poets (12(»5-1321) spent a life " fallen upon evil days," amidst the terrible political THE PRIMROSE OE THE ROCK. 299 struggles of Florence. The Vita Nuova, which narrates his? love of Beatrice, contains various sonnets and can- zones voicing some aspect of this jiassion. 1. 10. — It cheered mild Spenser. This gentle and knightly poet wrote ninety-two sonnets. From tlio eigh- teenth sonnet it would seem that the writing of them was a relaxation after the labour spent upon the FaerieQueen. It is to this sonnet that Wordsworth alludes — After so lone: a raco as I have run Tiu-ou^h Faery land, whk-h these! six hooks compile, Give Jeave to rest me, heinfjr Italf furetlone, And gather to myself new breath awhile. By "dark ways" Wordsworth seems to mean Spenser's misfortunes consequent on Tyrone's rebellion ; but it was three years subsetiuent to the publication of the Sonnets. 1. 12. — Milton. Milton wrote some twenty-four sonnets, of wliich six are in Italian. The " trumpet" sonnets are especially th se on Cromwell and the massacre of the Vaudois; those on his blindness, to Cyriac Skinner, and on his deceased wife, were written amidst affliction. THE PRLMROSE OF THE ROCK. Composition. " Written at Rydal Mount. The rock stands on the right hand, a little way leading up the middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the habit of calling it the Glow-worm Rock, from the number of glow-worms we have often seen hanging on it, as described. The tuft of primrose has, I fear, been washed away by the heavy rains." (Fenwick note.) The poem was written in 1831, and published in 1835. Theme. See note on the theme of Elerjiac Stanzas, p. 282. The change in Wordsworth's mind was emphasized, says Shairp, when a few years after the loss of his brother, he laid in Grasmere churchyard two infant children. i.- '!H aoo NOTES, " Those trials of his homo affections sank deep into him, — more and more humanized his spirit, and made him feel more distinctly the power of those Cluistian faiths which, though never denied by him, wore present in his early poems rather as a latent atmosphere of sentiment than as expressed beliefs.... There is anotlier poem... which ...well illUi.;tT*atc3 "Wordsworth's later phase of feeling about natural objects. It is entitled ' The Primrose of the Rock.' " Is not this more in keeping with the whole of Nature, more true to human life in all its aspects, than poetry which dwells merely on the bright and cheerful side of things ?. . . How are we to interpret it ? Surely, without attempting any theory which will explain it, nothing is more in keeping with these manifold and seemingly con- flicting aspects of life than the faith that lie who made and upholds the Universe does not keep coldly aloof, gazing from a distance on the sufferings of his creatures, but has himself entered into the conflict, has himself be- come the great Sufferer, the great Bearer of all wrong, and is working out for his creatures some better issue through a redemptive sorrow which is Divine." — Shairp, On Poetic Interpretation of Nature. Compared with the poet's earlier nature studies, this poem, as Hutton points out, is less real, less buoyant; the concrete yields to the symbolic ; the flower is but a type of the beneficent interlinking of nature and divinity ; " the rcserue of power has almost disappeared, but there is a graciousness absent before." Page 57. 1. 1. — A Rock. A steep rock or small eminence by the road that runs along the Rotha on the side of the hill separating the basin of Rydal from Grasmere. 1. 3. — glow-worms. These insects belong to same family of coleopterous luminous insects as the fire -fly. Only the male has wings, and their light, which has a bluish gleam, is much fainter than that of tie fire-fly of Canada. THE DErAKIUKE OE SIR WAl/lER SCOTT. ;iOl I. n. — Since first I spied. Porothy Wordsworth's Jour- nal, April 21, ]H'>2, reads : " Wo walked in the evening to Rydal. Coleridgo and [ lingi^red holiind. Wo all stood to look at Olow-worin Kock — a primrose that grew therr, and just looked out oil tho r>)ad from its own sheltered bowor." '' The Primrose had disappeared when the Fonwic^k note was dictated, and tho Glow-worms have almost deserted the district; but the Bock is unmistakable, and is one of tho most interesting of the spots associated with Words- worth in the Lake District." — Knight. II. 1 If. —link in Nature's chain, etc. This beautiful thought is owed to Bacon : Tho higliest link of Nature's chain must needs bo tied to the foot of Jupiter's chair. — Advancement of Learninr/, i. 1. 21. — sphere. Orbit— the sense of the word in tho Ptolemaic astronomy. Page 58. 1. 50. — prescience {pre' aliens) . Foreknowledge. ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Composition. Scott had been labouring heroically, since the failure of Ballantyne and Company, in which he was a partner, to pay off the firm's heavy liabilities. In February, 1830, he had an attack of paralysis, which was tho beginning of the end. In 1881 he went abroad, sailing in the frigate Barham, placed at his disposal by the nation, for Malta and Naples. Wordsworth and his daughter left Rydal Mount to visit him before his depart- ure, reaching Abbotsford, September 21. " On tho 22nd these two great poets, who had loved each other well, and in spite of very different theories as to art, appreciated each other's genius more justly than infirm spirits ever did either of them, spent the morning together in a visit to Newark." — Lockhart, Memoir i of the Lije of Sir Walter Scott^ Chap. Ixxx. (See Wordsworth's Yarrow Jievi sited.) 302 NOTES. 'On our rotiirn in tlio afternoon," sairl Wcmlsworth, " wo had to cross the Tweed directly oppositi* Abbotsford. . . . A rich but sad light wa^ npread over the Kildon Hills at that moment : and, tliinking it probable tliat it might bo tho l.'ist time Sir Walter would cross the stn'am, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in the following sonnet." It wu published in i\\o Literary Souvenir, ISHH, nnd in Yarroto /?< 'Hnited, etc., 18B5. Scott left Abbotsiord early on September 2;^. 1. H. — Eildon's triple height. South-east from .\hbotsford are tho three chief summits of the Kildou Hills — the high- est, 1H85 ft. — named by the Romans Tremontiuvi. Legend says that one of tho tisks Michael Scott ordered his trouble- some spirit was to divide Kildon Hill : , ,. ,. Ami, Wiinioi. I could say t(» thee ' The words tliat c'lcl't Kildon liill in threfi. — The Lui/ of the Laxt Minstrel, 11., xiil, L 6. — Tw \. Tho Tweed rises in Pecbl -^shiro ; it takes in tho tribuiiiios tiio Gala, Ettrick and Yarrow, Teviot, etc., passes Ashestiel and Abbotsford (Scott's homes), Melrose and nryburgh Abbeys, Kelso, and Norham Castle, forms part of tho boundary of England and Scotland, and empties into tho North Sea at Berwick. I. 8. — ye Mourners. The specific iiersonui reference is to Scott's immediate family — Major Scott, Anno Scott, Mr. and Mrs. Tiockhart. II. VM. — Ye winds of ocean, etc. Knight compares Horace's wish for Viriri o . ^ voyage : Sic te diva iK)tens Cypri, i*i;v . v" Sic fratres Helena', hifida sidera, ^,4^-- t'- Ventorum(iue refi^av pater Obstrictis aiiis prtcter lapyga, etc. — Horuce, Odes, I., ill. midland. Mediterranean. 1. 14. — Parthenope. Cf. Milton, Comas, " By dead Par- thonope's dear tomb." Tho fable is that when Ulysses escaped the wiles of tho Sirens, as ho passed their island, W PUEI '. HE JlAlli J'UJ'HJs HEAKT, 3U3 one of tho Siivii-*, Purthouopo, cast herself into the sisa for grief. Her body \sas borno by the waves to tho Italian shore. The town built there, the site of the modern Na^des, received her name. f| A POET! HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO SCHOOL. Composition. " I was imjiellod to write this Sonnet by tho disgusting fre(iuoucy witli which tho word artistical, imported with other impertinoncies from tho (Jermuns, is om|)loyod l)y writers of tho present: day : for artistical let them substitute artificial, and tho poetry written on this system, both at homo and abroad, will be for tho most part much better characterised." (Fenwick note.) The Word came into use at the beginning of the century and had some vogue. The date of composition is placed between 1H38 and tho year of its pul»lication, 1842. Theme. The poem is a statement of Wordsworth's poetic creed contrasted with the spirit of formal correctness in verso, the poetry of the schools — it is Wordsworth's theory ag.iinst that of Pope; and tho Ediuburyh Ileview. Compare A Poet a Epitapk in the Appendix. 1. 5.— Thy art be Nature. Cf. the poem on Burns (p. H7), where it is said of Nature — ft - She trained her Burns to win applause That shanir the Schools. Rolfe aptly cxuotes a converse statement — , _. " Yet nature ia made hetter hy no mean But nature, make-* that mean ; sk, over that art Which you say addM lo nature, in an art ^ That nature makes... . v,. This is an art Which does mend nature— change it rather ; hut The art itself is nature." — Sliak»i)ere. Winter's Tale, iv., iv., SStflf. 3(»4 NOTES, 8C( )T\\ TIIK LADY OF THE LAKE. 'I"lio text of til is edition is that of tho last issued l)y Scott, under Lockhart's supo: vision, in 181J8. Tho evident misprints in that edition have been corrected hy a colla- tion of tho third and tho sixth edition, 1810, tho eleventli edition, 181(5, and the " new edition," 1825. A few changes in spoiling and punctuation have been reciuired by niodoin custom. Tho MS. readings are given on the authority of Lockhart; those of tho fir^t edition on that of Mr. Rolfe. Introductoky Notes. (i ) Circumstances of Composition. Scott's Introduction to the edition of 18Bci (see pp. Gl- 07), gives in detail the cir- cumstances and influences that disposed him to wi-ito The LaiJy of the Lake. His keen zest for Scottish lifo revealed to him a wealth of fresh literary material afTurded by tho Scottish Highlands and their people, about which Macpher- son's Ossian had already excited curiosity. Tho anc ent Highland life had virtually departed, but it lived still in ballad and tradition and tho memory of very old men. Standing on tho confines of tho past, Scott was led by the natural bent of his mind to reproduce its picturesque features. For background to the action, what better scenic material than the region of tho Trossachs, on tho border lino where Highland and Lowland met and clashed ? Ho had learned to know this beautiful and romantic dis- trict when, as an apprentice to tho law, ho had, under armed escort, served notice of eviction on refractory tenants of Stewart of Appin, and ho had deepened this acquaintance by further visits during several successive I THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 30o years. His historical reading suggested as a chief char- acter in the action the person of James V., wlioso adven- turous disposition could easily furnish warrant for the romantic incidents associated Avith Fitz-James. 1'ho downfall of the Douglases of the house of Angus in the reign of that monarch naturally associated another of tlie characters and sugijested his relation to Fitz-.fames. The presence of the powerful family of (jiraham in Stirling and Dumbarton determined the niimo of a third. Contempo- rary sk((tclies of Highland customs and history gave him material for local colour. In this way the matter of the poem gathered togetlier to take artistic form in the poet's mind. The poem was promised to the publishers in 1800. When the Court Sessions were over in .1 uly, Scott revisited the scenes of the Trossachs, " ascertained in his own por- sou that a good horseman, well mounted, might galloj) from the shore of Loch Vonnachar to the rock of Stirling within the space allotted for that puri)ose to Fitz-James." Ho explored the islands of Loch Lomond, Arrochar, Loch Sloy, '"and all the scenery of a hundred desperate con- flicts between the Macfarlanes, tlie Coiquuouns, and the Clan- Alpine." The description of the stpg chase '■ was completed under the full infliiouce of the genius /oc»." The poem was published early in May, 1810, by John Ballantyne and Company, in quarto, price £2 2s. More than twenty editions were called for during Scott's life. (ii.) The Scene of ''The Lady of the Lake." "The mountain range, which forms the outskirts of the High- lands, runs for several miles duo west from Callander, and then deflects to the south, towards Ben Lomond. Lochs Achray ami Vennachar, into which the waters of Loch Katrine discharge themselves, lie on the outside of the Highland boundary; while the latter is encompassed by mountains, through which a communication has been formed between Lochs Katrine and Achray by some great i t ■' ma NOTES. convulsion of nature, sweeping away tlio connecting link between Benan and Ben Venue. These mountains, that, — — Hko giants st.and, To sentinel enchanted land, present on each side lofty and inaccessible precipices ; and the intermediate pass, known as the Trosachs, or " bristled territory," in Gaelic etymology, is occupied by intricate groups of rocky and wooded eminences: on the south sides of Lochs Vennachar and Achi-ay rise heathery hills, tlio basp^ of which are fringed with oak coppice. Benledi, the Hill of God, towers on the nortli. The range which connects it with Benan, swells out unequally ; at times sending down ragged heights clad with dense foliage, which overhang the edge of the water in steep acclivities, and enclose between them plots of open uneven ground. Loch Vonnachar is four miles long, and three-»iuarters of a mile across, at the broadest part; Loch Achniy a mi'e and a half long, and its greatest widfh one mile. Both of them narrow towards the east end. From Callander to Coilantoglofoxd, at the lower point of Loch Vennachar, where Roderick Dhu was overcome by Fitz-Janies, is about '2j^ miles; the space between that lak& and Loch Achray about half a mile, and from the western extremity of the latter to Loch Katrine one mile ; making the whole distance from 9 to 10 miles. Lanrick Mead, the muster- ing place of Clan-Alpin, lies on the north side of Loch Vennachar, where the road diverges from the lake : a little way on, on the face of the hill towards the right, is the farm of Duncraggiu. The brigg of Turk crosses the water, which, descending from Glenfiulas, joins the Teith between Lochs Venachar and Achray." — Anderson, Guide to the Hifjh/ands. (iii. ) Historical Background of the Action. To give vrai- semblanco to his ])oem, Scott has intermingled historical with imaginary personages and real events with fictitious incidents, ,„ • . rHE LADY OF THE LAKE. 307 Tho i)oem is ono of the times of James V. of Scot- laud (1512-1542), whoso minority, on the death of .Tames IV. at Flodden, exposed the kingdom to all the evilp born of a regency and a turbulent feudal society. The queen dowager was tho first regent, but on her marriage with Archibald Douglas, sixth earl of Angus, (1489-1557), the most powerful noble of his time, it w;is thought safest to place the regency in tho hands of John Stewart, duke of Albany. Albany went to Franco in 1.524, and Angus was made regent, and ruled the land with severity and probably with justice. The king was i.is instrument and was hold prisoner by him until 1528, when .Tames escaped, forbade "Angus or any Douglas to come within seven miles of the royal person," then met parliament, outlawed Angus, his brother, and uncle, pro- nounced them rebels and declared their estates forfeited. That uncle Avas Archibald Douglas of KilspindiO; the friend of .Tames's boyh(jod, and High-Treasurer. For fifteen years Angus was in exile, making at times hostile incur- sions from across the border, but not retunang to Scot- land till the king's death. .Tames was but sixteen when he freed himself from Angus. He had to overcome pow- erful opposition from the nobles, to quell the disorder of the Highlands, and to meet tho intrigues of Henry VHI. of England. In 1536 he visited Franco and was married right royally in Paris, in 1537, to the eldest daughter of Fi'ancis I. His second wife was Mary of Guif.e. He was called tho ' ' King of the Commons," not only because he pro- tected them, but also because he loved to mix with them in disguise, under tho name of the Gudeman of Ballengeich. He was a man of good looks, good wit, licentious, it is true, yet a protector of the poor, and a vigorous and not unsuccessful ruler in times of great national insecurity. The king died in 1542, stricken by tho disgrace of Solway Moss, leaving an only child, Mary of Scots. : .-vp 308 NOTES. The time of the poen- may be deduced from these inci- dents and certain lines of the text to be about 1540. (iv.) The Relation of the Highlands and Lowlands. The poem involves the enmity existing between the settkd country of the Lowlands and the border clans of semi- civilized Highlands, recognizing little authority but that of their chiefs, and united in regarding the Saxon — the Low- lander — as lawful prey. These border clans arc as follows : Beginning at the western shore of Loch Lomond, wo find the Colquhouns and the MacFarlanes. On the east shore are the Buchanans, and, above them, and extending on both sides of the west end of Loch Katrine to the Braes of Balquidder, the Macgregors, the chief branch of Clan- Alpine. To the south of Katrine, extending north-east along the Teith to Loch Earn are the Grahams, the Ste- warts, and Drummonds. Scott, to justify Lis picture of the times, quotes as follows: " In former times, those parts of this district, which are situated beyond the Grampian ringe, were rendered almost inaccessible by strong bar- riers of rocks, and mountains, and lakes. It was a border country, and though on the very verge of the low country, it was almost totally sequestered from the world, and, as it were, insulated with respect to society. 'Tis well known that in the Highlands it was, in former times, accounted not only lawful, but honoui'able, among hostile tiibes, to commit depredations on one another; and these h.ibits of the age were perhai)s strengthened in this district by the circumstances which have been mentioned. It bordered on a country, the inhabitants of which, while they were richer, were less warlike than they, and widely differenced by language and manners." — Graham, Sketches of Scenery in Pertluhire^ Edin. 1806, p. 97. The poem, therefore, fairly represents the actual condi- tions of the border line of Highland and Lowland about 1510. . THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 30<) ^ (v.) The Treatment of the Theme is Romantic. Against asnj^gesterl background of history the poet sot his charac- ters — King .fames, Lennox, Moray, Mar, more or less his- torical, and then created and added the purely fictitious ones, which are inrteed those by which the action is alone able to proceed — Douglas of Bothwell, Ellen Douglas, Rod- erick Dhu, the CJrseme, etc. Similarly the condition of the times afforded opportunity lor the invention of fictitious incidents — the single combat, the ride, the exploits and pardon of the Douglas, the betrothal ( f Ellen and the fJneme. These inventions, moulded with the aim of pic- turesque, romantic effect, are the essential poem, from the point of view of character as well as of plot. The poem is essentially a romance in verse, having, however, some suggestive pictures of the times, and many careful studies of the scenery in which the incidents take place. . (vi.) Form. Introductory verses. Each canto, it will be noted, opens with some stanzas having only a general relation to the theme of thy poem. The form of the intro- duction is in every case the Spenserian stan-^a. This stanza requires (a) nine iambic lines, (6) eight of which are pentameter and the ninth hexameter, (c)and the rime- order «6, ahy 6c, h<:e, Scott took the suggestion of this use of introductory stanzas from Spenser, whose manner in The Faerie Queen is identical with that of Scott. Even the device of clos- ing the whole poem with stanzas of farewell is taken from the same poet. The measure. The four-accent iambic couplet which Scott has used with so striking effect in his metrical romances was by no means now, although its revival was Scott's work. It is the favourite metre of the j^'rench mediaeval romancers, and from them passed into English poetry, becoming the favourite metre for tiio Arthurian poems and the church legends of Middle English. In Eng- lish it never had the regularity in the number of syllables ■li ii 310 NOTES. possessed by the French and Church-Latin octo-syllablic original. The influence of the old four-accent alliterative verso of the Anglo-Saxons told upon it, ])erinittiug freedom. When, therefore, Coleridge^ proclaimed that in Chrintabei he was introducing a metrical experiment of counting accents rather than syllables, what he did was to revive very ancient practice rather than to establish a new prin- ciple. Coleridge's artistic use of the variation from the normal line was however a new and valuable contribution to English prosody. Scott was taken by Coleridge's metre, having heard some verses of Christahel recited from mem- ory, when the poem was still in MS., and employed it in The Lay. A few lines of each poem will be sufficient to make clear the liberty taken in the number of unstressed syllables — • They crossed the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well ; , A little door she opened straight, All in the middle of the gate ; The gate that was ironed within and without, Where an army in battle array had marched out. — Christahel. The feast was over in Branksome tower, And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ; Her bower that was "uarded by word and by spell, Deadly to hear and llytotell — Jesu Maria, shield us ell! ' ; , No living wight, save the Ladye alone, Had dared to cross the threshold stone. — The Lay of the Last Minstrel, i. i. Scott, however, did not retain the extreme liberty ex- emplified in these lines. Marmion and The Lady are both fairly regular in being octo-syllal)ic, four-accent verse, riming in. couplets, but variation is at times found in ^>he number of unaccented syllables and the riming of three and even four consecutive lines. Scott defended his octosyllabic verse (see his letter to i. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, INTRODUCTION. 311 Ellis, 1810) by a reference to the ornamental epithets of Pope — Acliilles' wrath to Greece, the direful apriiif? Of woes iniiiniiiltorcd, hcdvanlji priMldeas, siii^' — The wrath which sent t > I'liito's t/looiiij/ reign , s The souls of miuhty chiefs in battle slain. If these were struck out, he said, it would give us equally forcible octn-syllabic lines; — which only shows how dull Scott's ear was for the finer cadences of verse, and how limited, if clear and strong, his own song was. Episodes. The introduction of episodes is the method of lending variety habitual among the epio and narra- tive poets from anti«.[uity. Scott's use of special stsuisa form in those episodes is conditioned by the nature of the digression — lyric in the sung of the followers of Eoderick Dhu, ballad in the story of Alice Brand. The canto. The division into cantos follows the custom of the masters of minstrel song from the time of Homer. Introduction. X*age 62. 1. 22. — Ossian. A half-mythical Celtic poet of tlie third c -ntury, whose alleged works, the epics of Fingal and Ti-mora, were translated into English proso from traditional oral versions by James Macpherson, 176G-17H3. 1. 41. — A lady. His aunt. Miss Chris ian Rutherford. Page 63. I, 57. — He either fears. From Liiies in-Praine of Womej., quoted in Wishart's Memoirs of Montrose, p. 197. 1. 80. - A friend. Proba'ol/ the poet's cousin, Charles Scott. 1. 81. — h^Ck^e. Eng. Jioise, lift up. cutty gun. A short tobacco-pi])o. Ihit wha cam in to heese our hope, Dut Andro wi' his cntty-f^iin ? -Song, Amiro, etc. 312 NOTES. \ 1. 87.— Ashestiel. Scott's 1 ne, 1804-1810 ; on the south bunk of the Tweed, five niilo v. s. w. of Galashiels. Page 64. 1. 111. — old ballad. The Jolly Beggar, attribute«J to James V. 1. 122.— Mr. Pepys. Samuel Pepys (1033-1703). The quaint diarist of Charles XL's reif>:n remarks: — 'This day I got a little rent in my new camlet cloak with the latch of Sir G. Carteret's door ; but it is darned up my tailor's, that it will be no great blemish to it; but i* troubled me" (iii., 444). camlet. A stuff of wool and silk. Page 65. 1. 140. — John Wilkes. See Green's History. Page 66. 1. 1(57. — Dogberry. The constable in Shakspere's Much Ado, Leonnto. All thy tediousness on mo, ah ? Dogberry. Yea, an 'twere a thuusand pound more than 'tin. —Much Ado, iii., v., 22G. 1. 175. — champion of pugilism. . In twice f've years the ' greatest living poet,' Like to il.e chinnpioii in the tisty riiifr, Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it, Altliough 'tis an imaginary thing. ; ?• " —Byron, DoH Jjmn, xi., Iv. 1. 180. — declined as a poet. Scott's reasons foi his abandonment of poetry were that the repetition of his cliaracteristic style and treatment in successive pcems Imd satisfied his readers; that imitations, serious and bui- lesque, had vulgarized his school ; and that Byron had com 3 (Childe Harold, i. and ii., March 1812) with fresh vigour of thought and descriptions drawn from the shrines of ancient poetry. 1. 1H7, — Queen Eleanor. Queen to Edward I. With tli.at, at Charing-cross she sunk Into the ground alive, And after rose with life again, ' In London, at Queenhithe (aquay). —Queen Meanor'g f^ll. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO I. 313 Page 67. I. 20t.— my reign. sir Walter rciijfnVl Itoforc inc. —Byron, />«« ./ua«, xi., Ivii. 1. 209. — our irritable race. Tho poets ; cf. Horace, (jemis >rritahile vafuvi, Ep. ii., ii. , 102. CANTO FIRST. •;\:.u.W; ,'.:.'.;.: . Page 69. 1. 1.— Harp of the North. Tho poot varies tho classical habit of invoking the Muse, by invoking the poetio spirit of Scotland, under tho guise of her traditional instrument, the harp. In this way he presents himself as a nauonal poet, a success )r to the ancient minstrels of his r^ative land. 13}^ the reference to St. Fillan's, within the Highland district, he desires to claim more especially the spirit of the ancient Celtic bard. The relation of the opening stanzas to the cantos merits careful study. 1. 2.