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I errata
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1 2 3

32X

: *

SKU'CT j>oi;.\is.

z
o

si:Li:cr poi-ms

i:i;iN<; I HI-

I :k.\iri:K i'i<i:s(Kiiii:i) iok 'ihk jimor ma irk r

I-AIIOX iTIilkl) lOKM) KXAMINA IJON.

Mill H I i U I 1 H

/yThu>/)r('T/iK\\ Xi>T/.:s, ,/a/; a r /'/-:. \/>/x

W. J. AIJ<:\A\I)KR, I'll.]).,

J'ro/,:s^or of K,i-li,h in I -uivasily Co/!rxr, 7.,rof,h\

lOkoNTo:
THK a)i'}', ( LAKK CO.Ml'ANV, LIMUKI

I -SyS.

Knl.ro.1 a<Tonlinj; to AH of ,ho I-arliamont of fana.la, i„ the var one thot.HanrJ
n«hthu,Hln.,l an.) nin...y.,.iK'l.t. by TiiK r,.,.,-, Tlakk C.mpany, Mmitki., Toronto
Ontario, in Lho Ollice of Ihti Minintir (.f AKrriculHire.

,Vo;

COXTI'IXTS.

^vrK.,,>rrnn.v:,Nl,.t,.,.,,,litslM,,i.,,,,,.n.,.ght
Ski.kctions :

'■''"' '-'I'lyf.f the Lake
To My Sistrr .

KxiKjstul.itidii and Reply
Th.' Tiil.le.s Tiinied
Indiifiict; (.f Natural (>l)j,.,,tM
Nutting
Michael

To the Daisy ("Ii,ightlIov...r^^|„.se
At the (Irave of Uunis

Thoughts Suggeste.l on tlu. [)ay I'nll.'.wi,
The Solitary JN iif.er
CMe to Duty . .

Klegiac Stanzas Suggested l.y a I'i.-ture of I
(. astle

' ' • « -

Character of the J [appy \V..„.,i,.,.
"ONightingal.-, tliou surely art"
'''•'the Ilev. Dr. Wordsworth
Tlie rrinir(,se of the Kock

■'^'oii lifts •

ion

•eel

jeie

' Fair Star of f-
It

veniUL'

■ning

i«notto he thought of
"It is a Ix'auteous e\<
I'ersonal 'lalk ,
After-thought
"Scorn not the Sonnet"
On the Departure of Sir \V
"A Poet!- He h

alter Scott

ath put his h.'art to school

VK<\f.

•

vii

•

,9,-

nU 1

V\>ii{sii'nt

•(h I»i.-,

IGU

107

168

•1

170

172

IS7

187

I!>0

iJCl

i;m

io<;

lOS

L'(l(»

201

L'(M

111

L'or,

L'OG

207
208
209

209
210

IV CONTKNTS.

NoTKs ON Scorr:

PA<tl

Life ;iinl (IfiMTiil ( 'liarftctiTiHtioH . . . . .

. '2VA

'I'lu; liJidy iif t he Lake

•JlMi

Cttlito I ....

'j:iu

..II ....

251

..Ill

2G4

..IV ....

277

..V ....

287

..VI ....

301

NOTKH OS WdKDSWOUTII :

Kif»! and (ii'iicr.al ( "liJir.'K^trriHticrH ....

. .TI2

To .My Sister ........

324

Expostulation and II»i»ly

324

Thi! Tahles TuriU'd ......

325

Inllucnce of Nat uial Objects

326

Nutting

329

Michael .........

.?31

To the Daisy ........

340

At th(f (Jrave of liiirnH ......

,341

Thoughts Suggested on the Day Following

. 344

The .Solitary Reainr ......

. 345

Ode to Duty ........

.347

KK'giac Stanzas Suggested by a Picture of I'eele Castlu

351

Characttr of th(! Happy Warrior ....

. 353

'*() Nightingale, thou surely art '■ ....

. 354

To the Hev. L»r. Wordsworth ...

;<55

The Primrose of the Koik .....

. 3.")G

Sonnets ...

. 358

ArrENDix : Selections for "Sight" Reading—

1. Sir I'atrick Spens ......

Oh/ lialhul

2. Introduction to the Third Rook of Paradise I^)st

Milton

3. Hymn to Adversity

Ormj

4. Wolsey (from "The Vanity of Human Wishes ") .S'

am Johnson

5. Conclusion of "The \'anity of Human Wislies"

(). The (Juardian-Angel /

f. lirowniny

7. " A slumber did my spirits seal "

Wordsworth

8. The Scholar .......

li. Southey

9. Old Jane ........

T. Ashe

10. Roadicea

• • •

^ou'per

(•«»nti;ntm.