— witch-elm. Literally the " drooping-elm." (A.S. wice, a tree; ivican, to bend, bow.) Skeat quotes from Coleman, Our Wood! amis : "Some varieties of the wych- elm have the branches quite pendulous, like the weeping- willow, thus producing a most graceful ertect." The word is popularly confused with witch, enchantress, hence "wizard elm," p. 241, 1. 8ir5. St. Fillan's spring. B ,th Celtic saints named St. Fillan are associated with Perthshire. St. Pillan tlie Leper had his chief churcli at tho eastern end of Loch Erne, where a well or pool named after him liad. it wa-* believed, miracu- lous powers of healing. By this ri'ference Scott associates his poem with the district of the Macgregors, who are to play a chief part in the action. 1. 3. - And down the fitful breeze. The readings from Scott's manuscript will attest by comparison with the text the care and uniform good taste with which he revised his writioLg. Here the MS. reading is : — w 314 NOTES. m And on tho fitful broezo thy nmn})er» flung'. Till (iiivious ivy, witli licr verdant rinj;, Manlk'<, the tiiue ociMipied by eaeli canto being a day. Scott opens each canto with sunrise and ends it with eveni!'-.;. This unity of treatment is enhanced by the grace and variety which the po!>t employs in depicting the various aspects of those two periods. beacon red. Note the local aptness of the figure, since the beacon was a ouatomary mode of signalling at this time. Signal of Ronald's liif?h command, A beacon K'eani'd o'(!i' sea 11 n;i land. , , , — Scott, Z/(jjvi r5j. 1. 77. — A giant made his den. " The mountain derives its name," says Scott, " 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 cnly extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictl3- speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small iclosuro, or recess, surrounded with Large rocks, and ope^ above head. It may have been originally designed as a toil for deer." 1.84.— shrewdly. Severely (fro ni the old sense of shrewd, as bitter, biting). / 1. 89. — Menteith. The district adjoining the Teith, a river formed by the junction of a stream from Loch Ijub- naig and anotlier from Loch Venna liar. Callander is situated ne;ir the junction. 1. f)i.— moss. The bog made by mr.as growing in treach- erous wet ground is called in Scotland a moss ; cf . Solway Moss. • _. ;■ 1. 93. — Lochard. Or Loch Ard, a small loch of groat beauty, about two miles south of Loch Katrine. See Scott's Hob lioy^ ch. xxviii. Aberfoyle. A village on the Laggan, near the foot of Loch Ard; also the country between Loch Katrine and Loch Ard — full of glens. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO /. 317 I. ni. — copsewood. Toppico, a vood of shrul^s or treett of siiiall growth. I. >5. -wept. Drooped. I Loch Achray. The nMle nuasturage, purple heather, vlaik woods and naked rocks " (CaHsell). , -v», II. 98.— Fresh vigour, etc. iMS. Fn-sh vif,'.)iir with the thonKlit nluriuid, Witlj flying liuof the lieath he Hpuriied. 1. 103.— Cambus-more. Camfius-moro (' Groat bond '). within about two miles of Callun.ur, on the wooded banks of the Keltie, a tributary of tho Teith, is tho seat of a family of tho name of Buchanan, whom tho poet fre- quently visited in his younger days."— Lockhart. It was there that ho read his friends, in July, 1809, these lines (;f the stag-chase, written under the influence of tho genius of tho place. 1. 105.— Benledi. Benledi ('the mountain of God') is a magnificent mountain (2,875 ft.) between Loch Lubnai^^ and Loch Vennachar. ^ 1. 103.— Bochastle's heath. See note to p. 192, 1. 301. 1. 107. —Teith. Tho 1 ivor has two branches, ono drain- ing lakes Voil and Lubnaig, the other lakes Katrine, Ach- i-ay, and Vennachar. It joins tho Forth near Stirling. The road of tho huntsmen followed down the northern branch to Callander, where they turned west upon the southern branch. ;' ; 1. 111.— Vannachar. A beautiful lake about two miles west of Callander; it is five miles in length, and five- eighths of a mile in a\ idth. 1. 112.— Briggof Turk. Brlijg is the northern f(»rm of ill ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET {MT«3) ,^-j^ .. 4i^ 1.0 I.I us, 1^ |2.5 ^ 1^ 112.0 1^25 III 1.4 III 1.6 6" ^ \*yMf A. -55 WA >*^ %. «9^ A V f %' ^ om '/ f// Sciences Corporation 23 we$T MAIN STRICT WnSTIR.NA. 14SM (716) 172-450^ m \ \ ^ <*^ ^.>. >^ o \ ^. I 318 NOTES. A.S. bricg, which becomes palatalized in the sonthorn dialects to bridrje. Tliis bridge is on the road between Vennachar and Achray, where it crosses Finlas Water. Its name means ' Bridge of the Wild Boar,' commemor- ating the killing there of the last wild boar in Scotland. 1. 114. — Alone, but with unbated zeal. The transitions from stanza to stanza, in a poem of so great length as this, are a severe test of the poet's power. Scott's skill is remarkable, not only for the infinite variety of incident wrought into the texture of the pcem, but as well f(-r the ease and nat;:i alness with which, as a rule, one incident is made to blend into another. 1. 117. — Embossed. Flecked with foam from exhaustion, Shakspere has " embossed froth," Timon of Athens, v. i. , 'J20. " When the hare i? foamy at the mouth we say that ho is embossed " — Turberville, Venerie, p. 242. But the word is used in a wider sense — covering mouth and body. The New English Dictionary cites — He saw a white steed, White foam liis fl.anlvS emlK>asins'. —Cunningham, tragic Bridle, Antiiv., 148, I. 120. — black Saint Hubert's breed. Scott quotes from The Noble Art of Venerie: "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 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. They are mighty of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewi^o they are not swift, although they be very good of s(c)ent, hunt- ing chaces which are farre straggled, fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bo(a)re, and such like, than other, because they find themselves neither of swiftness nor courage to hunt and Jcill th^ ^haces that are lighter and swifter. The tlocd- THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO /. 319 hounds of this colour proue good, especially those that are cole black." 1. 123. — g^ame. The stag; cf. the sense of "quarry,'' 1. 127. Page 74. 1. 127.— quarry. Properly, the slaughtered game (Fr. cMr^e, parts of a deer thrown to the dogs) ; but fre- quently used proleptically for the deer'.vhile being chased. 1. 131. — that mountain high. Ben venue. 1. 137.— For the death-wound, and death-halloo. "When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the desper- ate animal. At certain times of the year this was held particularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horns being then deemed poisonous. . . At all times, how- ever, 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 opportunity to gallop roundly in upon him, and kill him with the sword." — Scott. 1. 138. — whinyard. A short cut-and- thrust sword, or long knife. 1. 145. — Trosachs'. Scott has always Trosach's ; it is now usually spelt T.rossachs, and treated as a plural. The word signifies ' rough, bristled country,' and is applied especially to the rough pass between the mountain slopes of Ben Ai* on the north and Benvenue on the south, from the west end of Loch Achray to Loch Katrine — " a rugged labyrinth of mounds and rocks, covered with the richest vegetation of oaks and pensile birches and rowans, among which the road winds in and out, up and down, and at each turn presents a fresh view of the grand crags of the mountains" (Muiray). 1. 150. — Amain With full power ; main is A.S. mosgcn, strength. 1. 151. — chiding the rocks. Shakspere has this sense o| chi(J§— RBB 320 NOTES. They bayed the beur With liouiids of Sparta ; never did I lieur Such gallant eluding. Every region near Seemed all one mutual cry. — Midsummer-Night's Dream, Iv., i. 118. Pag-e 75. 1. 163. — The banks of Seine. See the historical noto, p. 307. 1. 166. — worth. Be, become, happen, betide (A.S. iveorthan, to become), — woe be to the chase ; an archa- ism confined to imprecations like this. Cf. Ezek. xxx. 2. 1. 174. -dingle. Dell. I. 176. — owlets. Owlet, though by origin a diminutive, means simply — owl. II. 180f.— And on the Hunter. MS. And on the hunter hied his pace, To meet some comrade of the chase. This i> also the reading of the 1st ed. The MS. has also the rime** — way : day, which are cancelled, but which fur- nished later the final reading. Page 76. 11. 184ff. — The western waves, etc. Sec,- takes rank as a poet in part by virtue of his power of describing nature. From Ruskin's comment on modern landscape some suggestive sentences may be quoted in illustration of Ruskin's criticism of Scott as a "surface-painter." "Observe Scott's habit of looking at nature neither as dead, nor merely material, in the way that Homer regard's it, nor as altei-ed by his own feelings, in the way that Keats and Tennyson I'egard 't, but as having an animation and pathos of its oivn, — an animation which Scott loves and sympathizes with, as he would with a fellow creature, for- getting himself altogether, and subduing his own human- ity before what seems to him the power of the landscape. "There is no passion in Scott which alters nature... He paints her in her simple and universal truth, adding no result of momentary passion or fancy, and appears, therefore, at first shallower than other poets, being in THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO L 321 reality wider and healthier, ., .nothing of himself being even intruded, except that far-away Eoliau tone, of which he is unconscious. In consequence of this unselfishness and humility, Scott's enjoyment of nature is incompar- ably greater than that of any other poet I knov/. . . '■' This pure passion for nature is increased. . .by the love of antiquity and the love of colour and beautiful form. Thi^ love of ancientness and that of natural beauty associate themselves in Scott with the lo\e of liberty. In this love of beauty, observe that. . .the love of colour is a lead- ing element, his healthy mind being incapable of losing . . .its joy in brilliancy of hue. . . In general, if he does not mean to say much about things, the one charucter v/hich ho will give is colour, using it with the most perfect mastery and faithfulness. . . The only hints at form are somewhat vague words, . . .but the colours are all definite. Note — what is indeed so manifest throughout Scott's land- scapi) as hardly to need pointing out,— the love of rocks, and true understanding of their colours and characters. "The love of natural history. . .heightens reciprocally tiio interest of that landscape and becomes an important element in Scott's description, leading him to finish, down to the minutest speckling of breast [of the thrush ; see p. 127, 1. 37,] and slightest shade of attributed emotion. *' The last point. . .is Scott's habit of drawing a slight moral from each scene, . .and this slight moral is almost always melancholy " — Modern Painters, iii., xvi. 1. 195. — the native bulwarks. MS. The mimic castles of tl pass. 1. 197. — Shinar'^ plain. The land between the Euphrates and Tigris— Babylonia, See Gen. xi. 19. 1. 199. — battlement. Parapet of a fortification in wliich are openings for the discharge of missiles. 1. 201. — cupola. Dome. minaret. The turret o\z a mosque. I. 202.— pagod {pd'fjod). Pagoda, Indian idol temple. I 322 NOTES. 1. 20B. — mosque. MohamTncdan temple. 1. 201. —earth-born castles. MS. — mighfcjubiilwarks. 1. 208.— All twinkling:. MS.-])nght glistering. dewdrops sheen. Mr. Rolfo reads here — dewdrop, which Minto notes as the rending of the MS., though Lockhart says it reads dewdrops. We follow the readings of eJd. 182.')-38. shaen. Beautiful, brigh>i (A.S. scene, fair). 1. 212 — boon. Bounteous (Fr. hon, goodjj Cf. Milton— But Nature boon Poiir'd forth iirofuse on lull and rtalo and plain. —Paradise Lost, iv. 242. Page 77. 1. 214. — eglantine. The sweet-briar. 1. 217.— clift. The earlier form of cleft. (Mid. Eng. clyft, from the same root as cleave.) The edd. 181G-83 wrongly read — cliff. 1. 218. —Foxglove. A lc»rge, beautiful plant found in hilly districts, bearing clusters of large tubular-cam panu- late flowers, usually purple or rose-coloured, and r.pottcd within. In the language of flowers it is made the emblem of ambition. nightshade. Belladonna, deadly nightshade, a shrub bearing from June to August "drooping bells of a dai'k lurid purple hue." In the language of flowers it is made the emblem of dark thoughts. The two flowers thus found together suggest that touch of a sad moral which Ruskin notes in Scott's descriptions. They suggest to the p(^et the punishment of pride in human affairs. 1. 223. — aspen. A tree of the poplar family, having leaves that tremble in the slightest wind. 1. 224. — warrior oak, Spenser speaks of "the builder oak ;" but Scott ^hinks rather of its strength and endur- ance, and perhaps, too, of the use of its leaves among the Roman for soldiers' wreaths. 1. 227.— His shattered trunk. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO L 323 MS. His scathed trunk, and frequent flunfr, Where see'u'u the cli.fs to meot on hiyh, His ruK^'cd arms atliwart tJie sky. Hi-riiest of all, where white peaks glanced, Where twinkling streamers waved and dancsd. 1. 238. — Affording- scarce. MS. Affording^ scarce such breadth of flood, As served to float the wild-duck's brood. 1. 240.— Lost . . . veering:. Tho construction is not of the best. These epithets grarnmatioally refer to •' mir- ror," i. 243 ; hut in sense they refer to " inlet," 1. 237. Page 78. 1. 217.— Emerging from entangled wood. MS. Emerging dry-siiod from the wood. 1. 250.— Yet broader floods. And in some cases the widening lake made sea-girt islands of the detached spurs of the mountains. 1. 252.— claims to be. Makes good its claim to be, is seen to be. 1. 254.— And now to issue from the glen. '' Until the present road was made through the romantic pass which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the pre- ceding stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile called the Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots of trees."— Scott. 1. 258. — nice. Exact, scrupulously careful. 1. 2(53.— Loch Katrine. The lake is eight miles long and for the most part three-quarters of a mile broad. The scenery described in the poem is chiefly that of the extreme s.E. part. 1. 267.— livelier light. The bright moving gold of the water contrasted with the bright purple of the islands. 1. 271.— Down on. The MS. and edd. 1-6 have— Down to, but 11th and subsequent edd. have— Down on. 1. 274.— wildering. Mazy, tangled, growing in wild confusion. 1. 275.— summit. MS.— fragments. ^ NOTES. Page 79. 1. 276. — middle air. An old phrase — the fr o space above the earth, yot below the space in which the planets are. The MS. reads — to middle air. I. 277.— Ben-an. Or Ben A'an (1,750 ft.) bounds the district of the Trossachs on the north. his forehead bare. With reference to the stanzas from . 1. 104 to this point, Lockhart quotes the Critical Review, August, 1820 : " Perhaps the art of landscape-painting in poetry has never been displayed in higher perfection than in these stanzas, to which rigid criticism might possibly object that the picture is somewhat too minute, and that the coutemplation of it detains the traveller somewhat too long from tho main purpose of his pilgrimage. . . Not so the magnificent scene which bursts upon the bewil- dered hunter as he emerges at length from the dell, and commands at one view the beautiful expanse of Loch Fi:l;rii^3.'- II. 278f . — From the steep promontory. MS. From the high promontory pazed The atraiiger, awe struck and amazed. 1. 281. — churchman. A high dignitary of the church— an old sense. 1. 283.— bower. Originally a chamber, especially a woman's apartment (A.S. bur, a chamber); hence, an arbour, a country house. 1. 285.— cloister. Monastery. 1. 290.— should lave. MS. and 1st ed.— did lave. 1. 293. — matins. The Boman Catholic church service beginning, in the early days of the Church, at midnight, but later, from three to six o'clock in the morning. (Fr. . matin, Lat. matutinum, morning.) hum. Here, chanting subdued by distance to a murmur. 1. 294. — deep peal. The monastery bell. 1. 295. — yonder islet. The isle now known as Ellen's Isle; see "p. 95. It takes its name from the Helen Stuart THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO /. 325 who figures in the story quoted later. (See note to p. 225 Bear an Duiiiii.) p- -^^o, 1. 800. —To friendly feast. MS. To hospitable feast and hall I. 802 -beshrew. Curse ; but often, as here, with a touch of sympathy and admiration. II. 305f .— Some mossy bank. MS. And hollow trunk of some old tree, My chamber for the night must be'. Pagre So. 1. 309-grreenwood. See p. 103, 1. 261. The favour- ite word for forest in the Eobin Hood ballads ; of. Until they came to the merry greenwood. -Rohm Hood and Ouy ofQiaborne, Child's Ballads, v., 91, ]. 8. 3(i ^^^•~"'^*'^*"*^ plunderers. See historical note, p. 1. 317.— fall. Happen, befall. 1. 318.-falchion. A sword, short and broad, curvin- convexly at the point. See 1. 466. ° 1. 319.— But scarce again his horn. MS. The bugle shrill again he wound, And lo ! forth starting at the sound. wound. Wind, meaning to blow a horn, kept its older pronunciation wind, but was confused with to wind, to twist; hence the erroneous past tense wound occurs at times for the more correct winded. On the other hand winded IS used wrongly for wound (see p. 86, i. 500, p. 18:^, 1. 324.-A Uttle skiff. MS. A little skiff shot to the bay. The Hunter left his airy stand ; And « l,en tlie JK)at had touch 'd the sand Concon 1 'd he stoijd amid the brake, To view th«^ Lady of the Lake. 326 NOTES. PageSi. 11. 3*27ff.— viewless wave. Notice the value of r, «^, », /, ill til is description of tlie bay. 1. 331 . — This silver strand. The Htretcli of white gravelly beach in a little buy in the east shore of the soiitlieru end of Loch Katrine. It is now named Silver Strand. 1.83 J, —the Lady of the Lake. Scott takei^ the name from the Arthur romances. " They rode till they came to a lake, which was a fair water and a broad, and in the middes of the lake King Arthur wa3 ware of an arm clothed in white samite : that held a fair sword in the hand." What damoael is that? said tlie King. "That is the lady of the lako," said Merlin. — Malory, Morte Darthur^ ch. xxiii. L 342. — Naiad {nCi'ad). In classical myth, the naiads were nymphs of fountains .nd streams — l>eautiful, happy, young girls decked with flowers, beneficent in their rela- tions to human kind. L 843.— and ne'er did Grecian chisel. MS. A finer form, a fairer fju-e, Had never marble Nymph or Grace, That bonata the Grecian chisel's trace. 1. 844. — Nymph. In classical myth, nymph was the general term for the beautiful and ytmthful i'omal(! deities presiding over various parts of nature — sea, mountains, streams, and woods. Grace. In classical myth, one of the three goddesses presiding over social pleasures, accomplishments, man- ners. 1. 348. — sportive toil. Her rowing the skiff 1. 355.— heath-flower. Cf. For heath-bell, with her purple bloom. —Canto iil, 1. 109. The heath-bell, or heather-bell, is the flower of the heath or heather, which covers the Scottish hills. ' rriR LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO I. 327 Page 82. tl.35f)f.-E'cn the slight harebell. Tho harebell in the delicate plant with blue Ixdl-liko flowers Miat favours rocky ground. The poets have made many exciuisite pictures of a maiden's li-},tness and graco-nono surpasses this. Cf. Her feet have touched tlu; meadows And left the daisies rosy. —Tennyson, Maud, xii. 1. 359. -mountain tongue. Gaelic. It is l.elicvt d that Ellen Douglas spoke Gaelic, which would not be impos- sible(p. 101, 11. 17 Iff). But her mother tongue, spoken no doubt with a Gaelic accent, was surely Northern Kn-lish. Iho daughter of a Lowland noble would speak the langu- age of the Court. The MS. has— stranger tongue. 1. 3P,3.-snood. The ribbon used by the Scotch maiden in braiding her hair. See note to p. 13u, 1. 116. 1. 370.— plaid. A woollen shawl of the well-known cheiiuer pattern. (Gael, plaide, a blanket, from mall hide.) ' 1. 381.-The indignant spirit. Prompt to respond at ^' tale of injury," being moved thereat to indignation. Scott ;s fond of the proleptic epithet ; cf. p. 132, 11 183 186; p. 208, 1.793. Page 83. 11. 393f!.-A while she paused. MS. A s{)ace she pi'used, no answer came,— *' Alpine, was thine the blast ? " tlie name Less resolutely utter'd fell. The eehoes could not catch the swell, "Nor foe nor friend," the stranger said, Advancinf? from the hazel shade. The startled maid, with hasty oar, Push'd her light shallop from the shore. I. 400.-shallop. A light boat usually impeUed with oars. w 528 NOTES. 11. lOJlf.— So forth the startled swan. MS. So o'or the lako \\w. HWiin would spring, Tiiuii turn to prune its rutHcd wing. 1. 40i. — prune. To proon, (l)03s — especially used of birds — His royal bird Prunes tlie inunortal wing. — Sliul48perc, Cymheline, v., iv., 118. 1. 408. — wont. Properly a past tonse — wore accustomed ; but it is froqueatly used as a present tense. Page 84. 1. 42fi. — Baron's crest. A special device or figure borne by the knight on his hehnet — a raven, a crescent, etc. 1. 433.-That Highland halls were. MS.— Her father's hall v,as. 1. 434. — wildered. Bewildered — lost in the wilderness. 1. 440. — ptarmigan {tar' ml (jan\. A kind of grouse. heath-cock. The male black grouse, called also black- cock; see p. 05, 1. 1. 1.441.— mere. Lake. 1. 442. — furnish forth. Provide — an archaic phrase. 1. 44B. — rood. Cross. (A.S. nlri, cross, pole.) Page 85. 1. 449.— fair. Cf. "fair lady," as title of address. 1. 452. — fay. Fairy (Fr. fee, fairy). The modern form fairy had originally a collective sense. 1. 451.— romantic. MS.— enchtinting. I. 458. — Ailan-bane Gael, bane means white, fair- haired; note the post-positive adjective in Glaelic names, Allan-bane, Rob Roy, Roderick Dhu, etc. II. 459f. — A grey -haired sire, whose eye intent. 'If force of evidence could authorise us to believe facts incon- sistent with the general laws of nature, enough might be produced in favour of the existence of tlie Second-sight. Martin gives the following account of it : — ' The second- sight is a singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible rilE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO /. 329 oojcct, without any provioua moans used by tho por icn that U8od it for that oud ; tho vision makes such a livoly impression upon tlio seers, that they neither soo, nor think of anything else, except the vision, as long as it ccmtinuos ; and then they appear pensive or jovial, accord- ing to tho object that was presented to them.' "But, in despite of evidence which neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able to resist, che Taisch, with all its visionary properties, seems to bo now universally abandoned to the use of poetry. Tho exquisitely beauti- ful poem of Locliicl will at onco recur to tho rocolloction of every reader." — Scott. 1. 460.— Was on. MS. Is often en tho future bent. 1. 404. — Lincoln green. Green was tho favourite colour of foresters and hunters, as we see in Chaucer, — The bnwdrik was of prrene ; A forater was he. soothly, as I ^uess, — Prologue, Canterbury Tales, 1. 116. The best green cloth was dyed at Lincoln. Cf.~ When they were clothed in Lincolne grene. —Lytell Oeste of Hobyn Hood, Child's Ballads, v., 117. See Scott's Ivanhoe, ch. xiii. Kendal too (cf. Falstaff's '• three knaves in Kendal green ") was favoured. 1. 475. — errant-knight. The knight wandering in search of adventures (Old Fr. errant, L. errans, errare to wander). 1. 476. — sooth. True, truth. (A.S. sfith, true, truth.) Cf. p. 163, 1. 250, and p. 184, i. 64. Page 86. 1. 478. — emprise. Chivalrous and adventurous undertaking. 1. 485.— His noble. MS.— This gentle ; and in 1. 486— the oars he drew. 1. 492.— The rocky isle. " It is rather high, and irregu- larly p^'ramidal. It is mostly composed of dark-grey rocks, mottled with pale and grey lichens, peeping out 330 NOTES. I|: i hero and tlioro amid trees that mantle them,— chiefly li^^ht, graceful birches, intorniingled with red-berried mountain ashes and a few d*),rl.-green, spiry pines. The landing is b^^neath an aged oak ; and, as did the Lady and the Knight, the traveller now ascends *a clambering un- suspected road,' by rude steps, to the small irregular summit of the j'^'and. A more poetic, romantic retreat could hardly bo nagined : it is unique. It is completely hidden, not only by the trees, but also by an undergrowth of beautiful and abundant ferns and the loveliest of heather." — Hunnewell's Lanu,o of Scott (Rolfe). 1. 502. — willow round. The epithet applies to the whole aspect of the willow, with its foliage seen at some dis- tance. 1. 505.— Some chief had framed a rustic bower. " The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their do- mains, some place of ratreat for the hour of necessity, which, as circumstances would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut m a strong and secluded situation. One of these last gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles Edward, in his perilous wanderings after the battle of Cullodcn."— Scott. 1. 506. — lodg^e. A house fox' the shelter of hunters. Page 87. 1. 525. — Idxan vine. The Vaccinium vitis Idcea, or red whortleberry, is suggested as Scott's meaning ; but it is a shrub and not a climber. Eolfe suggests the common vine, as Mount Ida (near the Troad, Asia Minor) was famous for its vines ; but it would not grow in that cli- mate. Minto cites the suggestior> of Professor Traill : "Scott may have meant the stone bramble, which has a vine-like leaf, and might be ^ taught to climb.'" Ho quotes also from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the de- scription of a plant on Both well Castle : " a broad-leaved creeping plant without flowers which scrambled up the THE LAD Y OF THE LAKE, CANTO /. 331 caHtle wall along with the ivy." Loudon (Ency. of Trees and Shrubs, p. (iTi) proHurnos to call the Mt. hla berry a " creeping evergreen shrub," and for the present it may be held that Scott had the red whortU;berry in mind. I. 520. — clematis (A;/«wi'a /tv). The clematis vitulba, a common species in Europe, known as traveller's joy, virgin's-bower, or old-man's beard, which runs over hedges, loading them first with its copious clusters of white blossoms, and afterwards with its plumose-tailed, silky heads. — Century Diet. 1. 528.- could bear. The omission of the subject relative is an archaism ; it is frequent in Elizabethan writers. 1. 532. — thy lady. An essential i)art of a knight's duty was the service of his chosen mistress, who was, as Scott said, " to bo the polar star of his thoughts and directress of his actions." Page 88. 1. 518.— broadsword. A sword with a broad blade and cutting edge. store. Cf. p. 126, 1, 5i. Abundance, i)lenty. 1. 551. — And there the w;ld-cat. MS. There liuut? the wild-cat's brindled hide, Above the elk's branched ))ro\v and skull. And frontlet of ihc forest bull. 1. 554. — Pennons. A pennon was, strictly, a small flag with pointed or indented end, borne on the lance of a knight bachelor. 1. 559.— garnish. A variant form of furnish ; cf. 1. 4-12. 1. 566.— brook to wield. A rare use. To brook usually meant to hold, to enjoy ; hence, to bear with, put up with. The sense here is derived from the latter — to stand the strain of wielding, wield with ease. 1. 568. — took the word. A once common form of ex- pression — replied. Pag^e 89. I. 573. — Of Ferragfus or Ascabart. Scott adds: " These two sons of Anak flourished in romantic fable. The first is well known to the admirers of Ailosto, by the iH! II 332 NOTES. name of Ferrau. Ho was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at longth slain by him in single combat. There is a romance ir. the Auchinleck MS., in which Ferragus is thus described : — He hadde twenti men streugthe And forti fet of lengthe, Thilke painim hede (had). "Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure in the History of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was con- quered. His effigies may be seen guarding one side of a gate at Southampton, while the other is occupied by Sir Bevis himself. The dimensions of Ascabart were little inferior to those of Ferragus, if the following description be correct : — They metten ^ith a geaunt, With a iothelithe semblaunt (appearance). He was wonderliche sti-ong, Rome (fully) thretti fote long. His clob was, to yeue (give) a strok, A lite (little) bodi of an oak." 1. 576. — mistress of the mansion. Lady Margaret is an invention of Scott's, — regarded by him as the sister of Douglas and mother of Roderick Dhu. Margaret was a common name in the Douglas family. -more than kindred knew. See p. 104, 11. 249ff . 1. 580. MS. To whom, though more remote her claim. Young Ellen gave a mother's name. 1. 585.— Though all unask'd his birth and name. " The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to a punct.ib'ous ex- cess, are said to have considered it as churlish, to ask a stranger his name or lineage, before he had taken refresh- ment. Feuds were so frequent among them, that a con- trary rule would in many cases have produced the discov- ery of some circumstance, which mijrht have excluded the guest from the benefit of the assistance he stood in need of."- Scott. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO L 333 1, 591. — Snowdoun. " Snowdon ... has no connection with the Welsh mountain of that name, but i3 simply the descriptive name of Stirling — Snua-dun, the fort, or forti- fied hill, on the river." — Glennie, Arthurian Localitien, • • • • 111., 1. Fitz- James. Fitz, son (Norman Fr. /?2, lii.t. filiua). 1. 592.— a barren heritage. An allusion to the empty sway of the royal line in consequence of the feudal power of the nobles. 1. 595.- in such turmoil. More definitely, at Flodden. 1. 593. — wot. Knows. (3rd pers. sing, of to wit, A.S. witan, to know ; its past tense is wist(e).) I. 598. — Lord Moray. From 1501-1544 the earldom of Moray was held hy .Fames Stewart, natural sou of James IV., and uncle, therefore, to the king Page 90. 1. 604.— elder lady's mien. MS.— the mother's easy mien. II. 606ff.— Ellen, though more. MS. Ellen, though more h<>r looks betray 'd The simple heart of mountain maid, 111 speech and gesture, form and grace, . . . 'Twas strange, in birth so rude, to find- Such face, such manners, and such mind. Each anxious hint the stranger gave. The mother heard with silence grave. 1. 609.— gentle. Noble. 1. 616.— Weird wotnun. Cf. "the weird sisters," the sister fates, of Macbeth. Ellen playfully suggests that they are some uncanny creatures, scarcely having a local habi- tation. A.S. v)yrd means fate, destiny. dale and down. A phrase from the older ballads, just as " tower and town" in the next line is from the older English romances. down. High rolling country. 1. 622. — a harp. Scott, in a note, cites proof that " the Highlanders delighted much in music, but chiefly in 334 NOTES. m ■V 1*1 harps and cln irschoea of their own fashion. . . . They sing verses containing, for the most })art, praises of their valiant men." The harp may have been extant till the middle of last century, but it has been supplanted by the bagpipe. 1. ()20. — battled fields. Fields that have been fought in battle array. Page 91. 1. 03.").— Morn of toil. MS. Noon of hunprer, night of vvakinj?. No rude sound ahall rouse tliine ear. 1. 038. — pibrocii (pe'broch). The wild Highland music of the bagpipes. (Gael. 2nobairearhd, pipe-music.) 1. 039. — clan. A tribal group people associated to- gether, claiming descent from a common ancestor. 1. ()40. — lark's shriM fife. " The lark's song is not especi- ally melodious, but lithesome, sibilant, and unceasing. Its type is the grass, where the bird makes its home, abounding, multitudinous, the notes nearly all alike and all in the same key, but rapid, swarming, prodigal show- ering down thick and fast as drops of rain in a summer shov/or." — John Burroughs, Birds and Pacts. The " shrillness" of its song is noted by John Lyly — What is't now we hear ? None but the lark so shrill and clear. —Campa82>6> v , i. Shelley also notes the " shrill delight" of its song. 1. 042. — bittern sound his drum. " The bittern dwells in the marshes, nocturnal in habits, rarely seen on the wing. Its ' boom,' or love-song of the male, is heard at all hours of the night durins^ the breeding season, and never in the (lay. It is a weird; unearthly noise, not to be dignified Avith the name of a noto, and may be heard at a consider- able distance. The bird is so shy that the noise is instantly stopped on the slightest alarm. Some writers have likened it to the bellowing of a bull, others think it resembles the THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO L 335 LC neighing of a horse, whilst more imaginative ornitholo- gists trace in it a resemblance to their ideal conception of demonaio laughter. It consists of two parts, one supposed to be produced as the bird inhales aud the other as it exhales its breath. Naumann attempts to express it on paper by the syllables ii-jfrump, repeated slowly several times. The call-note, which is common to the two series is a hoarse croak like the ca-wak of a Night-Heron. . .but the 'boom' is only heard from the reeds." — Seebohm, British Birds, ii. 504. 1. 015.— warder. Cf. p. 212, 1. 7. A keeper; guard at a gate. 1. 6i8. — then, blushing, led. MS. — but waked again. 1. G55. — While our slumbrous spells. ( Slumber aweet our spells shall deal ye. i Let our sluiubrous spells \\ .;' (^ ( beguile ye. MS. Page 92. 1. (557. — reveille (re vrd'ye). Better reveille, — the call of drum or bugle at daybreak to rouse the soldiers (Fr. revei/, awakoning). 1. G()9. —forest sports. MS. — mountain chase. 1. G80. — from my couch. Lockhart quotes a parallel passa^^e on sleep from Thomson, Castle of Indolence, i., xlvii. f, where guardian spirits are invoked to bring back the long-lost friends, the morn of youth, and td protect from the foul demons of the night. Page 93. 1. 099.- coldgauntlet. The steel glove of an armei)und liim to thy mother's name ? Who else dared give ... 1. 229. — The Douglas, like a stricken deer. " The exiled state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that, numerous as their allies were, and disregarded as the regal authority had usually been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, unless under the strictest and closest disguise. James Douglas, son of he banished Earl of Angus, after- wards well known by the title of Earl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his family, in the north of Scotland, under the assumed name of James Innes, otherwise James the Grieve, {i.e. Reve or Bailiff.) 'And as ho bore the name,' says Godscroft, ' so did he also execute the office of a grieve or overseer of the lands and rents, the corn and cattle, of him with whom he lived. ' " — Scott. I ■fi 342 NOTES. jike a striken deer. Gf. A poor sequcatcrcd stag, That from tl«e lumtcr's aim hath tn'cn a hurt, . , . Left and abandoned of his velvet fricndn. — Shakspere, Aa You Like It, il., i. Pagfe 104. 1. 23G. —dispensation sought. The relationship imagined b^' Scott (see 11. 250fF.) is that of first cousins — within, thereioro, the forbidden degrees of consanguinity. To marry dispensation would bo required from the Pope. 1. 2()0. — votaress in Maronnan's cell. Votaress, fern, of votary— devotee, nun. " The parish of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of L(,oh Lomond, derives its name from a coll or chapel, dedicated to Saint Maronock, or Marnock, or Maronnan, about whose sanctity very little is now remembered. There is a fountain devoted to him in the same parish ; but its virtues, like the merits of its patron, have fallen into oblivion." — Scott. 1. 270. — Bracklinn's thundering^ wave. Falls on the Kel- tie, a mile and a half n. n. e. of Callander. (Gael, breac linn, speckled, foamy pool.) Pag^e 106. 1. 274. — claymore. The two-edged broadsword of the ancient Scottish Highlanders. (Gael, daidheamh mor, great sword.) Page 107. 1. 305. — Of yore. Of old, long ago (A.S. geara, gen. pi. gear, year — formerly). 1. 306. — For Tineman forged by fairy lore. " Archibald, the third [fourth, Ed.] earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate in all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tineman, because he tined, or lost, his followers, in every battle which he fought." — Scott. He was not, however, an ancestor of Scott's James of Bothwell, who belonged to the Angus branch of the family of Douglas. The forging of famous swords by supernatural powers is common in all Aryan myths — cf. Beowulf's Hrunting, Siegfried's Balmung, Arthur's £xcalibur. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IL 343 Irs 1. 807.— What time. Tliat is, at tho tiino that— an ab- broviatioM in Ww opic- nt}'!*'; cf. p. 127, 1. 1.5. i. HOH. -Hotspur. Honry Porcy, suruainod Hotspur, son of Homy Percy, first earl of NorthiimborlaTi(l. \\i^ cap- tured tlio e.'ul of Douglas at, Ifainildon Hill, 1402. See Shakspore's ffenr}/ IV. Douglas joined Percy in the revolt against IFcnry IV. and was defeated and joptvired at Shrewsbury, 140H. 1. 809.— self- unscabbarded, foreshow. "Tho ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested chiefly in their blades, were accustcmiod to deduce omens from them, <^s- pecially from such as wore sui)posed to have been fabri- cated by enchanted skill, of which we have various in- stances in the romances and legends of the time. The wonderful sword Skoffnung, wielded by the celebrated Hrolf Kraka, was of tliis description . . . Lord Lovat is said, by the author of the Letters from Scotland, to have affirmed tliat a number of swords that hung up in the hall of the mansion-house leaped of themselves out of tho scabbard at the instant ho was born. Tiiis .^tory passed current among his clan, but. . .proved an unfortunate omen." — Scott. 1. 811. — courtly spy. This marks the awakening suspi- cions of the minstrel respecting Fitz-James. 1. 819.— Beltane (belt'iin). A Lowland-Scotch word- Gael. bealUain, the 1st of May, (Old May-day), one of the old quarter-days of Scotland. It was a time of festival — kindling of bonfires, etc. 1. 327. — canna. Cotton-grass (Gael, canach). Page io8. 1. 335.— Glengyle. The chief district of tho Mac- gregors ; tlie rocky valley of the Glongyle, which flows 8. E. into the western end of Loch Katrine. 1. 337. — Brianchoil. No doubt, Brenachoil, the point north from Ellen's Isle, Loch Katrine. 1. 338. — cast. In nautical language, when the ship turns her side to the wind, she is said to cast, i.e. to veer, come round. \n It »44 NOTES. 1. 342.— spears. The ed. 1833 reads spear, probably a a misprint, as 1610-25 have — spears. 1. 343. — brave. Scotch braw— gay. 1. 345. — bonnet. The cap of the Scot. 1. 351. — chanters. The pipe of the bagpipe on which the melody is played. Scott, however, in his iT.ote defines chanter as the drone of the bagpipe. As the drones are thrown over the shoulder and are ornamented witli ribbons, it is evident that it is in the latter loose sense that he employs chanter. 1. 356. — The pibroch proud. " The connoisseurs in pipe- music affect to discover, in a well-composed pibroch, the imitative sounds of march, conflict, flight, pursuit, and all the ' current of a heady fight.' To this opinion Dr. Beattie has given his suffrage : ' A pibroch is a species of tune, peculiar, I think, to the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially in the quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, that a stranger find?! it impossible to reconcile his ear to it, so as to perceive its modulation. Some of these pibrochs, being intended to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion, resembling a march ; then gradually quicken into the onset ; run off with noisy confusion and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the conflict and pursuit ; then swell into a few flourishes of triumphant joy ; and, perhaps, close with the wild and slow wailings of a funeral procession.' (Essay on Laugh- ter and Ludicrous Composition^ Chap. III. Note. )"— Scott. 1. 357. — sound. The 1st ed. has — sounds; the 3rd and subsequent edd.— sound. 1. 362. — Gathering. The gathering is, strictly, the mus- ter of the clans in times of great emergency ; hence the war-march or war-song of the clan. Page 109. 1. 371.— closing. As the combatants came together. N THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IL 345 I off ate hes nd lh- tt. nd |U9- bhe 1. 383. — Clarion. Shrill, musical sound, as of a shrill trumpet. I. 392.— the burden bore. Took up and sang the refrain in chorus ; see note to p. 70, 1. 17, Page no. 1. 396. — Vich. Gael, mhic, voc. of mac, son, des- cendant. II. 399f.— Hail to the Chief who. " The song itself is intended as an imitation of the Jorrams, or boat songs of the Highlanders, which were usually composed in honour of a favourite chief. They are so adapted as to keep time with the sweep of the oars, and it is easy to distinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars of a galley, where the stroke is lengthened and doubled, as it were, and those which were timed to the rowers of an ordinary boat." — Scott. See note to p. 139, 1. 369 for the poem from which this is in part imitated. 1. 405. — to bourgeon. To bud (Fr. bourgeon, a bud). 1. 408.— Roderick Vich Alpine dhu. " Every Highland chief has an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan. . .This name is usually a patronymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of tlio family. . . The chieftain had usually another title peculiar to liimself. . . .This was sometimes derived from complexion, as dhu (black), or roy (red) ; sometimes for size, as beg or more. . . The line, therefore, signifies — Black Rotleriek, the descendant of Alpine.'* — Scott. 1. 416.— Menteith. See p. 72, 1. 89 note. Breadalbane. A mountainoun district in West Perth- shire, forming the west, south, and east basin of Loch Tay. It is chiefly inhabited by clan Campbell ; but Scott gives clan Macgregor poetical boundaries. 1. 419. — Glen Frum. The rugged upper valley of the Pruin river, which flows s. e. into Loch I^omond. It was the scene of a battle ia 1608 in which the Macgregois 346 NOTES. destroyed a body of Colquhouns, See Scott's Hoh Hoy and note to L 422. 1. 420. — Bannochar. Benuchara, in the lower part of the Fruin. ' ' Overhanging? the entrance to the glen are the ruins of the castle of Benuchara, anciently the residence of the Colquhouns." — Black. slogan. The special war-cry of the Highland clans. (Gael, ahiagh, host; gairm, call, cry.) Page III. 1. 421. — Glen Luss. A valley on the west side of Loch Lomond through which Luss Water flows. Ross-dhu. An estate on the west sho: .. of Loch Lomond, three miles below Glen Luss. 1. 422. — The best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. " The Lennox (1. 423), as ohe district is called, which en- circles the lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculi- arly exposed to the incursions of the mountaineers, who inhabited the inaccessible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake and the neighbouring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by circumstances of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict of Glen Fruiti is a celebrated instance. This was a clan battle, in which the Macgregors, headed by AUaster Macgregor, chief of the clan, encountered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded by Sir Humphry Colquhoun of Luss. It is on all hands allowed, that the action was desperately fought, and that the Colquhouns were defeated with slaughter, leaving two hundred of their name dead upon the field. But popular tradition has added other horrors to the tale. It i.H said that Sir Humphry Colquhoun, who was on hcrse- back, escaped to the castle of Benechra, or Banochar, and was next day dragged out and murdered by the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. . . The consequences of the battle of Glen Fruin were very calamitous to the family of Mac- gregor, which had already been considered as an unruly clan. . . .Tames VI. let loose his vengeance against the Mac- gregors without either bounds or moderation. The very THE LAD V OF THE LAKE, CANTO 11. 347 name of the clan was proscribed, and those by whom it had boon boruo wero given iij) to sword and fire, and absolutely hunted down by bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyle and the Campbells, on the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Buchanans, on the other, are said to have been the chief instruments in suppressing this devoted clan " — Scott. ' 1, 42o. — Leven-glen. The valley of the Leven river in Dumbartonshire. The Leven flows from the south end of Loch Lomond into the estuary of the Clyde ; its valley is about a mile and a half broad, with an almost level surface. 1. 438.— Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, hoi ieroel "How- ever we may dislike the geographical song and chorus, half English and half Erse, which is sung in praise of the warrior, we must allow that, in other respects the hero of a poem has seldom, if ever, been introduced with finer effect, or in a manner better calculated to excite the ex- pectations of the reader, than the present occasion." — Critical Review^ quoted by Lockhart. 1. 444.— And chorus wild. MS.— The chorus to the chief- tain's fame. Page 112. 1. 454. — in the mid-path. Half-way. name. The MS. has — fame. 1. 4G4.— the bay. Cf. p. 80, 1. 324. I. 47o. — weeped. A costly sacrifice to rime. II. 477, — Her filial welcomes, etc. MS. Her filial sreeiings eaprer hung, Mark'rt not that awe (aflcction's proofj Still held yon gentle youth aloof; No! i_jt till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Gnnne. Then with flush 'd cheek and downcast eye, Their greeting was confused and sliy. Page 113. 1. 485.— His master. Douglas. 1. 493.— he recalls the day. It is not easy to identify 1^ 348 NOTES, the historical incident that Rcott has in mind hero. It is usually held that the reference is to the defeat; of Sir Walter Scott of Bucclnuch by Angus in 1526, when the former made an attempt to release young King James from Angus's custody. . . In support of this, it is pointed out that the " waned crescent" was part of the cognizance of the Buccleuch Scotts. It must be urged against this view that the Percy pennon here is not simply an historic trophy, it is a sign of ' • bloody field," in which the speaker himself was successful against Percy, and in celebratic;n of which makes his triumphant entry into his castle of Bothwell. The "waned crescent" was the badge of the Percy. In the Battle of Otterbourne the lines — The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte, Forsoth as I yow sayne ; The Lucetts and the Cressawnts both— mark the badges emblazoned on the banners of Percy — the white lyon statant, and the silver crescent, and luces, still used as emblems by that family. The poet ascribes romantically a great victory to his James of Both well over Earl Percy, not as has been believed, over the Buccleuch Scotts. 1. 497. — Percy's Norman pennon. This reference is per- haps suggested by the exploit of Archibald, fourth Earl of Douglas, in defeating the Earl of March and Henry Percj^ ("Hotspur") at Cockburnspath. The English were pur- sued to Berwick walls, where the lance and pennon of Tal- bot were captured. The house of Percy, earls of Northumberland, was of Normal 1 Tigin. 1. 501. — pomp. Triumphal march, procession (the Latin sense). 1. 504. — ^the waned crescent See note to 1. 493. 1. 506. — Biantyre. A village on the Clyde, the seat of an ancient f riory, now in ruins, founded by Alexander II. in 1296. Both well Castle is near by. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IL 349 1. 507.— flung back. Resounded, echoed in response to the hymns of Blantyre. Page 114. 1. 521. — The dogs with crouch. MS. The dof?8 with whim iJcring notes repaid. 1. 525. — thoiigh unhooded. The eyes of the falcon moio covered by a " hood" when the bird was not about to be flown at its prey. 1. 527.— fabled Goddess. Plana the Huntress. The MS. has huntress. 1. 534.— stature fair. Edd. 1825-33 read— stature tall. 1. 536. — belted plaid. This signifies full military dross in the Highlands ; so called from being kept tight to the body by a belt {Cent. Diet.) Page 115. 1. 541. — ptarmigan in snow. Its plumage turns white in winter. See note to p. 84, 1. 440. 1. 548.— Ben-Lomond. A mountain (3,192 ft.) by Loch Lomond — one of the favourite ascents for tourists to-day. It is on the west border of the land of the Grahams. Page 116. 1. 574. — Glenfinlas. The glen of the Finglas Water. Tb opens into the Trossachs at the Brigg of Turk. 1. 577. — a royal ward. As an noble orphan, and under age, he was ward to the king. Greeme is represented as lieir to the whole Graham country, really comprising two distinct earldoms, Montrose and Menteith (Minto). 1. 583.— Strath-Endrick glen. The valley of Endrick Water where it nears Loch Lomond — consequently within the Lowlands. I. 504. — were the news. Modern usage would require a singular verb. Page 117. 1. 606.— glozing. Deceptive. 1. 615. — The King's vindictive pride. Scott adds a note : "In 1529, Tames V. made a convention at Edinburgh, for * the purpose of considering the best mode of quelling the Border robbers, who, during the licence of his niiuoritv, 1 v» . 350 NOTES. and the troubles which followed, had committed many oxorbita'.ices. Accordingly ho assoiublcd a flying army often thousand meu, consisting of Lis jtrincipul nobility and their followers, who were directed to bring their hawks and dogs with them, that the monarch might re- fresh himself with sporj; during the intervals of military execution. With this array ho swept through Ettrick Forest, where ho hanged, over the gate of his own castle, Piers Cockburii of Ilenderland, Avho had prepared, accord- ing to tradition, a feast for his reception. Ho caused Adam Scott of Tushielaw also to bo executed, who was dis- tinguished by the title of King of the Border. But the most noted victim of justice, during that expedition, was John Armstrong of Gilnockie, famous in Scottish song, who, confiding in his own supposed innocence, met the King, with a retinue of thirty-six persons, all of whom were hanged at Carlenrig, near the source of the Teviot. The effect of this severity was such, that, as the vulgar expressed it, ' the rush-bush kejit the cow,' and ' there- after was great peace and rest a long time, wherethrough the king had great profit ; for he had ten thousand sheep going in the Ettrick Forest in keeping by Andrew Bell, who made the King as good count of them as they had gone in the bounds of Fife.' — Pitscottie's Hintory^ p. 153." 1. 623.— cries their blood. Cf. Gen. iv. 10 Meggat's mead. The valley of Megget Water, which rises in n. e. Dumfriesshire, and flows into St. Mary's Loch and the Yarrow. The latter river is a tribut:iry of the Ettrick, which itself, like the Teviot, joins the Tweed. (See note to p. 59, 1. 6.) The places here mentioned denote the scene of the king's vengeance on the Border chiefs. 1. 624. — braes. English Jro?r— hilly districts, especially those marking the valley of a river. 1. 625. — streams of Ettrick. Its little afiiuents — Tima Water, Rankle Burn, etc, THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO II, 351 ,1. 627.— The dales ... did ride. MS. The dales where clans were wont to bide. 1. 698.- -What grace for Highland chiefs. " James was, in fact, eciually attentive to restrain rapine and feudal op- pression in every part of his .dominions." — Scott. Page ii8. 1. G38. —Your counsel. . . I show. (Give me) your counsel in the difficult situation (strait) that I disclose. Page iiQ. 1.072.— To wife ..to mine aid. As a wife, for my aid — a construction anciently common. 1. 674. — enow. A variant form of enough. 1. 676. — Western Chiefs. That is, heads of the clans of the Western Isles. " The King past to the Isles, and there held justice courts, and punished both thief and traitor. . . Syne (afterwards) brought many groat men of the isles captive with him (Pitscottie.)" — Scott. 1. 678.— The Links of Forth. The fertile districts from Stirling to Alloa, in which to go five miles and a half, the Forth winds twelve and a half. 1. 679. — Stirling. On the river Forth. With the acces- sion of the Stuart kings of Scotland, the castle became a favourite royal residence. 1. 685.— heat. The edd. 1825-1833 misprints this— heart. 1. 690. — from pathless glen. MS. — from hill and glen. 1. 694— beetled. Jutted out. Cf. HamJet, i., iv., 71. Page 120. 1.696. — dangerous dream. MS. desperate dream. 1.702. — battled fence. The battlements. 1. 708. — astound. Perf. part, of archaic verb astoun. (Mid. Eng. astonien^ to distract, amaze ; A. S. stunian, to stun. ) 1. 718. — hectic. Fever marked by alternations of heat and cold . Page 121. 1. 747.— nighted. Benighted. Page 122. 1. 757.— chequered shroud. The plaid, 352 NOTES. 11. 768f. — So the deep anguish, etc. MS. The dccp-toncd aiiKuiHli of despair Fluah'd, etc. 11. 781f.— Thus as they strove, etc. MS. Thus ns they strove, each hotter hand Grasp'd for the dageei* or the brand. I. 786.— I hold the first who strikes. " Tho author has to apologi;i5e for the inadvertent appropriation of a whole line from the tragedy of Douglas, I hold the first who strikes, my foe." — Scott, note to 2nd ed. Page 123. 1. 789.— deemed. Edd. 1825-33 misprint— doomed. II. 7911T.— Sullen and slowly, etc. MS. Sullen and slow the rivals bold Loosed, at bis best, their desperate liold, But either still on other glared. 11. 801f. — pity 'twere... the midnight air. "Hardihood was in every respect so essei..tial to the character of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was the most bitter which could be thrown upon him. Yet it was some- times hazarded on what we might presume to think slight ground. It is reported of old Sir Ewan Cameron of Loch- iel, when upwards of seventy, that he was surprised by night on a hunting or military expedition. He wrapped him in his plaid, and lay contentedly down upon the snow, with which the ground happened to be covered. Among his attendants, who were preparing to talvo their rest in the same manner, he observed that one of his grandsons, for his better accommodation, had rolled a large snowball, and placed it below his head. * Out upon thee ! ' said he, kicking the frozen bolster from the head which' it supported, ' art thou so effeminate as to need a pillow ?' "—Scott. 1. 804. — fell. A barren rocky hill. 7yf^ IAD y OF THE LAKE, CANTO 11. 35, ready upon „n „ " " ^"'' "' •^'"^"t^ry, „„rt ;, t„ ,,„ reaay, upon all occasions, to venture his life in rf„f. patron » But Hllir ^'^ '^ ^"^ *^"^ ^^^'^d^ his 1 «m r * '^^^^ derivation is faulty. 1. 810. -safe-conduct. Pass or warrant of security He spoke, he ended ; cf. the Page 124. I. 826.-He said. liatin use of t?m7, ait. 1. *»dy.— dirk. Long, heavy daffger— narfc nf ih^ ment of the Highland gentleman. "^ ^" "'^"^P 1. 831.-The Fiery Cross. See note to p. 127, 1. 18. Page 125. 1. 860. -Then plunged he. MS. He spoke, and plunged into the tide under water, swi^X' witKUt Z^!'' '^'^ "^ ^54 NOTES, CANTO THIRD. Page 126. 1. 1. — The race of yore. The opening stanzas are a personal reference to Scott's childhood; see p. xxxii. Note the relation of this introduction to the substance of the canto. That is, of their kindred ; The war-march, the Page 127. I. IG.— kindred banner, cf. p. 17H, 1. 624. 1. 17. — the gathering sound. ' gathering' of the clan. 1. 18. — the Fiery Cross. "When a chieftain designed to summon his clan, upon any sudden or important emer- gency, he slew a goat, and making a cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in l-he fire, and extinguished them in the blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery Gross, also Crean Tarigh, or the Cross of S/iavie, be- cause disobedience to what the symbol implied, inferred in- famy, it was delivered to a switt and trusty messenger, who cftn full speed with it to the next hamlet, where he presented it to the principal person, with a single word, implying the place of rendezvous. He who received the symbol was bound to send it forward, with equal dispatch, to the next village; and thus it passed with incredible celerity through all the district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also among his allies and neighbours, if the danger was common to them. At sight of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best arms and accoutrements, to tne place of rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffeied the extremities of fire and sword, which where emblematically denounced to the dis- obedient by the bloody and burnt marks upon this war- like signal. During the civil war of 17*5-6, the Fiery Cross often made its circuit ; and upon one occasion it passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract THE I.ADY OF THE LAh'E, CANTO ///. 365 of thirty-two milos, in three hours. The late Alexander Stewart, Esq., of Invornaliylo, described to me his having sent round the Fiery Cross through the district of Appine, during the same commotion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two English frigates, and the flower of the young men were with the army of Prince Charles Edward, then in England ; yet the summons was so effec- tual, that even old ago and childhood obeyed it ; and a force was collected in a few hours, so numerous nnd so enthusiastic, th it all attempts at the intended diversion upon the country of the absent warriors, was in prudence abandoned, as desperate. " This practice, like some others, is common to the Highlander.^ with the ancient Scandinavians." — Scott. 11. 19fT. — The summer dawn's reflected hue, etc. Kuskin takes this passage for his special treatment of Scott's de- scriptive poctrj. See pp. 320f. 11, 27f. — In brig^ht uncertainty. An illustration, said Ruskin, of " Scott's habit of drawing a slight moral from every scene, just enough to excuse to his conscience his want of definito religious feeling ;. . .this slight moral is almost always melancholy. . . His completed thought would be, that those future joys, like the mountain shadows, were never to be attained." 1.30. — chalice (tshal' isa). Cup, flower-cup. (L&t. ealix, a cup.) rea,red. In Ist ed. — oped. 1. 33. — grey mist. MS. — light mist. 1. 37. — speckled thrush. See note to p. 5, 1. 18. 1. 39. — cushat dove. The cushat, or cushat-dove, is the wood-pigeon, or ring-dove. See note on stock-dove, p. 290. M Pagv 128. II. 47f.— Beneath a rock. MS. Hard by, his vassals' early care The mystic ritual prepare. 1. 62.— juniper. The well-known evergreen shrub, with 356 NOTES. |. purple berrioa. It was much vonoratod as a protection against evil spirits, otc. (Elworthy, The Evil Eye, p. I02j. rowan {rmo'an). The mountain-ash. It had magical properties, especially against witches (Hregor, Folk-Lore o/N.E. SSotland, p. 167). It was used for the divining- rod, and to burn hearts in incantations (Henderson, Folk- Lore, p. 876), Page 129. 1. 71. — Monk, of savage form. Scott adds : " The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considerable » facilities for those wliose mode of life excluded them from regular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assist- ance of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature o! their doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstance:^ of their flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had his cele- brated domestic chaplain. Friar Tuck. And that same curtal friar was probably matched in manners and ap- pearance by the ghostly fathers of the Tynedale robbers." After describing these chaplains and giving illustration-^ of the fria/s of the Irish septs, Scott concludes : " I flatter myself I have here produced a strong warrant for tljo character sketched in the ext." He ends by quoting a picture from Martinis Description 0/ the Western Inlet, of the ascetic religionists of those districts. 1. 74. — Benharrow. A mountain in the deepest solitude of the Braes of Balquidder, of which it is the western limit. It is not far east of the head of Loch Lomond. 1. 76. — Druid's. Scott implies that the ancient pagan religion of the Jelts gave more to Brian^s creed than Christianity. The Druid, priest of the ancient Britons (Gael, druidh, magician), is said to have offered human sacrifice. 1. 81. — The hallowed creed. Christianity. MS. While the bleas'd creed gave only worse. 1. 87. — glen or strath. A glen is the deep and narrow THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO ///. 357 le valley, often with a small stream ; a strath the !>roader ne, sometimes containing a river {Gent, Dictionary). 1. 89. — He prayed. MS. He pray'd with many a cross between, # And . . . 1. 91. — Of Brian's birth strangle tales. The digression here is a characteristic instance, as rei^pects mystery, of the Romantic movement in literature. Scott felt the weakness of his story, and justified himself in a note : " The legend which follows is not of the author'i* inven- tion. It is possible he may differ from modern critics, in supposing that the records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and characteristic of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a legitimate subject of poetry. He ^ives, however, a ready assent to the narrower proposition which condemns all attempts of an irregular and dis- ordered fancy to excite terror, by accumulating a train of fantastic and incoherent horrors, whether borrowed from n 11 countries, and patched upon a narrative belonging to oiie which knew them not, or derived from the author^s own imagination. In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the record . . . from the geographical collections made by the Laird of Macfarlane." This sfory is a legend of the monk, Gili-Doir-MaghrevoUich, Black Child, Son to hs Bones, founder of the church of Kilmalie, in Lochyeld. The legend is, of course, a variation of the old story of the birth of Merlin. 1. 92.— fold. See p. 22, 1. 322. "A sheep-fold in these mountains [of the Lake district] is an unroofed building of stone walls, with different divisions. . .generally placed by a brook, for the convenience of washing the sheep, but is also uaeful as a shelter for them."— Wordsworth. 1. 99. — kaot-grass. A common trailing plant, with nodes, or knots, in its stems. It creeps on the "ground, ' ' fettering " to the ground what it grows over. nl i H ii 111 358 NOTES. Page 130. 1. 104. — fieldfare. A sort of thrush. 1. 106. — mocked at time. Their race was swifter than the flight of time ; not, as Stuart takes it, they despised all that time could bring upon them. 1. 10a. — chaplet. A festal wreath for the head, usually of flowers. 1. 109.— heath-bell. See note to p. 81, I. 855. 1. 116. — ^virgin snood. " The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curcJi, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch."— Scott. 1. 123. — compeers. Companions, equals (Lat. compar, equal). 1. 131. — ^frantic. Crazed (Lat. phreneticus, mad). MS. Till driven to frenzy, lie believed The legend ( f his birth received. Page 131. 1. 138. — sable-lettered page. The type of the early printers is called black-letter, Gothic, Old English, etc. For an example, see p. 126. 1. 142. — cabala. Literally, the Hebrew mystical philo- sophy (Heb. qabbclldh, traditional theosophy) ; here, occult science, mysticism. I. 144. — curious and presumptuous pride The pride of an intellect bent on probing the mystery of the super- natural. II. 149fF. — ^visions wild, Such as might suit the spectre's child. ' ' In adopting the legend concerning the birth of the founder of the church of Kilmalie, the author has endea- voured to trice the effects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a barbarous age, on the person to whom it re- lated. ... It was a natural attribute of such a character as THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO 11 L 359 the supposed hermit, that he should credifc the numerous superstitions with which the minds of ordinary Highland- ers are almost always imbued. A few of these are slightly alluded to iu this stanza. The River Demon, or River- horse (f(tr it is that form which he commonly assumes), is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness calamity. He fre- quents most Highland lakes and rivers; and one of his most memorf.ble exploits was performed upon the banks of Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the scene of our action ; it consisted in the destruction of a funeral procession, with all its attendants. The 'noon- tide hag,' called in Gaelic Glas-lichf a tail, emaciated, gigantic female figure, is supposed in particular to haunt the district of Knoidart. A goblin, dressed in antique armour, and having one hand covered with blood, called, from tnat circumstance, Lham-dearg, or Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothiemurc ;^. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape and mal- ignant in disposition, are believed to frequent different mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any unusual appearance, produced by mist, or the strange lights that are sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to present an apparition totlu imagination of the solitary and melancholy mountaineer." — Scott. 1. 161. — seer. Lit., one who sees (the future). mankind. Note the accent, which is the prevalent one in Shakspere (Rolfe). Page 132. 1. 168. — The fatal Ben-Shie's boding- scream. "Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who took an interest in their prosperity, and inti- mated, by its wailin.j:s, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant was called May Motif fach. and appeared in the form of a girl, who had hor arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had an attendant called Bodach- »60 NOTES. an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill; and many other ex- amples might be mentioned. The Ben-Schie implies a female fairy, whose lamentations were often supposed to precede the death of a chieftain of particular families. When she is visible, it is in the form of an old woman, with a blue 'mantle and streaming hair. A superstition of the same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior ranks of the native Irish." — Scott. Ben-Shie is Gael, bean-aidhe, * woman of the fairies.' MS. The fatal Ben-Shie's dismal scream ; And seen her wrinkled form, the sign Of w^ and death to Alpine's line. 1. 170. — Of charging; steeds, careering^ fast. A presage, of the kind alluded to in the text, is still believed to an- nounce death to the ancient Highland family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain In ' "'e is heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity." — Scott. 1. 171. — shingly. Covered with loose gravel. 1. 175. — girt his loins. Of. Luke xii. 35. The monk would be, like the Hebrews, impeded by his robe. 1. 187. — grisly {griz'li). Fearful, gruesome. 1. 188. — framed. The reading of the first three edd. ; most later edd. have — formed. 1. 190. - limbs. The first ed. —limb. yew. A plant of mystic power — hated by witches, po? sibly by reason of its association with the churchyardi (cf. 1. 200), where it frequently grows. (Henderson, Folk- Lore of the Northern Cotinties, p. 226.) 1. 191. — Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach. '•Inoh-Oail- liach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most beauti- ful island at the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The church belonging to the former nunnery was long used as the plaoe of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but THE r.ADY OF THE LAKE^ CANTO III. 361 scarce any vestige of it now remains. The burial-ground continues to be used, and contains the family places of sapulture of several neighbouring clans. The monuments of the Lairds of Macgregor, and of other families claiming a descent from the old Scottish Jiing Alpine, are most re- markable. The Highlanders are as zealous of their rights of sepulture, as may be expected from a people whose whole laws and government, ii clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle of family de- scent. May his ashes be scattered on the water,* was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations which they used against an enemy." — Scott. -uch (»n/*/i) is Gael, inniit island. Page 133. I. li)8. anachema. Ecclesiastical curse. (Eccles. Gk. anathema, an accursed thing.' 1 207.— Each clansman's execration. Vf S. Our warriors, on his worthless bust, Shall speak disf^race and woe. 1. 212. — strook. Strok, or utrook, is an old past tense, found in Shakspere. MS. Their clattering targets hardl}' strook I And first they mutter'd low. 11.220f. — wolf... exulting eagle. An all'T-Ion to the traditional accompaniments of ancient northern warfare. Cf. Raised the war-chant, riie wolf on the wold— let loose the secret of battle, And the eagle, dewy feathered, took up the song On the track of the enemy. — Cynewulf, Elene, 11. 27ff. Page 134. 1. 228.— holiest. MS.— holy. 1. 243. — goshawk. A hawk resembling our henhawk. 1. 253.— Coir-nan-Uriskin. See 11. 622ff. ' ' This is a very steep and most romantic hollow (or cloft) in the mountain of Ben venue, overhanging the south-eastern extremity of Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and se2 NOTES. overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous production of the mountain, even where its ••liffs appear denuded of soil. A dale in so wild a situa- tion, and amid a people whose genius bordered on the romantic, did not remain without appropriate deities. The name literally implies the Corri, or Den, of the Wild or Shaggy Men. Perhaps this may have originally only implied its being the haunt of a ferocious banditti. But tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, who gives name t< the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man ; in short however much the classical reader may be startled, pre- cisGly that of the Grecian Satyr. . . . ' The Urisks,'* sa3s Dr. Graham, ' were a sort of lubberly superuaturais, who, like the Brownies, could be gained over by kind attention, to perform the drudgery of the farm , and it was believed that many of the families in the Highlands had one of the order attached to it. They were supposed to be dispersed over the Highlands, each in his own wild recess, but the solemn stated meetings of the order were regularly held in this cave of Benvenew.' " — Scott. Page 135. 1. 255. — Beala-nam-bo. Bealach-nam-bo (tlie ' Pass of the Cows') is the high elevated pass, higher up the mountain than the Goblin Cave, crossing a shoulder of Benvenue. It opens on Loch Katrine, and was the road by which the Highland cattle-lifters returned to their disti'cts. It is, said Scott, "a most magnificent glade, overhung with aged birch-trees. The whole composes the most sublime piece of scenery imagination can con- ceive." 1. 279.— Bought by this sign. Cf. 2 Peter ii. 1. 1. 281. —The murmur. MS. The slowly muttered deep Amen. Page 136. 1. 286. — Lanrick mead. This meadow is situated between the road running to Loch Katrine nnd the north- ern shore of Loch Vennachar towards its western end. MS. Mutiagau is the spjt doi'vecd. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO III. 3(38 I. 288. — heath-bird. Heath-cock or heath-hen : see note to p. 84, 1. 440. II. 300f. — the dun deer's hide, etc. "The present Aro/7 Me of the Highlanders is made of half-dried leather, with holes to udmit and let out the water ; for walking the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of question. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made out of un- dressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards." — Scott. Cf, The hunted Red-deer's undressed hide Their liairy husliins well supplied. —Marmion^ v., v. The dun deer is the stag, or red deer, of a reddish brown in summer. 1. 307. — trembling^ bog. Wet, spongy ground of peat, decaying moss, etc., shaking at the slightest touch. It can be crossed only by people well accustomed to it. false. Insecure, treacherous. 1. 310. — scaur. Or scar — a detached rock, Lare and pre- cipitous, or a cliff or rugged mountain side. Page 137. 1. 814.— Herald of battle. MS. Dread messeiiper of fate and fear, \ Herald of danger, fate, and fear, ) Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! Thou track'st not now the stricken doc, Nor maiden coy through greenwood "hough. 1. 324. — upland brown.' Cf. " land of brown heath." — The Lay^ vi., ii. 1. 332. — changed cheer. Countenance changed by emo- tion. 1. 333.— his scythe. The edd. 1825-33 have— the scythe. 1. 341. — Along the margin of Achray. Fee note, p. 305, and note to p. 72, 1. 95. " A glance at the provincial map of Perthshire, or at any large map of Scotland, will trace the progress of the signal through the small district of lakes and mountains, wh^'oh, in exercise of my poetical ■ 3C4 NOTES. privilege, I have subjected to the authority of my imagiu- a^y chieftain, and which, at the period of my romance, was really occupied by a clau who claimed a descent from Alpine." — Scott. 1. 342.— Alas, thou lovely lake I See note to p. 76, 1. 184. Page 138. 1. 349. — Duncraggan's huts. A farm and group of houses on the road near the Brigg of Turk — "the firdt stage of the Fiery Cross" (Scott). 1. 357.— The funeral yell. MS. 'Tis woman's scream, 'tis childhood's wail. 1. 362. — torches' ray. The first ed. — torch's ray. 1. 369. — coronach. The lament for the dead in the Scottish Highlands. (Gael, corranach, dirge ; covih, to- gether; ranach, outcry.) Scott imitates the coronach < n Sir Lauchlan, chief of Maclean, which he quotes in his note — Which of all the Senachles Can trace thy line from the root, up to ir'aradise But Macvuirih, the son of Fergus ? No sooner tiad thine ancient stately tree Taken fi'*m root in Albion, Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw.— 'Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name. 'Tis no base weed— no planted tree, Nor a seedling of last Autumn ; Nor a sapling planted at Beltain* ; Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branches— But the topmost bough is lowly laid ! Thou hast forsaken us before Sawaine. t Thy dwelling is the winter house ;— Loud, sad, and mighty is thy death-song ! Oh I courteous champion of Montrose ! Oh ! stately warrior of the Celtic Isles ! Thou Shalt buckle thy harness on no more ! " The coronach has for some years past been super- seded at funerals by the use of the bagpipe ; and that also Whitsunday. t Halloween. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO III. 365 is, like many other H'ghland peculiarities, falling into disuse, unless in remote districts." — Scott. Pag:e 139 1. 381.— flushing. Full bloom. 1.383. — correi. (Oael. coire^ a cauldron, dell, ravine.) " The hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies." — Scott. I. 387. — cumber. Scotch cummer — perplexity, em- barrassment. II. 391, 3. — river . . . ever. Concerning this bad rime, the Quarterly Review romarked : "We learn from Horace, that in the course of a long work, a , oet may legitimately indulge in a momentary slumber; but we do not wish to hear him snore." 1. 394.— Stumah "Faithful. The name of a dog."- Scott. Page 140. 1. 410. — Angus, the heir. LIS. Angus, the first of Dnncnn's line, Sprung forth and seized tlie fatal sign. And then upon his kinsman's bier Fell Malise's suspended tear. In ]ta.sta the stripling to his side His father's targe and falchion tied. 1. 423. — bonnet crest. It will be seen from several allu- si( ns in this poem that the tuft of feathers in the cap was a mark of gentility. Cf. *' The wearer arrogated a certain degree of gentility to himself by wearing a plume."— Scott, Castle Dangerous, ch. i. The eagle plume (see 1. 769} signified the chief. ' Page 141. 1. 452. — Benledi(6cn led'e). See note top. 73, 1. 105. 1. 463. — Strath-Ire. The valley of the Balvaig, between Loch Voil and Loch Lubnaig. 1. 458. — where Teith's young waters. That is, as the north br»nch of the Teith issues from Loch Lubnaig. Page 142 1. 459.— Betwixt him. MS. And where a steep and wooded knoll Graced the dark strath with emerald green. 366 NOTES. \ i 1. 461.— chapel ol Saint Bride. Now in ruins, standing "on a small and romantic knoll in the middle of the val- ley" (Scott), and almost in view of the south end of the loch. St. Bride or St. Bridget (fl. c. 500) was a favourite saint of Ireland and was much revered in Scotland. I. 465. — sympathetic. In unison with the waters' whirl. II. 480f. Tombea ... Armandave. " Tombea and Ar- nandave, or Ardmandave, are names of places in the vicinity." — Scott. 1. 482. — Gothic arch. The "pointed" arch, called Gothic, or barbarous, by the eighteenth century ; see illustration, p. xliii. 1. 483. — bridal. That Is, the wedding party (bride ale, wedding feast. 1. 485. — coif-clad. The coif is a close-fitting cap, resem- bling a night-cap. Page 143. 1. 495. — kerchief. The currh, or covering of the head. 1. 508. — muster-place. The Ist ed.— mustering-place. 1. 510. — And must he. MS. And must he then exchnnf^e the hand. I. 519.— brooks. The 1833 ed.— brook. Page 144. 1. 528. — Lubnaig's lake. The expansion of the north branch of the Teith, two miles and a half n.w. of Callander. The lake is four miles long and not half a mile broad, lying amidst steep mountains. (Gael, lub, bend.) Page 14s 1- 530.— hope deferred. Cf. Proverbs xiii. 12. II. 531ff. — memory with a torturing train. , MS. And memory brought the torturing train. .. But mingled with impatience came The manly love of martial fame. 1.646.— bracken. The common fern. 1. 553. — fancy now. MS. — image now. THE LADY OF THE LAh'E, CANTO III. 367 Page 146. 11. 561ff.— A time will come. MS. A time will come for luve and faith, For sliould tliy bridoffroom yield liis l)reath, 'Twill cheer him in the hour of dentli, The lx)t\ated right to thee, Mary. 1. 570. — Balquidder. The district of heath and rock lying north of Lochs Voil and Doine. Also a village at the east end of the former. speeds the midnight blaze. "It may be necessary td inform the southern reader that the heath on the Scottish moorlands is (ften set fire to, that the sheep may have the advantage of the j'oung herbage produced, in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom (execrated by sportsmen) produces occasionally the most beautiful noc- turnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge cf a volcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a warrior, in the fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to be ' like fire to heather set.' "—Scott. 1. 577. — coil. Tumult (Gael, goil^ fuming, battle.) 1. 578. — Loch Voil. A small loch, three and a half miles in length, west of Loch Earn. "Sullen" refers to its character of " solitude and remoteness from he hPo,unts of men " (Black's Ouide). 1. 579. — Loch Doine. West of Loch Voil and almost a continuation of it — a small loch of a mile and a half ia length. I. 580. — Balvaig, thy swampy course. A river flowing from Loch Voil into Loch Lubnaig; but the name is applied likewise, as here, to the stream entering Loch Doine at the west. II. 5Slf.— road. . .broad. It takes a Scotchman to make these words rime. 1. 582.— Strath- Gartney. The hilly country north of Loch Katrine. ti Page 147. 1. 595. — rendezvous (rah (ng) da voo'). meeting agreed on. (Fr. rendez-vous.) Place of 368 NOTES, I 1. 599.— No oa'h, but by his chieftain's hand. " The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clans- men to thair cliief, rendered this both a common and a solemn oath. In other respects they were like most savage nations, capricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of oaths. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the rftrfc, imprecating upon themselves death by that, or a similar weapon, if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the usual form, they are said to have had little respect." — Scott. 1. 604.— Mente-th. See note to p. 72, 1. 88. 1. 606. — Bruce. The chief seat of the Bruces was in Annandale, but some held lands in Menteith. 1. 607. — Rednock. A castle, now in ruins, two miles N. of Loch Menteith. It belonged to Sir John Menteith. 1. 608. — Cardross. An estate and ancient mansion on the Forth , the seat of the Erskines. 1. 609. — Duchray's towers. The ancient castle of Duch- ray, now in ruins, is situated three miles w.s.w. of Aber- foyle. It was the chief stronghold of the Grahams. 1. 610. — Loch Con. A small mountain lake two and a half miles long by half a mile wide, situated seven miles N.w. of Aberfoyle. A heronry once existed on one of its islands. 1. 616. — cruel. With respect to Roderick's suit. Page 149. 1. 658. — blast the rash beholder. It was the cur- rent belief that evil usually came to the man who was dis- covered by the fairies and gnomes watching them L 667. — cross. The usual reading of Scott's editions and a form allowed in poetry. 1. 672. — A single page, to bear his sword. " A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as any prince, had a corresponding number of officers attached to his person. He had his body-guards, called THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO ///. 369 ir- Is- Luichttach, picked from his clan for strength, activity, and entire devotion to his person. . , " Our officer of Engineers, so often quoted, has given us a distinct list of the domestic officers, who, independent of LuichttacJi, or gardes de corpn, belonged to the establish- ment of a Highland Chief. These are, 1. The Henchman. 2. The Bard. H. Bladier, or spokesman. 4. GiUie-more, or Sword-bearer, alluded to in the text. 5. G'Hie-caftflue, who carried the chief, if on foot, over the fords. (>. Gillie- eomstraine, who leads the chief's horse. 7. Gill ie-Trnitha- «arirj»/t, the baggage-man. 8. The jupor. 9. The piper's gillie, or attendant, who carries the bagpipe. {Letters from Scotland^ vol. ii. p. 15.)" — Scott. Page 150. 11. 093f. — To drown his love. MS. To drown his j?rief in war's wild roar, Nor tijinlc of love and Jiillen more. II. 699f.— ghost. . .treasure lost. "The popular belief is that if a person die while any hoarded money — or indeed metal of an}* kind, were it nothing more than old iron — is still hidden secretly, the spirit of that person cannot rest. Its perturbation can only be relieved by finding a human hand to take the hidden metal." — Sikes, British Goblins, ch. ii. Page 151. 1. 713. — Ave Maria (a/t'uJ mah re'ah). The salu- tation of the angel — Hail, Mary, Luke i. 28, which has become the opening words of a favourite anthem, as well as of many hymns, in the Koman Catholic church. 1. 722. — we now must share. MS. — my sire must share. 1. 725. — cavern's heavy. MS,— grotto's noxious. 1. 729. — Stainless styled. Immaculate is a permanent epithet of the Virgin. Page 152. 1. 751.— Lanrick height. The slopes of Ben Ledi north of Lanrick mead. 370 NOTES. I. 755. — Where mustered. MH. Where l>r()a(l exlciuliiiff fnr t»olow Mustered Claii-Alpiiie's iiiai tijil show. Page 153. 1. 7f 53.— matched the tartan. Tho Macgrop;or tar- tan is a cliequer mado by sets of throe dark grcon hands cM'ossing upon a red ground, with a glimpso of white on tho lino of tho wjuaro. 1. 771,— Bochastle. Seo notes to p. 73, 1. lOG and p. 192, 1. 301. CANTO FOITRTII. Page 154. 1. 1. — The rose is fairest. " 'Jlio Spenserian stanzas in all tho other (Santos aro reserved for tho poet's reflections. Thongli the reflection liore is put in the mouth of yoving Noriuan, toiii from his hiide hy uar at the church door, it njiplies also to the Knight of Snow- doun'fl gftUant adventure after Ellon, win ' is the main theme of tho Canto." — Minto. 1. 2. — And hope is brightest. MS. And niptiu'c dearest when obseiired by (cars. 1. 5--wilding. (Jrowing wild. Cf. Wordsworth's "bough of wilding" — any hush growing wild. Pnge 155. 1. 10. — conceit. Fancy. I. 19.— Braesof Doune. Tho hilly district east of Cal- lander, l)(>tween IJain Var and tlio Devan. 1. 8(). — boune. The archaic form of btmid — ready, pre- pared. (Old Norso buen^ pe^'f. ])art. of btia, to prepare.) " Ready boune " is a frequent pleonasm. 1. 37. — Douna. A village and an imposing castle, built bj' Murdocli of Albanj', on tho banks of the Toith (see WaverJey, cli. xx^vviii.). 'J'ho castle was a royal residence, and here, it has been believed, " tlio Knight of Snowdoun slept on tho night previous to tlie chase." THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IV. 371 Page 156. 1. 55.— 'Tis well advised. Planned, thought out. MS. 'TIs well mlvlsed— a prudent plan, Worthy the father of his clan. 1.03. —The Tagfhairm. Gael, taghairvi, noise, echo — a moflo of divination by listoning to the voice of a cascade. " The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various super- stitious modes of inquiring into futurity. One of the most noted was tlio Tajhairm, mentioned in the text. A person was wrapped up in the skin of a nowly-alain bul- lock, and deposited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or in some other strani^e, wild, and unusual situation, whore the scenery around him suggested nothing but objects of horror. In this situation, ho revolved in his mind the question proposed ; and whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted imagination, passed for the in- spiration of those disembodied spirits, who haunt the deso- late recesses."— SVott. The poet cites Martin, Western hies, for further uvidence of the practice. 11. 07ff. — The choicest of the prey we had. Scott says that ''this passage is taken almost literally from the mouth of an old Highland Kern, or Ketteran, as they were called. Ho used to narrate the morrj' doings of the good old time when he was follower of Ghlune Dhu, or lHack- knee, a relation of Rob Roy Macgregor, and hardly his in- ferior in fame. This leader, on one occasion, thought proper to make a descent upon the lower part of the Loch Lomond district, and summoned all the heritors and farm- ers to meob at the Kirk of Drymen, to pay him blackmail, i.e., tribute lor forbeariince and protection.. . , Only one gentleman . , . ventured to decline compliance. Ghlune Dhu instantly swept his land of all he could drive away, and among the spoil was a bull of the old Scott'sh wild breed, whos3 ferocity occasioned great plague to the Ket- terans. ' But ere we had reached the Row of Dennan,' said the old man, '^a child might have scratched his ears.'" m MOTE^. In the third edition Scott withdrew, as incorrect, the as- cription of the story to Macgregor Ghlune Dhu. 1. 6S. — merrymen. The ballad word for comrades, re- tainers, famous fellows. Stress is, as customary in this word, on the first syllable only. Cf. Bu&kc ye, bownc ye, my merry men all. —Robin Hood and Guy of Oisborne. Gallangad. The district of the burn of thai; name in the Lennox country (see p. 102, 1. 21G), flowing into the Endrick near Kilmarnock. Page 157. 1. 73.— kerns, Scott gives Kateran, Highland robber, aii equivalent, which it is etymologically -Gael. ceathairneach, a light-armed foot-soldier. The Cearnachi? were originally a select body ot men employed in difficult and dangerous enterprises, especially those of blackmail. [Scottish Highlands, ii., 321.) . 1, 74. — Beal 'maha. A pass on the road up the oast shore of Loch Lomond, opposite Inch-Cailliach. 1.82.- bj's. Projecting eminence. 1. 84. — nhe Hero's Targe. " There is a rock so named in the forest of Qlenfinlas, by which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered them down from the brink of the precipice above." — Scott. I). 97ff. — raven on the blasted oak, etc. The oak was the moat sacred of all trees — all the more so if struck by light- ning. The I'aven is pre-eminently the ominous bird. The doer was "broke" when quartered. Scott remarks: 'Everything belonging to the chase was matter of solemnity among our ancestors; but nothing was more so than the mode of cutting up, or, as it was technically called, breaking, the slaughtered stag. The forester had his allotted portion ; the hounds had a certain allowance ; cind, to make the division as general as possible, the very THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IV. 373 if •e y \ birds had their share also. * There is a little gristle,' says Turbervillo, ' which is upon the spoone of the brisket, which we call the ravon's bone ; and I have seen in some places a raven so wont and acciistomed to it, that she would never fail to croak and cry for it all the time you were in breaking up of the deer, and would aot depart till she had it.^ " Ndw o'erhoad sat a raven On d sere bou}?h, a Ki'own, great bird and hoarse, Who, all the time the deer was breaking up. So croaked and cried for it, aa all the huntsmen, Especially old Scathlocke, thought it omiuoua. — Jonson, Sad Shepherdess. Pajsfc 158 I. 115. —rouse . . . lance. This vies with Hamlet's description — how eech particular hair stood on end like quills upon the porcupine. Page 159. 1. 132.— Which spills the foremost foeman'» life. " Though this be in the text described as a response of the Taghairm, or Oracle of the Hide, it was of itself an augury frequently attended to. It is said that the Highlanders under Montrose were so deeply imbued with this notion, that, on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, they murdered p defenceless herdsman, whom they found in the fields, merely to s ure an advantage of so much consequence to their party." — Scott. The response is ambiguous, after the manner of oracias. The MS. reading is— • Which foremost spills a foemari's life. 1. 144.— Red Murdoch. MS. The clansman vainly de'^m'd his guide, i. 147.— He light on those. MS. iie light on those shaU stab liim dovrn. 1. 152. — the Moray's silsrer star. The crest of the Morays of Abercairney i.s au earl's coronet surmounted by a star of twelve rays argent (silver). i]; ■it" m 374 JVO'/'ES. 1. Ijii. — the sable pale of Mar. John, Lord Erskine (died 1552), was, at the time of the story, sixteenth Earl of Mar de jure. The Erskino arms liad a dark [nable) broad per- pendicular stripe (pale) through the middle of tht shield, still retained in the second and third quarter of the arms of the Earl of Mar. Page i6o. 1. 15{).— When move they on ? MS. they on?" $" Thin sun ^^^ (" To-diiy ) '• Wlien move tliey on y ■{ .V': ' "" }• at nn 'Tis said will see tliein march from Doune." " To-morrow then i '"'^^^^^^ C meetinj,' stern." ( sees ) 1. IGO. — clans of Earn. The clans bordering on loch and river Exrn were Maclarens, Campbells (in small part), who were enemies, Stewarts, etc. 1. 174. — stance. Station (O.Fr. stance, from L. stans). 1. 177.— trusty targfe. MS.— Highland targe. Page i6i. 1. 107.— Shifting like flashes. MS. Tliicic as the tlaslies darted fortli By morriee-dancers of the noi'th ; A 1 i ii ■ ( Ujirfrcs ride And saw at morn then* < T,^, „ , ( little fleet, Close moor'd by the lone islet's side. Since this rude race dare not abide; Upon their native mountain side, Tis lit that DouKlas should provide For his dear child some safe al)ode, And soon he comes to point the road. 1. 108. —streamers. The northern English name of the Aurora Borealis. 1. 207.— No, Allan, no. MS. No, Allan, no ! His words so kind Were but j)retext8 my fears to Jdind, When in such solemn tone and grave, Douglas a parting blesgnjg gave. 1. 212.— fixed and high. The misprint in ed. 1825— fixed on high, is retained in ed. 1833. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IV. 375 1.2J5. — by slightest stroke. MS. Itself disturb'd by slijjrlitest sliock, Reflects the {uUiinaiitiiie rock. Page i62. 1. 281.— Cambus-kenneth's fane. Tlie abbey of Caiiibus-kouneth, near Stirling, iouiitUid in 1117, now in ruins; see p. 2<)0, I. 5;-Jl, and p. 182. 1. 218.— his gallant name. The permanent epithet of the clan is "the gallant (jlrahains." Page 163. I. 25l). — Ballad. "A simple, spirited poem in short stanzas, in which some popular story is graphically narrated." " Simplicity and ease arc its i:)roper character- istics" (Coleridge). " The highest form of ballad requires fot once narrative power, lyrical and dramatic" (Swin- burne). — Cited from the ^ew English Dictionary. Scott uses the style customary in the ballad ; for exam- ple, its alliterative phrases, its repetitions, form, etc. For the o]wning, cf. Mery it was in the Ki'ceue forest. —Adam IML 11. The usual ballad measure is an irregular iambic, four- accent alternating with three-accent lines, riming ah, ah, (tr simply -- «, — a. The internal rime, as in Scott's ballad, is rare. Alice Brand. This little fairy tale is founded upon a very curious Danish ballad, which occurs in t\ni Kii'inpe Viaer, a collection of heroic songs, first published in 1591. Scott quotes in his note a version of tlm original by his friend, Mr. Robert Jamieson. 1. 2()2. — mavis and merle. In the Northern dialect, for thrush and blackbird. 1. 2()8. — cry. The technical word for the baying of the hounds; cf. p. 71, 1. 48. I. 2()8. — wont. Properly a past tense ; see note to I. 208 below. 376 N07ES. Page 164. I. 27rt. — glaive. Sword (U.Fr. glaive, Lat. gJa- diun). 1.277. — pall. Purple cloth, fine cloth ; cf. He f?ave hor gold and purple pall to wear. — Spenser, Faerie Qiteeti, 1., vli., Id. 11. 'iSlfF. — 'Twas but a fatal chance. MS. 'Twas hilt a midnif^fht chance ; For hlindfolu wa.s the l)atlle plied, And fortune held the lance. 1. 283.— darkling. €f. p. 178, 1. 711. In the dark {-ling is an adverbial suffix). 1. 285. — vair. A rich fur — e»-inino. sheen. See p. 7G, 1. 208 and note. 1. 287. — russet grey. Russet is used in the forced sense of dull, homely. 1. 201. — Richard. Note the accent — a mark of the inf a- ence of the French accent on Middle English, preserved in ballad poetry. Page 165. I. 207. — Elfin King. Scott quotes Dr. Graham : "The Daoine S/iV, or men of Peace of the Highlanders, though not absolutely malevolent, are believed to be a peevish, repining race of beings, who, possessing them- selves but a sc.inty portion of happiness, are supposed to envy mankind their more complete and substantial enjoy- ments. They are supposed to enjoy, in their subterraneous recesses, a sort of shadowy happiness — a tinsel grandeur : which, however, they would willingly exchange for the more solid joys of mortality. ' ' They are believed to inhabit certain round grassj"^ eminences, where they celebrate their nocturnal festivi- ties by the light of the moon. About a mile beyond the source of the Forth, above Loch Con, there is a place called CoirshVan, or the Cove of the Men of Peace, which is still supposed to be a favourite place of their residence. In the neighbourhood are to be seen many round conical THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IV. 377 eminences ; particularly one, near tlio head of the lake, by the skirts of which many are still afraid to pass after sunset." 1. 298. — woned. Dwelt. The A. S. verb loanian, to dwell, remain, became to wane, having a jmst tense and perf . part, woned (wont)^ and developed the secondary sense of to be accustomed. The form ^vont was sometimes wrongly regarded as a present tense. 1. 300. — ghostly shrill. A classical notion was that the voices of the dead wore thin. Homer re[)resc!nts the souls crying with the thin gibbering voices of bats disturbed. — Odyas, xxiv. The ghosts in Virgil have a "thin voice," " vocem exiguam." — ^"Eiieid, vi. 192; and in Horace, " mournful and thiu." — Sat. i. viii. Cf. Shakspere, Julius Ccenar, ii., ii., 24. 1. 301. — Why sounds yon stroke on beech ani oak. " Fairies. . .are, like other proprietors of forests, peculi- arly jealous of their rights of vert and veninon, as appears from the cause of offence taken, in the original Danish ballad. This jealousy was also an attribute of the nor- thern. />^«er/7rtr, or dwarfs; to many of whose distinctions the fairies seem to have suceeded, if, indeed, they are not the same class of beings." — Scott. 1. 302. — circle's. The MS.— ringlet's. The fairies were reputed to dance in circle; cf. Tempent, v., i., 37, and — Merry elves their morrice paoiiif;. . . Emerald rliiKS on brown heath trai'injj. — The Lay of the Last Minstrel, i., 158. 1. 30B. — The fairies' fatal green. "As the Daoine Hhi\ or Men of Peace, Avore green habits, they were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume their favourite colour. Indeed, from some reason, which has been, perhaps, originally a general superstition, green is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes and counties." — Scott. 378 N07ES. I. 3<>7. — Urgan. TIk! naino is taken from tliatof ag'ant in the old roniaiico of Sir Tr'mtrein (Stuart). 1. H08. — thou wert christened man. " 'J'ho Elves wore supposed greatly to envy the privileges ac'lit, They f?ive me that renown.' "I presume, that, in the Uanisli ballad, tlie obstinacy of the ' Woiost Elf,' who would not flee for cross or sign, is to be derived from the circumstance of liis having been ' christen'd man.'" — Scott. 1. 812. — curse of the sleepless eye. Of. Macbeth, i., iii.. 10. 1.821. — crossed and blessed himself. A pleonasm. To bless oneself is to make sign of the cross, as an invocation of God's protection against the powers of evil. Page i66. 1. 880.— kindly. Kindred. 1. 318. — bridle ringing. With bells attached - an old custom. 1. 815.— all is glistening show. "No fact resi)ecting Fairy-lnnd seems to be better ascertained than the fantas- tic and illusory nature of their a|)paront pleasure ami splendour. "^Scott. Page 167. 1. 855.— 'twixt life and death was snatch 'd away. '•Tli(!subj"cts of Fairy Land were recruited from the regions of humanity by a sort of criin/)i'iu/ system, whi<.h extended tr) adults as well as to infants. Many of those who were in this world supposed to have discharged the debt of nature, had only become denizens of the " Londe of Faery."— Scott. I. 857. — wist. The past tense of to wit, to know. 1. 8.59. — mould. Sha])e. (Fr. moule, Lat. modnflun, measure.") THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO IV. 370 1. 368.— mould. Country (A.S. molde^ earth). 1. 371.— Dunfermline grey. A town filtoeu miles from Edinburgh, near the north shore of the Firth of Fortli. Its ancient buiUlings are a castk', pahice, and monastery. Page i68. I. 387. —bourne. Stream, burn (A.S. huraa, stream, fountain). Page 169. I. 411.— Near Bochastle. MS.-By Cambusmore. 1. 418.— soothed my. MS. -fond thy. Page 170. I. 4B4.— This ring the grateful monarch. MS. This ring- of gold the inoiiarc-h j,'avc. Page 171. 1. 171.— lordship. Estate in lands. embattled. Having armies in battle array. 1. 474— Ellen, thy hand. MS. Permit this hand— the riiij"' is tliiue. 1. 476. -Seek thou the King. MS. " Seeli tliou the Kiii«:, iiiid on thy Itnee Pnt fortli thy suit, wliate'er it he, As ransom of liis pledjjre to me ; My name and tliis sliall make thy way." He put the little slR-net on. 1. 486. —the stream. Achray Water. I. 492.— He stammered forth. MS. " He stanuTier'd forth confused reply : . ^-f^?!''. ,^ f I shouted hut to scare. " Sir Knif,'ht, ) Page 172. 1. 5U.— gaudy broom. See note to p. 01, I. 718. II. 52711".— They bid me sleep. Minto comjiares, for mo- tive, Haydn's My mother bids me bind viy hair. Page 173. 1. 531.— Allan. A river of Perthshire, entering the Forth below the Teith. 1. 532. — Devan. Or Devon— a tributary of the Forth, below the Allan, celebrated by Burns. 1. 545.— And flutters wide. MS. " VVrapp'd in a tatter'd mantle grey." 11 1 iH 'f 11 : 380 NOTES, 1. 518. 'Tis Blanche of Devan. MS. "A Saxon born, a crazy maid— 'lis Hluiiclio. of Devan," Mdrditcli sjiid. I. 555. — Maudlin. Tlio iianu) of hor lvoe|)er. 1. 550.— pitched a bar. Tho New EufjiUh Dictionarij describes this as a thick rod of iron and wood used in a trial of strength, tho players contending which of thoin could throw or pitch it tho farthos-t, and tiuotes examples as early as 1531. Page 174. 1. 5!)2.— pennons. In tho sense of pinions, as in Milton, Paradise Lout, ii., 033. MS. With thee these pennons will I share, Then seek my true love throuj^h the lir. U. 5fiHf.-I will not lend. MS. Hut I'll not lend that savnijc j;ro"m, To break his fall, one downy plume ! Deep, deep, 'mid yon disjointed stones. I. 5t)7.— batten. Grow fat. II. 578iT.— For O my sweet William. MS. Sweet William was a woodsman true,. . . Kis coat was of the forest hue. And sweet he sung tlie Lowland lay. Page 175. 1. 590. — toils are pitched, etc. Tho nets set up on stakes— into which the deer is to be driven. "No machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting the deliverance of a distressed hero than the introduction of a mad woman, who, without knowing or caring about the wanderer, warns him by a song, to take care of tho ambush that was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indeed had a prescriptive right to be musical, since the days of Ophelia downwards ; but it is rather a rash extension of this privilege to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible people be guided by them." — Jeffrey. Tt)E ladv ot^ THM Lake, canto IV, 381 Minto loplios:-" There is no improbability in the crazed captive's retaining sense enough to see through Red Murdoch's treacliery. That Fitz-James was a Low- lander was motive enough for lier to warn him. It was indeed, a singularly happy idea to make this victim of one of Roderick's raids the instrument of foiling his plot and bringing him to retribution." 1 r,!H.-stag of ten. . .branches. TFaving ten branches to his h rn-i-/ye on each antler, marking his>///i year. 1. (U4. Forth at full speed. MS. Forth at full speed tlie CUviisin.iii went ; But in his r.ue his bow lie bent, Halted— .ind back an arrow sent. 1. 617.--thrilled. Pierced (A.S. IhyrHan, to pierce through). Page 176. 1. <524. -kindred ambush. Ci. p. 127, 1. I(J, and I ()27 below. 1. 027.— Thine ambushed kin. MS. Thine anibush'd ivin thou ne'er .shalt see • Resistless .is the liK-htninf,''s flame, The thrust betwixt his shoulder came. 1. 028. -Saxon. '"'e Lowlandor, being of P]nglish descent, was until recently always called a Sassenach, or Saxon, by the Celtic Highlander. 1. 033.— Bent o'er the fallen. MS. Then o'er hnn hunj?, with falcon eye, And fi-rimly smiled to .see him (lie. 1. (542.-Daggled. Draggled, soiled by wet. Page 177. 1. 019. -A helpless. MS.- A guiltless. 1. 059. —My brain would turn. MS. But nov,', my champion,— it shall turn. 1. 605. -knighthood's honoured sign. The significant signs of knightliood were the belt and sword and the gilt spurs, which knights usually assumed on their creation. 382 NOTES. 11. ()79f. -God, in my need. MS. (»o(l, in iny need, to mo be true, As I wreiik tliis on llfMlcrick Dim. Page 178. 1. ()8i).— favour. In chivalry, some omhlematic gift of tho kniglit's lady — a scarf, a glove, etc. — worn usually (in the helmet. 1. ()i>0.- up. The technical wtird — the hunt is begun. Page 179. 1. 71;^. brown. Dusk. Raskin argues with respect to tiiis epithet as used hy Dnnte, Hj'ron, and others, as descriptive of evening, til :it it meant dark-grey, pui*- l)le-grey — twilight is n(2. The harden'd flesh of mountain deer. "The Scottish Highlanders, in former times, had a concise mode ( f cooking their venison, or rather of dispensing with C(Joking it, which appears greatly to have surj^rised the THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO V. 383 French, wliom cliiiiico made aco".aiiito(l wibli it. Tlie Vidaiiio cf Charters . . . saw thcso Scottinh savages devour a part of tlioir venison raw, without any further prepara- tion than compressing it between two battons of wood, so as to force out the blood, and render it extremely hard. This they reckoned a great delicacy. . . After all, it may be doubted whether la chaire iioih'ee, for so the Fi'ench called the venison thus sumuiurily pr<'))ared, wns any- thing more than a rude Uiiid of dcci'-Iiain." Fcott. Pagfe i8i. 1. 787. -Coilantogle. The f.ml over the Teith, eji-t of Loch Vennachar. 11. 7n8ff. -And slept. MS. Aih' slept, until tln' dnwiiiim- stronk rorplcd IIk- iiiDiiiitaiii iiiid llx' liik«>. C.VNTO FIFTH. Page 182. 1. 1.— Fair as the earliest beam. "It is a very )>rutt3^ liannouy at the opening of this ('ant d84 NOTES. viHiUlo from \\w hoiglits north of Achray— we are in roinaiic(5 land. I. \\2.~ bursting^ through. T.e,^ as thoy hnrsfc throtigh —a faulty construction. I. H().— At length. MS. At Iciifjtli th(\v paced tlie monntuln'.s shhf, AikI Hiiw iK'Hcath (he whUts \vi(l(>. Page 184. 11. 44f.— The rugged mountain's. Tlie '.•ii^'>i:tul inoinitaiirs stunted screen WnsdwarHsh j'^'""''''{ with cUns between. ( eopse ) 1. 51.— dank. Moist. 1. 55. — claim its aid. MS. -draw my blade. Page 185. 1. 77.— the poor mechanic, iroro and tdsowlicrc in the iKM^m we nuiy note the feudal tone that characteri/ea the romance. 1. 81.- A Knight's free footsteps. MS. My errant f.)ot8tei).s { ,•,„. .1,,,, ^j,,,. A kni^ht'-s bold w.anderhi>?s) 1. 89. Mar. See note to p. W.), 1. loH. I. 95. —in Doune. MS.— in hall. Page 186. 1. iOi). — 0^ iawed. The Ist ed. — exiled. 1. 108. — Regent's court. See p. 1U3, 1. 221 and note ; also below, 11. 124ff. 1. 112. — arraignment {ar ran'ment). Accusation. 1. 124.— Albany. See note p. H07. 1. 125. — truncheon. A short staff, emblematic of high office, here of royal power. 1. 12().— The young King, mewed. Mewed — closely con- fined, like a hawk in moulting. " There is scarcely a moi'e disorderly period in Scottish history than that which succeeded the battle of Flodden, and occupied the minority of .Tames V. Feuds of ancient standing broke out like old wounds, and every quarrel THE r.ADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO V. 886 among tho indopoinlcut ii()})ility, which occurred daily, and almost lioiirly, gave riso to fresh bh odsliod. . . Nor was tho niattor much mended under tho g.— foemen. In first, od. foeman ; hwt in alisiost every other jditicni, rightJA', foenieu. 1. 215. — osiers. Watur- willows. I. 21\z.vJi MS. — bravo man's. J. 270. — I only meant. '* This incident, like some other passages in the poem, illustrative of the character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, but borrowed from fact. The Highlandei*s, with the inconsistency of most nations in the same state, were alternately capable of great exer- tions of generosity, and of cruel revenge and perfidy." — Scott. The poet then cites the story of John ^Jurn, a Highland robber of Inverness-shire, who acted as guide to an P^nglish ofiicer, conveying treasure. " Forth they set in the morning; and in travelling through u solitary and dreary glen, the discouvso again turned on .lohn Gunn. ' Would you like to see him?' said the guide; and, with- out waiting an answer, ho whistled, and the English officer, with his small party, were suri'ounded by a body of Highlanders. 'Stranger,' resumed the guide, 'I am that very .Tohn Gunn by whom you feared to be inter- cepted, and not without cause; for I came to the inn last night with the express purpose of learning your route, that I and my followers might ease you of your charge by the road. But J am incapable of betraying the trust you reposed in me. . . I can only dismiss you unplundeied and uninjured.'" Pagici 192. 1. 28(;— heather deep. MS.-heather bush, and, in tlie next line- broadsword rush. 388 NOTES. I I I. 292.— wide and level greeu. The plain of Bochastle. 1. 297. — torrent. The south branch of the Teith emerg- ing in rapids from Vennachar. I. 299. — lakes. Katrine, Achra3', and Vennachar. II. 301ff. — On Bochastle the mouldering lines. MS.— the martial lines. " The torrent which discharges itself from Loch Vennachar, the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the scenery adjoining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and extensive moor, called Bo- chastle. Upon a small eminence, called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the plain itself, are some en- trenchments which have been thought Boman. There is adjacent to Callender, a sweet villa, the residence of Capt- ain Pairfoul, entitled the Roman Camp." — Scott. " One of the most entire and beautiful remains of a Roman en- campment now to be found in Scotland, is to be seen at Ardoch, near Greenloaning, about six miles to the east- ward of Dunblane. This encampment is supposed, on good grounds, to have been constructed during the fourth campaign of Agricola in Britain." — Graham. 1. 303. — eagle wings. The eagle, the Roman standard, symbolic of her empire. 1.315. — all vantageless, I stand. ' ' The duellists of former times did not always stand upon those punctilios respect- ing equality of arms which are now judged essential to fair combat. It is true, that in formal combats in the lists, the parties were, by the judges of the field, put as nearly as possible in the same circumstances. But in private duel it was often otherwise." — Scott. Page 193. 1. 329. — prophet bred. Referring to Brian ; see p. 129, 11. 91ff. 1. 336.— stark aiid stiff. A frequent pleonasm ; of. "stiif and stark," Romeo and Juliet, iv., i., 103. Page X94. I. 847.— Dark lightning. MS. In liglitning flash 'd the Chiefs dark eye. THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO V, ^89 1. 351. — He yields not. MS. He stoopH not he, to James nor Fate. 1. 356. — carpet knight. " Originally a contemptuous term for a knight whose achievements belong to ' the carpet' (i.e., the lady's boudoir, or carpeted chamber), in- stead of to the field of battle." {l^ew Eng. Diet.) 1. 371.— fear not — doubt not. Fitz-James remembers Roderick's compliment to his courage (1. 262). 1. 378.— Tn dubious strife they darkly closed. " The two principal figures are contrasted with uncommon felicity. Pitz-James, who more nearly resembles the French Henry the Fourth than the Scottish James V., is gay, amorous, fickle, intrepid, impetuous, affectionate, courteous, grace- ful, and dignified. Roderick is gloomy, vindictive, arro- gant, undaunted, but constant in his affections, and true to his engagements ; and the whole passage in which these personages are placed in opposition, from their first meeting to their final conflict, is conceived and written with a sublimity which has been rarely equalled." — Quarterly Review, 18*0. darkly. Referring to the gloomy fate overhanging the struggle. Page 195. 1. 380. — on the field his targe he threw. " A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and studdeu with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a Highlander's equipment. In charging regular troops, they received the thrust of the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it aside, and used the broadsword against the en- cumbered soldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of the clans were thus armed ... A person thus armed had a considerable advantage in private fray." —Scott. 1. 383. — trained abroad. A suggestion of James's visit to France. 1. 884. — Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. " The H90 NOTES. use of defensive armour, and particularly of the buckler or target, was general in Queen Elizabeth's time, although that of the single rapier seems to have been occasionally practised much eai'lier... But the rapier had upon the continent long superseded, in private duel, the use of sword and shield. The masters of the noble science of de- fence wore chiefly Italians." — Scott. I. 385. — pass. In fencing, a thrust or attempt to stab. ward. Guard by moans of the weapon in fencing. II. 387f.— While less expert. MS. Not Roderick thus, thoufi^h stronf?er far, More tall, and more inured to war. 1. 8{>r>.— at advantage ta'en. Surprised. 1. 106.— Let recreant yield. MS. "Yield they alone wlio fear to die," Like mountain-cat wlio j^u.irds lier youn;,', Full at Fitz- James's throat l)e sprung. Page 196. 1. 409. — Like mountain-cat. The wild-cat. Scott makes reference to Sir P^wan of Lochiel's fight with an Eng- lish officer during the Civil War. " In this engigemont, Lochiel himself had several wonderf\il escapes. In the re- treat of the English, one of the strongest and bravest of the olhcers retired behind a bush, when ho observed Lochiel pursuing, and seeing him unaccompanied by any, he leaped out, and thought him his prey. They met one another with equal fury. The combat was long and doubt- ful : the English gentleman had by far the advantage in strength and 8i;:e; but Lochiel, exceeding him in nimble- noss and agility, in the end tript the sword out of his hand : they closed and wrestled, till both fell to the ground in each other's arms. The English officer got above Lochiel, and pressed him hard, but stretching forth his neck, by attempting to disengage himself, Lochiel, who by this time had his hands at liberty, with his loft hand seized him by the collar, and jumping at his ox- v-nlod throat, he bit it with his tooth quite through, and THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO V. 391 kopt such a hold of his grasp, that ho brought away his mouthful : this, he said, was the mreeted bit he ever had in his lifetime''^ (Pennant, vol. i., \). 375). — Scott. 1. 416.— triple steel. Cf. Milton- Arm the ol)(Uu-(!(l !>rcust With stubliorii piitiencc as with triple steel. — Paradise Lost, ii., fy'tH. So, too, Horace, " oak and triple brass," Odes, i., iii., 0. 1. 185.— Unwounded. MS, Pauling and ))reatlilesH on ihe sands, liut all uiiwounded, now lie stands. 1. 438. — desperate strife. MS. — deadly strife, and in 1. 110 — every breath. Page 197. 1, 110.— Yet with thy foe. On Roderick's living depends the praise the chieftain should have for his faith and valour. 1. 449. — Then faint afar. MS.— Faint and afar. 1. 452. — squires. The sc^uire was in the system of clii- valry above the rank of page ; he waited on the immediate person of his master, and was himself an asi)irant for knighthood. 1. 4()1.— palfrey. A light saddle-horse, especially a saddle-horse for women. 1. 466. — boune. Ready to go. 1. 468. — Bayard {bd ijard,). Also the name of the bright bay magic horse of Charlemagne figuring in the romances of Boiardo, Ariosto, and Tasso. 1. 469. — De Vaux {de ven(HiiM: '^'W. . . DotfiuK' his cap to JmrKii^r dame, Wlio smiiiuf^ blush'd for pride and stiamc. 1. 582. — jubilee. Rejoicing (Hob. ynbel, shout of joy). 1. 584. — jennet. A small Spanish horse. 1. 591. — the Commons' King. Seo p. 807. Page 202. 1. 601. — There nobles mourned their. MS. Nol)les wlio mourn'd their iiower restraiu'd, And tlie poor bur},'her's joys disdain'd ; Dark ciiief. who, hostage for his clan. Was from his l»omc a haiii.sl.'d man, Who tliou^ht upon his own ^rey tower, Tlie wavinjjr woods, liis feudal i)ower, And deem'd liimself a sluvmeful part Of pageant tluit he cursed in lieart. 1. 610. — chequered bands. Cf. 1. oiK) above. 1. 611. — Robin Hood. " The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was a favourite fi'olic at such festivals as we are describing. This sporting, in which kings did not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Scotland upon the Reformation. The game of R(^bin Hood was usually acted iu May ; and he was associated with the morris- dancers, on whom so much illustration has been bestowed by the commentators on Shakspere." — Scott. Robin Hood. The famous outlaw of Sherwood foi-est, Nottinghamshire ; see Scott's Ivanhoe, where he appears as Locksley the archer, and The Talisman. 1. ()15. -Friar Tuck. Father confes.sor of Rol»in HckmI. In the morris-dauce the friar appears in full clerical ton- M 306 NOTES. sure, chaplet, ginllo, and a Franciscan gown. See Scott's Clerk of Coprnanhurst in Ivanhoe. quarter*staff. A weapon— a stout staff six and a half feet in length, held by one hand in the middle, and by the other between middle and end. See Ivanhoe, ch. xi. 1.616, — Scathelocke. One of Bobin Hood's morrymen. 1. 617. — Maid Marion. Robin Hood's mistress. 1. 618. — Scarlet. When a different character from Scathelocke, he is regarded as his brother. Mutch is the bailiff in Ben Jonson's Tafe of Itohin Hood. Little John. Kohin Hood's lieutenant. See Scott's Talisman. ^v ; ' ^:; 1. 622.— the white. The bull's-eye. 1. 62 1.— His second split the first. This exploit always carried the day in the ballad stories of archery ; see Scott's Ivanhoe, ch. xiii. Page 203. I. 628. — Sc answering glance. MS. For an .-jwering glance of sympathy ,- But no emotion made reply ! IndiflFereiit as to unknown Cold as to unknown yeonian The Kintf gave f«jrth the arrow bright. wight 1. 630.— Indifferent as tc archer wight. "The Douglas of the poem is an imagijiary person, a supposed uncle of the Earl of Angus. But the king's behaviour during an unexpected interview with the Laird of Kilspindie, one of the banished Douglases, under circumstances similar to those in the text, is imitated from a real story, told by Hume of Godscroft." — Scott. wight. Strong, doughty. It is a cusuomar3' epithet of the yeoman in the ballads. And I will go to yond wiglit yeoman. —Robin Hood and Guy 0/ Gisborne (Percy's Keliques). Are these, he said, our yeomen wiglit. " —Mannit/n, vi., xx. THE LAD V OF THE LAKE, CANTO V. 3fi7 I. 687.— Larbert. A town near Selkirk, s. w. from Stir- ling. 1. 638. — Alloa. A town on the Forth, below Stirling. 11. 64()f . —Prize of the wrestling match, . . ring. The usnal prize of a wre^Hing was a ram and a ring, but the animal would have em>)arrast!d my story." — Scott. >, !• <>48. — the massive bar. See note to p. 17H, 1. 559. 1. 654.— Stirling's royal park. To the s.w. of the Valley, across Dumbarton Road, is th* King's Park, or Royal Chase, in use to-day for cricket and military reviews. Page 204. 1. 658.— Of Scottish. MS. Of mortal. 1. 659. — The vale. " A hollow just below the castle parade, called "The Valley," was the sc( ue of the joust and tournament, where beauty oft has dealt the prizr to valorous achievement," — Anderson's Guide. 1. 660.— The Ladies' Rock. Or Ladies' Hill- '-a small rocky pyramidal mount," to tlie s. w. of the Valley. 1. 662.— well filled. MS.— weighed down. _ , pieces broad. After the introduction of the guinea o 166B the twenty-shilling pi< <',e of the reign of James and Charles was called a broad-piece, being much thinner and broader. {New Eng. Diet.) 1. 664.— And threw. MS.— Scattered. 1. 666. — yon dark grey man. This is the proverbial description of the Douglas — " Sholto Dhu Olas, see yon dark grey man" (Scott, Castle Dant/irous, ch. iii.). 1. 674. — Ere Douglas of the. MS.— James of Douglas'. 1.677. — wrecked. MS. — worn by many a winter storm. ■♦ 1. 685.— the banished man. MS. — his stately form. Page 206 1. 728. -Then clamoured. _.r^ MS. Clamour'd his comrades of the train. 1. 730.— Baron's. MS.— warrior's. 1. 741. — James of Bothwell. See note to 1. 63U above, and to p. 113, 1. 493, and p. 100, 1. 141. li 1 :VM NO'JES. II. 7 1 If. But shall a Monarch. MS. Milt ill my court, injiiridiis blow. And l>car4 tnit-diiri'd ? Page 207. 1. 755.— Repelled by threats. MS. Their threats lepell'd l-y Insult loud. 1. 7(58. — Hyndford. A villaj^e 011 the Clyde, near Lan- ark. A Sir .Folin ('arinicliael of Hyndford figures in The Raid of the JReidmrire, Scott's liorder Miiintrefsy, ii. (Stuart). Page 208. 1. 70!). — widow's mate. Proloptic epitliet. I. 75)1). — sunk again. MS. — ebbed amain, and, in next lino — sink in vain. Page 209. 1. 810. — trailing arms. A military term — lances and spears held about the middle with the butt near the ground. 1. 812. — battled verge, pjutrance under the battlements. 1. 81f>. — changeling. Changeful, but with added sense of contempt. this common fool. Cf. " the fool multitude," Merchant of Venice, ii., ix., *2(). Lockhart compares — Your .aflFections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase Ids evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with lins of lead. And hews down oaks with rushes. Han^ye! Trust ye ? With every minute you do change a inhid. — Shakspere, Coriolanna, i., i. I. 822. — vulgar. Of the common people. I. 825.— Douglas' sway. The edd. before 1825 have usually Douglas sway, which is, perhaps, not so good. 1. 880. — the leaf. MS. — the sick man's idle dream. 1. 888. — cognizance. Badge ; see p. 159, I. 158. Page 210. 1. 889.— cousin. A form of courteous address be- tween sovereigns, and at times by sovereigns for nobles. I. 840.— my liege. That is, my liege lord, King ; below, THE I.ADY 01- THE LAKE, CANTO VI. aiK) "your (irac-t^" has likn force. Il was Huiiry VIII. who iutrfMluctul tho tith? of Majesty. 1. H5H. — With scanty train. MS. On (li.stiint t'liaso you will not ride. ' 1. 851).— lost. Forgot. 1. 8.58. — for spoiling. Archaic sense — though you should spoil. Page 211. 1. 872.— lily lawn. A ballad phrase — a moodow ovorgi'own with lilies or flowers. Stunrt ([notes " that lily loven " (lawn) from Thoman the lihjimer, and "yonder lily lea " from The llnttle of Otterhonvnc. 1. 887— Earl William. See 1. o^o und note. CANTO SIXTH. Page 212. 1,1. — The sun, awakening. . the smoky city. Tho scene is shifted to tho city. The poet's treatment of morning in tho city shows that he shares with Words- worth the reaction from urban life. He paints tho sunri.se here in gloomy colours, contrasting with the breadth and freshness of the Highland mornings of the previous cantos. 1. 4. — sad inheritance. An allusion to Gen. iii. 19. 1. ().— Scaring the prowling. 1st ed. And scnrinj? prowiinjii;' rohl»(>r.s to tlieir don; 1. 9. — kind nurse of men. Sleep ! O prentlc sleep, Nature's soft niu'se. — ShaksiMjre, 2 Henry IV. ^ iii., i. Page 213. 1. 15. — gyve {j'lv). Chain, shackle. Imprison- ment for debt was not abolished till recent years. 1. 23. — Through narrow loop. MS. Tlirouf?]) Idat'ken'd arch and casement harr'd. 400 NOTES. 1. 21.— Court of Guard. The guard-room of tlio oastle, the soldiors' common room. 1. 27. — In comfortless alliance. MS. The li^lits ill dtruiiKe alliance shone Beneath the arch of blackenVl stone. I. 85. — b?aker. A wide-mouthed diinkiug-voasel. Page 214. 1. 42. — harness. Ai'mour(01d Fr. /tar;irt«, armour, Bret, houarn, iron). II . 48if . — These drew not for their fields the sword. ' ' The Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and barons, with their vassals, who held lands under them, for military service by themselves and their tenants. The patriarchal influence exercised by the heads of clans in the Highlands and Borders was of a different nature, and nomotimes ac variance with feudal principles. It flowed froir the Palria Potesfan, exercised by the chieitain as representing the original father of the whole name, and was often obeyed in contradiction to the feudal superior. James V. seems first to have introduced, in addition to the militia furnished from these sources, the service t)f a small number of mercenaries, who formed a body-guard, called the Foot-Band."- Scott. 1. 5(). — merry England. " Merry " is the permanent epi- thet of England in ballads. Keade ine, reade me, deare brother Throughout merry Eii{?la"d. —King Kstmere. 1. 60. — halberd. A weapon combining spear and battle- axe. 1. 63. — holytide. Church festival, holiday. 1. 68.— grappled to their swords. Cf. p. 122, 1. 782. MS. — grasped for the dagger, and groped for the dagger ; both cancelled. Page 215. 11. 75f.— the ruffian joke. ^_; MS. the ruffian jest ^; „_ And rude oaths vented by the rest. __ _ _;„■. THE LADY OP THE LAKE, CANTO VI. 401 If 1. 78.-— yeoman. Small landholder. Trent. Rises in Staffordshire and flows into the Hum- ber, Lincolnshire. From the reference to Need wood (1. 170) Soott associates John of Brent with Staffordshire. 1. 80. — chaser of the deer. Poacher in the royal deer forest. 1. 87. — catch I troll. The song I sing,— strictly a i)art- aong, in which the various singers catch uj) their parts in turn. Cf. Sliakspero, " Will you troll the catch," Tem- peai^ iii., ii., r2<). 1.88. — buxom. Blithe, jovial. 1. 90. — Poule. Archaic form of Paul. 1. 91. — swinging^. Or swingeing (from swinge, to whip), huge — a colloquial sense (cf. "slashing "). 1. 92. — black-jack. A large leather vessel for hcer — hfack from its external coat of tar; Jack, from its resemblance to a soldier's jack-boot, 1. 93. — seven deadly sins. Le. pride, covetousness, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, and sloth. sack. A strong M'hite wine from Spain and the Canary Islands (L. siccus, dry). "^ 1. 95.— upsees. " A Bacchanalian interjection," says Scott, "borrowed from the Dutch." Scott miBuses the phrase. It is strictlj'^ — upsee-English or upsee- Dutch, etc. , in which upsee is Dutch op zijn, ' in the' — i.e., in English fashion, in Dutch fashion. 1 lie ))owI . . ,inn9t l»c iii)sey-Eiif:rHflh, Strouf?, lusty, London beer. ' * ' —Fliili^har, Beygars' Bush, i\'.,i. a fig for. A phrase of contempt. jPage 2i6. 1. 98, — Beelzebub, (jod of the Philistines, hence in demonology one of the chief powers of evil, kerchief. Covering for the head (Old Fr. couvrecke/, ^ * coverheau '}. , fl f )^, J It' 'I 402 NOTES. 1. 99. — Apoliyon. The angel of the bottomless pit. feev. ix. 11. 1. 100. — ^Jack ... Gillian. Names representative of man and woman. (Jilliau is a popular form of Juliana. Cf. . - " Jack and .Fill " in the nursery rime. 1. 103. — dues of his cure. Tlie revenues of his office are from lechery and drunkenness. placket. Sometimes a pocket or slit in a skirt, here a petticoat — and symbolic of woma.n. 1. 101.— lurch. Swindle. 1. 10(). — bully-boys. "Bully," in this use, means a fine swaggering fellow, — a sense frequent in Shakspere. 1. 107. — a fig for the vicar. "The greatest blemish in the poem, is the ribaldry and dull vulgarity which is put into the mouths of the soldiery in the guard-room." — Jeffrey. "The coarse, ro;yi*tering mercenaries. .. .are meant as a foil to the romantic HighHnders, who fight under auguries and out of loyalty to their chief." — Minto. Page 217. 1: 128.— Old dost thou wax. MS. Get thee an ape, tuid then at once Thou mayst renounce the warder's lance, And trudge through borough and through land, The leader of a juggler !>and. wax. Grow (A.S. weaxan^ to grow). II. l'29f.— glee-maiden and harp. .. ape. , " The jongleurs, or jugglers, as wo learn from the elaborate work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports and pastimes of the people of England, used to call in the aid of various assistants, to render those performances as captivating as possible. The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty was tumbling and dancing. . . ■' The facetious qualities of the ape soon rendei'ed him an acceptable addition to the strolling band of the jongleur. l; :Ben Jonson, in his splenetic introduction to the comedy of Bartholomew' Fair, is at pains to inform the audience, ' that ho has ne'er a swrrd and buckler man in his Fair, THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO VL 403 nor a juggler, with a well-educated ape, to come over the chaiue for the King of England, and back again for the prince, and sit still on his haunches for the Pope and the Jving of Spaine.' "—Scott. 1. 144.-TO pay the forester his fee. Stuart cites : ^ Now Kive me a kisa, quoth bold Robin Hood, Now give me a kiss, said he, For tliere never came maid into merry Slierwoml, liut slie paid ilie forester's fee. —Scott, Doom of Devorgoil. 1. 147.-his forward step. MS.-his (such) violence. 1. ioo. — The savag^e soldiery. MS. Wliile the rude soldiery amazed. 1. 164.-exile"s daughter. MS.-EUen Douglas. Page 2i8. 1. I70.-Needwood. Ancient forest of East Staf- loixlshiro. .^ 1. 171.— Poor Rose. MS. '' My Ro3e,"-he wiped his iron eye and brow,- Poor Rose,— il Rose be living now." 1. 178. —part. Act— a sacrifice to rime. I. 183.-Tullibardine. A village and castle in South Ferthshire. The house referred to is the Murrays of Tulii- bardine. Page 219. 11. 198f.-On palfrey white, hke errant damosel. An allusion to Spenser^s Florimell, who is described as the "Errant Darnzell." All suddenly out of the thickest brush Upon a milk-white Palfrey all alone, A goodly Lady did fureby them rush. —faerie qmeu,\iu,\., XV. damosel. 'J he Mid. Eng. form of damsel. (Old Fr. damomele, L. Lat. domicel/a.) ]. 209.— Given by the Monarch. MS. The Monarch gave to James Fitz-James. 1.210. — signet-ring. Seal-ring. K- 404 NOTES. ■ &! i Page 220. 1. 233.— The vacant purse. ' MS. The silken purse shall serve for me, And in my barret-cap shall flee. 1. 234. — barret-cap. A small flat cap of cloth (Ital. heretta). 1. 230. — gayer crests, i.e., men of higher rank — knights. Page 221. 1. 2G4. — house of Beaudesert. This family is im- aginary, I believe. Note the ah sound of e before r, which is still common in proper names. 1. 27H.— rugged vaults. MS.— low, broad vaults ; and in 1. 279 — stretching limb. 1. 277. — wheel. On whicli tlie prisoner was bound while his limbs were being broken. ^ ' Page 222. 1. 280.— artists. The ed. 1833 misprints— artist. 1. 291.— oaken floor. MS.— flinty floor. 1. 295. — leech. Archaic word — physician (A.S. lizce, physician). 1.298 -Retiring then. 1 _ MS. And then retirinpr, Ijolt and chain, And rusty bar, he drew again. Roused at the sound, etc. 1. 30(5. — prore. Prow (Lat. ; -a, prow). Page 223. 1. 310.— at sea. Edd. 1-11 read — on sea; MS. — on main, with " plain" for rime in 1. 317. 1. 334.— Has never harp. V- MS. Shall never harp of minstrel tell, Of combat fouf?ht so tierce and well. ' Page 224. I. 340.— That stirring air v^hich peals on high. "There are several instances, at least in tradition, of persons so much attached to particular tunes, as to require to hear them on their death-bed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr. Riddel of Gleni-iddel, in liis collection of Border tunes, respecting an air called the "Dandling of the Bairns," for which a certain Glallovidian THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO VL 405 laird is said to havo evinced this stron;^ mark of partiality. It is |)oi)ul!irly told of a famous freebooter, that he com- posed the tune known by the name of Macpherson's Rant while under sentence of death, and played it at the gallows- tree. Some spirited words have been adapted to it by Burns. A similar stoiy is recounted of a Widsh bard, who composed and played on his death-bed the air called Dafydd y Garregg Wen. But the most curious example is given by Brantoine, of a maid of honour at the court of France, entitled, Mademoiselle • ' —Checy-Chase. 1. 431.— their flight they ply. Tho ed. IH33 misprints— their plight. . - . . Page 228. 1. 152. — Tinchel. " A Avhole district poured forth it.s inhabitants, who formed a ring of groat extent, called technically a tinchel, and, advancing and narrowing their circle by degrees, drove before them the alarmed animals of every kind." — Scott, Caatle Dangerons, ch. vii. Page 229. I. 478.— lightsome. The epithet is transferred — they cleared their front in gay spirit. 1. 483. —pass of fear. Fearful pass. "^ ^j MS. Tlierc toil'd iUy. spearman's slnif^Klii'K spear, There raided the mountain sw(»rd. I. 487.— Brachlinn. See note to p. 105, 1. 270. 1. 488.— linn. See note to p. 72, 1. 71. 1. 49B.— doubling. Winding. 1. 497.— Minstrel, away ! MS. -Away ! away ! Pugt 230. 1. 514. — That parts not. Lockhart cites in com- parison — The loveliness in death That parts not quite with parting l)reath. —Byron, Gimnir. I. 515.- Seemmg, to minstrel ear. MS. And seem'd. to minstrel ear, to (oil The partinfr dirj^e of many a soul. 1. 517. — dim-wood glen. Ulen overhung with dusky woods. — n I 408 NOTES, 1. 523.- While by the lake. MS. While by tlie darkened lake below File out the spearmen of the foe. 1. 5H2.- The Saxons. The od. 18B8 misprints- Saxon. Page 231. 1. 530. — bonnet-pieces. ( Jold coins issued by James v., Itoiiiy his eHiy;ics as wearing a Soutrh bonnet. 1. 515. casque. Jfelinet. corslet. Body armour. 1. 5H4.— It tinged. ^ X ;; MS. It ting(Hl the lioiits and lake with flame. ' > ■ 1. 535. — Duncraggan's widowed dame. Seo p. 1 10, 11. Page 232. 1. 571.- corse. Archaic and poetical form for corpse. (Mid, Eng. corn^ Old Fr. cors^ Lat. cor^ms.) 1.505. Varied his look. MS. Glow'd in his look, as awell'd the sou^. Page 233. 1.600. — fading eye. MS.--glazing (fiery) eye. I. (502. — Thus motionless. The p," the Miiisfn^ said. 1. Oil. — requiem (rP'kwe em). INIuss for thu (load, in which the nnth(!ii\ begins, h'eqniein (viernam dona et*, Domine (Urant tluMii, O lionl, oterniil rost). 1. «)1 4.— The shelter. MS. The Illi^Mlli^;8t of 11 inijflil.y lino. 1. 620. — thy battles done, /.e., the eii'liiig of tliy hattlcs ; cf. 1. 622. Tlio c.iiistriictioii was originally au iniitatioii of tho Latin construction with the perfect participle. Page 234. 1. tliW. -storied. Stain< I to represent scenes in story; cf. Milton's "storied windows, richly dight," II Penseroso. 1. 640. — tapestried. Covered with tiipestry — decorative woven stuffs, showing hunting scenes, etc., for which our wallpaper is a degenerate substitute. 1. ()4B. — The banquet proud. MS. Tlu! l);ni(|Ui't jjiiy, tlu! i'li.nni)(n''s prido, Scarce drew out! curioiM j^litiu'c aside. 1. 65B. — bent on woodland game. ]\I.S.— earnest on hia game. ■: . ■ ..::'.■ Page 235 1. 670.— forest. The reading of edd. 1825-88; earlier edd. have— forests. < ' 1. 674.— yon dull steeple. See p. 200, 1. 558, and note. MS. — From d.irken'd ste(']»le's. 1. 677. — The lark was wont. MS. Tiie lively larlt my matins luiiK, Tlie sahle ro(»l< my vespers sim^''. 1. 678. — vespers. Even-song, or the evening service of the Church. (Old Fr. venpre, tivening ; Lat. vesper, the evening-star.) , . , 1.680. — of joy for me. MS. — should harbour me. Page 236. 1. 707. — prime. Fiarly morning. In Church us- age, the first canonical hour, six o'clock a.m. (Lat. primus, first), but used loosely for the period of six to nine o'ckick. 410 NOTES. Page 237. I. 71<).— Within 'twas brilliant. MS. Within 'Iwns brilliant all. and hri^lit \ The vision KloWd on Ellen's Hifjht. 1. 72<», — presence. The royal rocei)tion room — tho pro- seii(5o-chariiber. 1. 727. -she sought. MS.— who ovvnM tliis royal state. 1. 740. — And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King. — This discovery will probahly remind the reader of the Iteau- tiful Arabian t.ilc of // llondoiani. Yet the ineiflent is not borrowed from that eleg.mt story, l»iit from the Scottish tradition, .lames V. . . . for the purpose of see- ing that justice was regularly administered, and fro- queiitl}' from the less justifiable motive of gallantry, used to traverse the vicinage of his several palaces in various disguises. The two excellent comic songs, enti- tled, ■' The (Jaherlun/.i Man," ai;d ''We'll gae uao mair a-roving,"are said to ha\ l)ee!i founded upon the success of his amorous adventures when travelling in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the best comic ballad in any language. ^ " Another adventure which had nearly cost James his life, is said to have taken place at the village of Cramond, near Edinburgh, where he had render(Kl his addresses ac- ceptable to a pretty girl of the lowci lauk. Four or five persons, whether relations or lovers of his mistress is un- certain, beset the disguised monarch, as he returned from his rendezvous. Naturally gallant, and an admirable mas- ter of his weapon, the king took post on the high and nar- row bridge over the Almond river, and defended himself bravely with his sword. A peasant, who was thrashing in a neighbouring barn, came out upon the noise, and, Avhether moved by compassion or by natural gallantry, took the weaker side, and laid about with his flail so effec- tually, as to disperse the assailants, well thrashed, even nocordiiig to the letter. He then conducted the king into his barn, where his guest requested a basin and a towel, to THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO VL 41 \ removo *lio stains of the hroil. This boing procunHl with (litlioulty. .liitnert employed hinmolf in loarniu'^ wlial, was the siiininit of liis (hdivernr's earthly wishes, and found that they were houiidiMl by the desire of possessing?, in ))r«>p- orty, the farm of Braidit'id, upon which he laboiired as u bondsman. 'I'he lands chanced to Ixdon^ to tins Crown ; and .Fames directed hiru to come to the palace of Holy-Rood, and inquire* for the (liiidinan (i.e. fariuor) of Ballenjriech, a name by which he w a> kii.wu in his excursions, and which answered to the /- /it)>j]f according! ; and found, witli due astonishnnrnt, that ho hail saved his ujonarch's life, and that he was to be gratified with a crov n-chartor of the lands of Rraehead, under tlici serv' o of presenting an ewer, basin, and towel, for the king to wash his hands, when ho shall happen to pass the Bridge of Cramond. This person was anc<^stor of the Houisons of Braohead, in Mid-Jjot^ ian, a respectable fainily, who continue to hold the lands (now passed into the female line) under the same tenure." — Scott. The poet adds in his note several stories of similar import. 1. 711. -As wreath of snow on mountain breast. "Ex- amine thtj context of this last passage, and its beauty is quite beyond praise ; but note the northern love of rocks in the very first words . . . the rocks that gave it rest." — Raskin, Modern Paintem, iii.. xv. , §20. 1. 7 13. — glided. MS. — shrinking, quits her stay. Page 238. 1. 7()5.— death-feud. Mortal enmity— each party seeking the other's life. I. 766.— De Vaux. See note to p. 197, 1. 469. Grey Glencairn. Cuthbert Cunningham, third earl of Glencairn, although husband of the daughter of the fifth earl of Angus, joined Lennox in an attempt to free .fames from Angus in 1526. "^ 1. 769. — infidel. A sportive use of the word in its original sense — one not believing in the true faith. 4 -, ■ ^, rMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ m 1.0 ^1^ 1^ ^ 1^ 12.0 I.I 1; HI] 18 1.25 1.4 1= -m 6" - ► sm ■*^i> ^1^ ^^;»v ^'^ Z;'^ o;^ Sdeiices CorpoTdtion 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEB<:TER,N.Y. !^S80 (716) 872-4S03 i\ k d 4 V M. **>. V v^> ^^<^ ■^ 412 NOTES. ! Page 239. 1. 782.— proselyte. .Tames would himself convert Ellen to the ti'uth — she is to be his convert. 1. 783. —read. Explain, interpret (A.S. rcedan, to dis- cern, read). 1. 784.— to speed. To good issue. I. 78 1.— In life's more low. MS. Ill lowly life's more, hiippy wjiy. II. 788f.— Stirling's Tower . , Snowdoun claims. " Wil- liam of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snowdoun. Sir David Lindsay bestows the same epithet upon it in his Complaint of the Papingo: — ' Ailieu, fair Siu<,w(loun, with thy towers liinh, Thy ehaple-royal, park, ai rt table round.' " Snawdoun is the official title of one of the Scottish heralds, whoso epithets seem, in all counti-ios, to have been fantastically adopted from ancient history ox- ro- mance. "The real name by which James was actually distin- guished in his pi'ivate excursions was the Goodman of Ballenguich [or Ballengeioh] ; derived from a steep pass leading up to the Castle of Stirling, so called. But the epithet would not have suited poetry, and would besides at once, and prematurely, have announced the plot to many of my countrymen, among wliom the traditional stories above-mentioned are still current." — Scott. 1. 790. — James Fitz-Jamcs. Son of James IV. L 794. — traitress. Which she would bo to betray a king's counsel. 1. 798. — My spell-bound steps. MS. Thy sovereign baelc (thy sovereign's steps) to Benvenue. 1. 802. —talisman. Magic token. 1. 803.~Pledge of my faith. MS. Pledge of Fitz-James' faith, the ring. Ttik LADV OF THE LAKE, CANTO VI. 413 Page 240. 1. 809. -And more she deemed. MS. And iji her breast strove maiden shame ; More deep she deem'd the Monarcli's ire. . . Against his Sovereign broadsword drew ; And, with a pleading, wnrm and true. . . 1. SU.-King of Kings. Cf. 1 Timothy, vi. 15. Page 241. 1. 812.-Harp of the North I The poet returns with this description of evening to the source of inspira- tion he invoked in the opening stanza of tl,e poem. The tender close of these stanzas, after the excitement and tension of the canto, ends the poem with a strain like the falling cademes of music. 1. 8i0.-wizard elm. See p. 69, 1. 2, and note. h 858.-grief devoured. . Cf. Ps. xlii. 3. This personal touch IS a sign of Scott's participation in the Romantic rnoveme.it. It refers, perhaps, to the tragedy in his first affection ; see Introduction, p. xxxvii. 1. 8G2. -seraph, .touch of fire. Seraph (Heb. aaraph, to burn), winged angel of the highest order, messenger of Jehovah. Cf. * Oh thou my voice inspne. Who touched Isaiah's Imllowed lips with fire I — I'ope, Messiah. 'Upon the whole, we are inclined U) think more highly of The Lady of the Lake than of either of its author's for- mer publications. We are more sure, however, that it has greater beauties; and as its beauties bear a stronij 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 onr own parts, however, we are of opniion, that It will be oftoner read hereafter than either of them ; and that if it had appeared first in the series life 414 NOTES. their reception would have been less favourable than that which it has experienced. It is more polished in its dic- tion, pnd more regular in its versification ; fche 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 artfull}' and judi- ciously 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 profusioji of incident, and a shifting brilliancy of colouring, that remind?, us of the witchery of Ariosto — and a constant elasticity, and occasional energy, which seem to belong more peculiarly to the author noAv before Uf?.'* — Jkkfrky. that dic- -y is here ges, Lole, udi- ), as the and bher ting leiy 3iial the APPENDIX. APPEI^DIX WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I heard a thoasancl blended notes A h.leui a grove I sate reclined, filing sad thoughts to the mind. '""^"^^ To her fail works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran • And t.s my faith that every flower Lnjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played The.r thoughts I cannot measure f-^ ' itiet^^T^hH?/:^^^^^^^^^^^ To^Sf^— -^^^^^r^- And I must think, do ail I can, 1 hat there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan. Have I not reason to lament What Man has made of Man ? — William Wordmvorlh. 10 15 20 418 APPENDIX. SUxNSET WINGS. To-night tlie Munset spreads two golden wings Cleaving the western sky ; Winged too with wind it is, and winnowiiigs Of birds ; as if the day's last hour in rings Of strenuous flight must die. Sun-steepod in fire, the homeward pinions sway Above the dovecot-tops ; And crowds of starlings, ere they rest with day, Sink, clamorous like mill-waters, at wild play, By trrns in every copse : ii» Each tree heart-deep *he wrangling rout receives,— Save the whirr within. You could not tell the starlings from the leaves ; Then one great puff of wings, and the swarm heaves Aw^ay with all its din. ift Even thus Hope's hours, in ever-eddying flight, To many a refuge tend ; With the first light she laughed, and the last light Glows round her still ; vho natheless in the night At length must make an end. ao And now the mustering rooks innumerable Together sail and soar, While afar the day's death, like a tolling knell, Unto the heart they seem to ciy. Farewell, No more, farewell, no more ! 20 Is Hope not plumed, as 'twere a fiery dart ? And oh ! thou dying day, Even as thou goest must she too depart, And Sorrow fold such pinions on the heart As will not ^y awaj'^ ? — Dante Gnhriel Ro^ct'' 25 n» APPENDIX. 419 1ft 'ALMA MINHA GENTIL, QUE TE PARTISTE " Meek l^pirit, who so early didst depart riiou art at rest in Heavon » r • ' , A.^ feed the lonely a.S of .n^'h^t'""' ''-nkn.,. of a]l that made oxistLcedL'tr. AH lost ! If i„ the happy ^orhl above Remembrance of this mortal life endure m-'^ "^f '\^^^^ fo'-«et the perfect love Wh.chstmthouseesti„me.Ospnpure! And if the irremediable grief iiiewoe, wliich never hopes on earth relief May ment ought of thee ; prefer thy pral^r To God, who took thee early to his rett ^ rhat It may please him soon amid the b est J o summon me, dear n.aid ! to meet thee there. —Camoem, trandated by Sonthey. 5 10 20 20 25 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. Thou still iinravish'd bride of quietness ' Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time Sylvan historian, who canst thus expiess ' What wl.f'^' Tr 'T^^>^ ^^-" ou. rhyme • m dl-f ^^^"^ ^^^^"^« h«"'^^« about thy Shane « Of deities or mortals, or of both, ^ ^ ^ Wh«f , ^""^^ ""'^^^ ^^'^« «f Arcady ? vv nat men or cods nm fli^c^ v ixn i^ • i What mad ,mrs« t ' VVh' ^^^^"-^V"^'^'"" ^^^^'' ' Whflf ni^^l 1 ;. ; ^^^ struggle to escape ? What pipes and timbrels ? What wild ecstasy ? lo Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Not to'tr''' ' ^';""'"^'^^' ''^ ««f^ P'PerpTy on • PIn« f ^,f »^"^^ «a^' ^"it, more endear'd, ' Pipe to the spirit ditties o: no tone • Fa.r youth, beneath the trees, thou ^anst «ot leave ... 420 APPENDIX. Tliy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Thoiij^h winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve; Siie cannot fade, though thou liast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! s^o Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ; And, happy melodist, unweariM, Fov ever piping songs for ever i.ev/ ; More happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 26 For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd. For ever panting and for ever young ; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-s'^rrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 30 Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies. And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? What little town by river or sea-shore Or mountain-built \ -.>Bfe 20 25 30 35 40 45 fiO APPENDIX. ^21 WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY. 10 Wlien I have borne in memory what has tamed Great nations ; how ennobling- thoughts denan Ihe student s bower for gold.-^-some fears unnan,ed I had, my Country .'-am I to be blamed '> n vei ily, ,n the bottom of my heart ' Of tliose unhlial fears I am ashamed. iZt^'K T"\^? ^^^''"" '^'^ ; we wlio find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; And I by my aflfection was beguiled : What wonder if a Poet now and then, F^riw '/r "^''^"^\"^«vements of his mind, 1^ elt for thee as a lover or a child ! — William Wonhnorth, WRITTEN IN LONDON. SEPTEMBER, 1802. Fo!tmfo..t t'" "'' y^'^^ ^^^ ^ «^"«t look T^ f;:°^ ? ' ^'"^■' ^^ I ^"1' opprest, To thmk that now our life is only drest xor show; mean handy-work of craftr^nan, cook. In tTe'on.;~^^\"'"'' '"" glittering like a brook 5 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest : Ihe wealthiest man among us is the best ; JNo grandeur now in nature or in book This IS idolatry : and these we adore: PJa.n living and high thinking are no more : l^l^T^^^ ^^^"*^^ °^ ^1^« ^ood old ^ause is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws. — William Wordsworth. 10 -1 -_«j_ii._Laji.! 422 APPENDIX. SONG FROM "CYMBELINE." Fear no mciG the lieat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rajres ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physc, must All follow this, and come to dust. 10 Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; Fear not slander, censure rash ; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. 15 No exorciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have ; And renowned be thy grave ! 20 William ShakHpere. APPENDIX. \D\ 'M I'HANATOPSIS. (Written in the 2y(M-rs eitjhhrnth yrar.) To l.iin wl.o in tJ.e love of Nature hol.ls Communion with l.ei- visible forms, she si,e«ks A various language ; for his ^ayer hours^ Mie has a voice of ^Hadness. and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides . into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, tliat steals away rhe.r shai-i^ness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Cf the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. And breathless darkness, and the narrow house Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ;! <^o forth, under the open sky, and list Jo Nature's teachings, while from all around- ^'artli and her waters, and the depths of air- Oomes a still voice- - 10 15 Ihe all-beholding sun shall see no more r^ all his course; nor yet in the cold ground ^ here thy pale form was laid, with man v tears, m Nor ,n the embrace of ocean, shall exist Ihy image Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Iby growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Ihine individual being, shalt thou go ^a ro mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain lurns with his share, and treads upon. The oak bhall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. ao V H% frf- 4^ APPENDIX, Yet not to thine eternal resting-plaea Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst Ihcu wish Couch more magnificent. Thou slialt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 86 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, Ail in one mighty sej. chre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods— rivers that move 40 In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 46 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.— Take the wings 60 Of morning, piejce the Barcan wilderness. Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashirgs— yet the dead are there : And millions in those solitudes, since first 66 The flight of yeais began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead leign there alone. So slialt thou rest, and what it thou withdraw In silence from the Ilvijig, and no friend Take note of tliy departure ? All that breathe 60 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come «6 And mako their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glides away, the sons of men, The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The speechless babe, and -he grey-headed man — 70 APPENDIX. Shall one by one be gathered to thy side liy those who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves lo tl.at mysterious realm, where each shall take -His chamber in the silent halls of death, ihou go not like che quarry-slave at night, BT.lfnnf'^u ' ^""^'°"' ^'''^ sustained and soothed ±5y an unfaltering trust, approach thy orave i^.ke one who wraps tlie drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. — William Cullen Bi-ynnt. 425 7ft 80- HYMN TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power Thou tamer of the human breast,' Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ' Bound in thy adamantine chain 5 The proud are taught to taste of pain. And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first tliy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, design'd, 10 io thee he gave the heavenly birth And bade to form her infant mind, btern, rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore ; What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 15 And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe 126 APPENDIX. Scared at thy frown leirilic, lly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Lauj^liter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. 20 Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe ; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow tlieir truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb array 'd, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy', silent maid, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe. And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 25 30 Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head Dread goddess, \diy thy chastening hand ! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 35 Not circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and tlireatening mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry. Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty ; - 40 45 Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive. Teach mo to love and to forgive, Exf t my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. — Thomas Gray. APPENDIX. 427 20 ed. 25 30 NUNS FRET NOT AT THEIK CONVENT'S NARROW ROOM. Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room • And hermits are contented with their cells • ' And students with their pensive citadel? ; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at liis loom, ^t blithe and happy ; bees that soar for bloom, 6 High as the highest Peak of Furness -fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells : In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is : and hence for me, * in sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound lo Within the sonnet's scanty plot of ground ; l-leased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who haveielt the n'eight of too mucli liberty, feiiould find brief solace there, as I have found. — William Wordsworth a;> 40 4.') ay. TO THE Daisy. With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisy ! again I talk to thee, For thou art worthy. Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face. And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee ! Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes. Loose types of things through all degrees Thoughts of thy raising ; ' And many a fond and idle name 10 423 APPENDIX. I give to thee, for praise ov blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing 15 »g. A nun demure, of lowly port ; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations ; 20 A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest ; Are all, as seemc to suit thee best. Thy appellations. A little Cyclops, with one eye 25 Staring to threaten and defy, That thought comes next — and instantly The freak is over, The shape will vanish, and behold ! A silver shield with boss of gold 30 That spreads itself, some faery bold In flight to cover ! I see thee glittering from afar — And then thou art a pretty star ; Not quite so fair as many are ss In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee ! 40 Sweet Flower ! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past I call thee, and to that cleave fast. Sweet silent creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, 45 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of 'by meek nature ! — William Wordsworth. ,.!> APPENDIX. 429 15 20 A BARD'S EPITAPH.* Is there a whim-inspired fool Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule Uwre blate^ to seek, owre proud to snool,'» . Let him draw near : And owre this grassy heap sing dool,« And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, nofeless steals the crowd among, That weekly this area throng. •L. , . , , ^' pass not by ! ■But, wjth a frater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh. Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,' Wild as the wave : Here pause--and, through the starting tear Survey this grave. ' The poor inhubilant below Was quick to learn and wise to know And keenly felt the friendly glow, ' Tj , ^, , . And sober flame : But thoughtless follies laid him low. And stain'd his name! Reader, altend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkly grubs this ear.hly hole, Tr«^ , In low pursuit ;' Jlnow, prudent, cautious, self-cantrol. Is wisdom's root. — livhcr) I i urns. 10 15 i 20 25 .'ft "...j;- ^a- !iJ';,ff,7 s-<.£>. «;;,; Wonlsu-oith's poems OH ig: 'fr: 430 APPENDIX. A POET'S EPITAPH. Alt thoii a Statist in tlie van Of public conflicts trained and bred .•' — First learn to love one livinj^ man ; Then may'st thou think upon the dead. A Law3'er art thou ? — draw not nigh ' Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face . . . Physician art thou ? one, all eyes, Philosopher ! a finj^ering slave, One that would peep and botanise Upon his mother's grave. Wrapt closely in thy sensual flee:.e, O turn aside,- -and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, Thy ever-dwindling soul, away ! . • • But who is He, with modest looks. And clad in homely russet brown ? He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own. 10 15 20 He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; And you must love him, ere to y'ou He will seem worthy of your love. The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and vallej'', he has viewed ; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude. 25 #^KM 10 APPENDIX. In common things that round us lie Some random truths he can impart, - ^1 he harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on his own heart. But he is weak ; both Man and Boy, Hatli been an idler in tlie land • Contented if he might enjoy ' Tlie things wliich others understand. --Come hither in tliy hour of strength • Come, weak as is a breaking wave ! ' Here stretch tliy body at full length ; Ur build thy house upon this grave. — William Wordsworth. 481 90 35 40 15 20 26 SONNET ON CHILLON. Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ' Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, i? or there thy habitation is the heart - ^ he neart which love of thee alone can bind : Aiid when thy sons to fetters are consigned- lo fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, X..^V ^*J""^.^^/°"*i"^^'« ^ith their martyrdom, And Freedoms fame nnds wings on every wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar- for 'twas trod, Until his very st«ps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! iioc they appeal from tyranny to God. — Byron. lo I 482 APPENDIX, TO NIGHT. Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwrought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day ; Kiss her until she be wearied out, Tiien wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long sought ! 10 15 When I arose and saw the dawn I sighed for thee ; When light rode high and the dew was gone. And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, 80 I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came and cried, Wouldst thou me ? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy -eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee. 25 Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied. No, not thee ! Doath will come when thou art dead. Soon, too soon— ' so Sleep will come when thou art fled ; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swif be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon ! •'?'' — Percy Bysshe Shelley. APPENDIX. 488 10 15 20 25 30 TO THE CUCKOO. Hail, beauteous stranger of tl.e {,n-ove ' Thou messen^^er of Sprirg ! ' Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy w^ 'come sing, Thy certain voice we liear ; liast thou a star to guide thy path Or mark the rolling year ? Delighted visitant ! with thee 1 hail the time of flowers And hear the sound of music sweet l^i'om birds among the bowers. "^ TTptnlhrnW^^^ *^^'^"^^»^ *"^ ^ood«. J.O pun the primrose gay, ' starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. -Lhou fliest thy vocal vale, An anuual guest to other lands, Another Spring to hail. Sweet bkd ! thy bower is ever green, rhy sky IS ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No Winter in thy year. i(» 15 m V?^'^^ I %. I'd fly with thee! A\ed make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring 25 —John Logan, 1781. 484 APPENDIX, "THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND SHOWER." --JTiiREK years she ^rew in sun and shower, Then Nature said : "A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This Child I to myself will take, She shall be mine, and I shall make A Lady of my own. Myself will to my darling' be Both law and impulse: and with me The Girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in f:;;Iade and bower. Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. 10 She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild w^ith glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; 15 And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ; 20 Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motion of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maidei-'s form By silent sympathy. The stars of midnight shall be dear 25 To her ; and she shall lean lier ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their- ay ward round, And beauty born of murmering sound Shall pass into her face, 30 APPENDIX. 485 And vital feelings of delight Shall rear lior form to stately height, Her virgin hosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy I will :i:ive While she and I together live Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake — The work was done — How soon my Lucy's race was run ! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ; The memory of what has been, ^ And never more will be. — William Wordnworth. 86 «) 10 15 20 2^ 30 .^. EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE. To my true king, I offered, free from stain, Courage and faith ; vain faith and courage vain. For him I threw lands, honours, wealth away, And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. For him I languished in a foreign clime ."i Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime ; Heard in Lavernia, Scargill's^ whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees ; Beheld eacli night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep ; lo Till God, who saw me t? ied too sorely, gave The resting-place I askeo an early grave. Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone. From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, i5 By that dear language which I spake like thee. Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here. —Macaulay (1800-1859). 1 \n North Yorkshire on the upper Tees. 486 APPENDIX. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O NlGliTlNdALK, tlmt on yon bloomy spray War blest at eve, when all tlio woods are still, Thou with fresli hope tlie lover's liearf dost fill, While the jolly liours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close tlie eye of day. First lieard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to tliy soft lay. Now timely sinp;, ere the rude bird of liate Fortell my hopeless doom, in some grove nifth ; As thou from year to year liast suuf? too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whitlier the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am L — Milton, Soniietx, i. 10 "BREATHES THERE A MAN." Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him bnrn'd. As home his footsteps he hath turn'd. From wanderinp: on a foreif>n strand ! If such there breathes, go, mark him well : For him no Minstrel raptures swell ; 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, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, Aud, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung. — Scott, Lay of the Last Mimfrel, vi, i. 10 15 APPENDIX, 48? SIR PATRICK SPENCE.* Thk Kii)g sif s in D.,mfeili,ig toune I>rink.ng .sblude-redwine: ' O whar w.ll 1 ^et guid sailor J^o sail this ship of mine ? " Up and spake un eldern' knicht" ^ bat at the king's richtkne: ' Sa- Patr ck Spence is tlie best sailor J- hat sails upon the sea." The king has written a braid lettei-« And signed it vvi' liis hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. Tha first line that Sir Patr--<;k red. AloudlauchMauchedhe: ' Ihe next line that Sir Patrick red The teir blinded his ee.^ ' rp -^^''V^^^leiddonetome; lo send me out this time o' the yeir lo sail upon these? " Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all ^^ Our^uid schip sails the mol^ie '^ ' ^ say na sae, my master deir, ^ or I feir a deadlie storme. " Wi'^Wif ^ yestreen" I saw the new moone And T f ^"l^.^^«o"e in liir arme ; And I feir, 1 feir. my deir master, Ihat we will com' to harme." 10 15 80 2t, ' The grand old ballad of Sir l^at^i^^^~^, " 1 Aired nifri I. "'^ieridge. 2>ejec«o«. m APPEIfDJX, OoUr Scots nobles wer richt laith* To wet their cork-heild schoono j fio But lang owre a' the play wer playd Thair hats they swam aboone.** O lang, lang may the ladies sit, Vi' thair fans into their hand, Or eir tiiey se Sir Patrick Spence 35 Cum sailing to the land. O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi' thair gold kems' in their hair, Waiting for their ain deir lords. For they'll see thame na mair. 4o Have owre,*" have owre to Aberdour,'^ It's fifty fadom deip ; And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence Wi' the Scots lords at his feit. — J'^om Percy's " Reliquett." A LAMENT. O, world ! 0, life ! O, time ! On whose last steps I climb Trembling at that where I had stood before ; When will return the glory of your prime? No more— Oh, never more! Out of the day^nd night A joy has taken flight ; Fresh spring, and summei, and winter hoar. Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more — Oh, never more ! lo — Percy Byashe Shelley. t Loath. 8 On the aurface. » Combs. »« Half over. It A viUai^e on the Forth. APPENDIX. 439 HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE 8EA. """''"'arayf ^^^^ ^'' ^^"-^nt to the North-west died Sunset^nu,, 'one glorious bJood-red, reeling into Cadiz Bluish 'mid'the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lav • '" ^'VtTlU^g^et.^^" ''-'--^ ^^-^^ ^^- ' ^"' ^nglS ,^_itf ^^^^' '^^^ "^^ ^ ^^- -« ^ ^-IP "^""'and^pra^' '' '"^^ '''""^' ^"^" ^^ ^^^ *« Praise While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. —Robert Brotomng. SLEEP. Come, Sleep ! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace rhe baiting-place* of wit, the balm of woe ThMnHT"'\'^'!,^'^'x '^^ P^'^'««"^r's release! Vj\!l !?^f7? judge between the high and ow ; With shield of proof, shield me from out the pilsi Of those fierc^e darts Despair at me doth throw • O make in me those civil wars to cease • ' 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. lake thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamoer deaf to noise and blind to light A rosy garland and a weary head : ' And if these things, as being there by ritrht Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me ' i^iveher than elsewhere, Stella's image see. -Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586), in ^' Aslropheland Stel/ar' lu * Place of refreshment. 440 APPENDIX. SLEEP. (2//e«>-3y 7r.,iii.,i.,r)ff). How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurrie, how have I friglited thee, That thou no more will weigh these eyeli' down And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? ;> Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uner.sy pallets stretching thee And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under tlie canopies of costly state, lo And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody ! O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch A w^atch-case or a common 'larum-bell ? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 15 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes and rock his brain In cradle of the rude, imperious surge And in the visitation of the winds. Who take the ruffian billows by the top. Curling their monstrous heads und hanging them 5*0 With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly death itself awakes? Canst thou, partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude. And in the calmest and most stillest night, 25 With all appliances and means to boot, . Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. — William Shahnpere. APP2NDIX. 441 " WHEN A MOUNTAIN SKYLARK SINGS." When a mountain skylark sings In the sun-lit summer morn I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of corn. But when the nightingale sings In the moon-lit summer even I know not if earth is merely earth, Only that heaven is heaven. — Christitia lw;;etta. THE LARK. Bird of the wilderness, Blitiiesome and cumberless Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Ji^mblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling place— O to abide in the desert with thee ' Wild is thy lay, and loud, i ar in the downy cloud. Love gives it energy-love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, ^here art thou JGurneying? Thy lay is in heaven—thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O er the red streamer that heralds the d»y Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, * Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! I hen, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will be thy welcome and bed of love be ' J^mbJem of happiness, Blest is thy d^velling-place— O to abide in the desert with thee ! —James Hogg (1772-lSSd.) 10 15 % Mi^ ■BBMH 442 APPENDIX, TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear. Like thine own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales ; O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts With brede etherial wove, O'erhang his wavy bed ; Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat. With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing ; Or where the beetle winds His small, but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ; Now teach me, maid composed. To breathe some softened strain. lu If) Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale. May not unseemly with thy stillness suit ; As, musing slow, I hail Thy genial loved return ! 20 For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours and Elves Who sleep in flow^ers the day, And many a nymph who wreathes her brow with sedge, 25 And sheds the freshening dew, and, lover3r still. The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car ; Then lead, calm votaress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some- time-hallowed pile, so Or upland follows grey Reflect its last cool gleam. lu JS 20 APPENblt. 44a But when chill blustering winds or driving rain Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, That, from the mountain's side, 35 - Views wilds, and swelling floods. And hamlets browt; and dim-discovered spires ; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. ,10 Whilo Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light ; Wiiile sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 45 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train. And rudely rends thy robes ; So long sure-found beneath the sylvan shed Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipped Health, 50 Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy favourite name. —Collim (1730-1756.) 30 OPPORTUNITY. He who bends to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy ; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise. If you trap the moment before it's ripe. The tears of repentance you'll certainly wipe; But, if you once let the ripe moment go, You can never wipe off the tears of woe. — William Blake, 1757-1827. 444 APPENDIX, FROM "EXTREME UNCTION." Upoii the hour when I was born, God said, ''Another man shall be," And the threat Maker did not scorn Out of Himself to fashion me ; He sunned me with His ripening looks, 5 And Heaven's rich instincts in me grew. As effovt.less as woodland nooks Send violets up and paint them blue. Yes, I who now, with angry tears, Am exiled back to brutish clod, lo Have borne unqueached for four-score years A spark of the eternal God ; And to what end V How yield 1 back The trust for such high uses given V Heaven's light hath but revealed a track 15 Whereby to crawl away from Heaven. Men think it is an awful sight To see a soul just set adrift On that drear voyage from whose night The ominous shadows never lift ; But 'tis more awful to behold A helpless infant newly born. Whose little hands unconscious hold The keys of darkness and of morn. 2U ■ II Mine held them once ; I flung away Those keys that might have open set The golden sluices of the day, But clutch the keys of darkness yet ; — I hear the reapers surging go Into God's harvest ; I, that might With them have chosen, here below Grope shuddering at tha gates of night. lib 30 <^. 10 15 20 25 30 APPENDIX. ^ nt''''u^7°';^.^^' ^^'^^ *^"^« w«« "line! O high Ideal ! all in vain Ye enter at this ruined shrine Whence worship ne'er shall rise again : The bat and owl inhabit here, The snake nests in the altar-stone, Ihe sacred vessels moulder near • The image of the God is gone. ' —JameH Rtmell Lowell. 445 aft 40 FKOM "SEAWEED." When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox. Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with seaweed from the rocks : From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges Of sunken ledges. In some far-oflf, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing. Silver-flashing * Surges of San Salvador ; From the tumbling surf, that buries The Orkneyan skerries. Answering the hoarse Hebrides • And from wrecks of ships, and drifting bpars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas ;— Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main ; Till in sheltered coves, and reaches C)f sandy beaches, All have found repose again. —Longfellow. 10 15 20 ^% 446 APPENDIX, ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider liow my liglit is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more b'int To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5 My true account, lest He, returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask ; but patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts ; who best in Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ; His state Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; They also serve who only stand and wait." — John Milton, WHEN, IN DISGRACE WITH FORTUNE AND MEN'S EYES." When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 5 Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, — and then my state, lo Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate ; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, Tli9,t then I scprij to change my state with kings. T- Williarn Shakspere. APPENDIX. 447 HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABKOAD. Oh, to be ill England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware. That the lowest boughs and the brusliwood sheaf Kound the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England— now ! And after April when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows- Hark ! where blossomed j^ear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dew-drops, -at the bent spray's edge - Ihat s the wise thx ash ; he sings each song twice o'ver T^^^I^"^ should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture. And though the fields look rough with hoary dew All will be gay when noontide wakes anew ' The buttercups, the little children's dower. Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower. , — Robert Bromiimi. 10 15 20 10 OT)E. How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes West ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. Returns to deck their hallowed mould, ' She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung • There Honour come, a pilgrim grey, ' To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there.' ^— Wiiiiarn Collina, 10 448 APPENDIX. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! (On tiik Dkatii ok Lincoln.) O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rock, tlie prize we souglit is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel ferim and daring; But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 5 O the bleeding drops of red. When on the deck riy Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, 10 For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a -crowding. For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here, Captain, dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck, ifti You've fallen cold and dead. My ^aptain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My Father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship ia anchor'd safe and scand, its V03'age closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes it with object won 2() Exult shores, and ring O bells I But I, with mournful tread, AValk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. ■ Walt Whitman, API'ENDIX. W9 15i THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. This is the siiip of pea.], which, poets feii;,) Sails the ii.ishadovved main -^ Tlie venturous hark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gu fs enchanted, where the siren sings ^ « And coral reefs lie hare, * Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their strean.ing hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And &wQYy chambered cell Where its dim dreaming life' was wont to dwell -Before thee lies reveah d — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 10 16 Year after year beheld the sileijt toil liiat spread its lustrous coil ; Still, as the spiral grew, le left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole With soft step its shining archway thiough, -tsuilt up Its idle door, St^-etcM in his last-found home, and knew the last no '^cTiM l7,f,'" '"'T"'^ "''"^''*''" '"■°"K'" ''y 'i>^. on ua of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap forlorn ' ' From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Ihan ever Titan blew from wreathed horn ! w Jiile on mine ear it rings Through the deep caves of thought I h.ar a voice that sings : — 25 wmm 460 AfPENDhK. Build thee more stately luaiisions, my «oul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted pasl ! Let each now temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaviny; thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! — O/uwr Wendfll llohnct. .'li» 35 PROSPICE. Fear death ?— to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, Wiien the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am Hearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, s The post of the foe, Where he stands, the P ^ch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go : For the journey ia done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, I'l Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more. The best and the last ! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forebore, 15 And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a i.inute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. ao. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave. The black minute's at end. And the elements' rage, the (iend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a i)eace out of pain, 'ih Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again. And with God be the rest ! — Rohert Browmntj. ArpENDIX. -THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US " The world is too much wiih us ; late and soon Oett.u,. and spending, we lay' waste our powers • L ttle we see in Nature that is ours • P'*'^*'*^ ' The Sertf! m" ""^ \'^^T ^^^^' * ««»'d'd boon ! 1 he Sea that bares her bosom to the moon : 1 .e winds that will be howling at all hours, And aie up-^Hthered now like shepin^^ Howers • For these, for everything, we are out of tune? ' It moves us not --Great God ! I'd rather be ' A 1 agan suckled in a creed outworn • So might I, standing on this pleasant l^a, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn • Have s.ght of Proteus rising from the sea ; ' Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. --WWiam iVordnworth, 1806. 451 MEMORABILIA. Ah ! did you see Shelley plain. And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again ? How strange it seems and new ! But you were living before that, And also you are living after ; And the memory I startled at— My startling moves your laughter ! I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt, .i^ t"*^ '^"^'■^^'^^b ^f '^ «h'"es alone Mid the blank miles round about. For there I picked up on the heather And there 1 put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather ! Well, I forget the rest. —Robert Brotmintj. 10 10 15 nsstx 452 APPENDIX. IN MEMORIAM, II. Old Yew, which graspest at tlie stones That name the under-lying derad, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the firstling to the flock ; And in the dusk of thee, tlie clock Beats out the little lives of men. not for thee the glow, the bloom, Who changest not in any gale, Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom : And gazing on thee, sullen tree. Sick for thy stubborn hardihood, I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. — Alfred Tennyson. IC 15 »'LET ME NOT TO THE MARRIAGE OF MINDS." TRUE Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : Oh, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, ft That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wjindering bark. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.. Love's not Time's fool, tliough rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 10 Love alters not with liis brief hours and weeks. But bears it out^ even to tlie edge of doom. If this be error, and u])on me proved, I never writ, nor no man exer loyed. _ WVliHm Shdkiipere. 1 Continues stead fast. APPENDIX. 468 10 15 ALL SAINTS. One feast, of hdy days the crest, I, though no Churchman, love to keep In (^od s stjll memory fol led deep • TJie bravely dumb that did their deed And scorned to blot it with a name' Men of the plain heroic breed, ' rJuit loved Heaven's silence more than fame. Such lived not in the past alone, But thread to-day the unheeding- street A^id stairs to Sin and Famine known ' S.ng with the welcome of their feet • The den they enter grows a shrine, ' ihe grimy sash an oriel burns, Their cup of water warms like wine, rheir speech is filled from heavenly urns. About their brows to me appears Th. v^^^r""^^ ^'^'^^ '■'^ tenderest light. The i^.nbow-gleam of smiles through tears In dy,„g oyes by tliem made brigh Of souls that shivered on the edge ' And m their mercy felt the pledge And sweetness of the farther shore. —James RmHell Lowell, 10 15 :«.' ,■<«. LUdli-UiiJ 454 APPENDIX. DAYBREAK. A wind came up out of the sea, And said, "0 mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, " Sail on, Ye mariners, thv night is gone." And hurried landward far away. Crying, '' Awake! it is the day." It said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " Z^ touched the wood-bird's folded wing, * And said, " O bird, awake and sing." And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, Your clarion blow ; the day is near." It whispered to the fields of corn, " Bow down, and hail the coming morn." It shouted through the belfry-tower, '' Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh. And said, "Not yet, in quiet lie." — Ilenrif Wadmoorth Lomjlellow. 10 1ft I AI'PENDIX. J55 lu ift i THE CHARACTEB OF A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught, Ihat serveth not another's will • Whase armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill j ■ ^wT ^^'''"'""^ '***^ **^8 "masters are • Whose soul is stiil prepared for deati, Untied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath j Who envies none that chance doth raise Or Vice ; hath ever Ui,derstood ' ilmv deepest wounds are given with nrai^i. Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; ' Who hath his life from humours freed • Whose conscience is his strong retreat • Whose state can neither flatterefs fid ' ' Nor ru.n make oppressors great ,' ^M ^''\ f °^^ ^^^ ^"^ «^rly pray More of his grace than gifts to Ld • And entertains the harmless day ' With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is free from servile bands T.i rf.^'''"'^^' «r fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all. '%• Henry Wotlon (156S-1639). 10 15 80 "'''^fl^^WPJPi""!*' 456 APPENDIX. THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. At the cornel- of Wood street, wlien daylight appc5ars, Hany;s a thrusli that sings loud, it has sung for three j'ears ; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees 5 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright columns of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Clieapside. i # Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ; lo And a single sm:»ll cottage, a nest like a dove's. The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven, but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, 15 And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. — William Wordnivorth. ree i»- M' 10 15