^n'y.SlilX—Coiitinun/.

1 1. I'ruiiil Maisic , .

I'-'. My LiMt hii.li, ss

13. I'p at a \illii ho«ii III til.' City

I ♦. list iaii;,'cin, lit • . . ,

l.'». "Tlir ^'irt wuak tr. •• that's in tli.* <l.-ll

l»;. MciiK- 'l"liuiii;|,t.s, fiMiii Al.roa.l .

17. 'I'd a \Nat« 1 fowl ....

I>S. ()/yiiiaiiili;is • . . .

I!>. Aftir Siiiis.t

• • •

'J(», t|<>|||<> ; JM W.ir-'I'lHl,

til. Oil til.' h.uth ..f l:i,l,ar.l W.Hi

•J'J. Kriiu'iiilit r .....

•J.S. Si.ntifts fi.)iM tlif l'..rtiigii»sf, .No. wn

*J4. Sniimt XX vi.

• • •

'J'». SoniK't xc. ....

2«;. T.) Ddia ..!..'"

27. To tli(( Lor.l (M'li.ral Croniwcll

28. To I/i.ly Kit/gcrald ....
21). Kjaculutiou

(■/,

Srott
A*. Ihuiruiinj

t/. /.'. I.it}i;ll

H'. /in rut M

Ji. Jin urn In If

H . C, linjinit

S lull,, I

Wm. AlUiii/fiiim
A'. J)ofwn
(I'rin/
■isfitiii Ci, lin,%si'lti
A. li, /Iniirnimj
^hdk'i KjiKtvr
I'
•V. Ihtiihl
Milton
Wordmi'vrtk
it

INTRODrCTIOX.

METIJK AND ITS KELATIOX TO THOUCHT.

Metre. — The most easily perceived and iiiDst universal ohanvet eristic
of poetry is its nietrieal form ; its language is regularly rhytliniioal.
The sense of rhythm i.s produced by tlu; recurrence of similar conditions
at regular intervals of t'uie ; so, breathing, the beating of the heart, the
Miovements of waves, of a vibrating string, of the pendulum, of the feet
in dancing, are all rhythmical. It vas in association with the last-
mentioned species that language itself seems historically to have
acquired that regular rhythm which constitutes the poetic form.
Music, dan'nng, and song are, in the earlier stages of race develoi)ment,
always associated. Primitive poetry was song, and consisted of words
chanted or sung in unison with rhythmical movcmeiKS of the body.
This original connectii'ii of poetry and dancing has left it.s traces upon
some of the technical terms still employed in prosody ; iha/out contains
the syllables originally sung while the foot went through one movement
(a step, we call it) in the dance ; while the bodily foot was being raised,
the unstressed syllables of the metrical foot were sung (hence this part
of the metrical foot is called the arsis, ' raising'), and the more vigorous
movement of setting down the foot w.as accompanied by the stressed
syllable (the t/iis{s, ' setting down ').* The verse or line (/vr,s».s', 'a turn-
ing ') contains the words sung during the succession of steps made in a
forward or backward uiovement (as in our S([uare dances) until the tiii-n
is made ; at the turn there is a pause in the dance, as there is at the end
of a line in poetry.

The Foot. — The recurring condition 8))oken f)f above aa one of the
factors in rhythi.;, consists, in the case of poetry, in an arrangement of
syllables, which must be similar at recurring intervals, namely, in each
foot. The basis of the similarity varies among ditlerent races and at
difTerent times, In classical (ireek and Latin the syllaliles of successive
feet resemble one another in their time relations ('/'Kiii/i/i/), ejj., each

* These facts may easily be observcfl in iiiarchiriK to the rub-a-dub of a kettle-drum ;
the foot is raised while the drum beats rub-a, and set down at the more forciltle dxib.

vii

VI 11

INTRODUCTION.

fftot may consist of a short syllalilo foll.»we(l ])y a long, of a long followed
by two short, or of souu; other such arrangement. In the earliest Eng-
lish, again, we have the recurrence of syllables of similar sound (allitera-
tion). l>ut in our modern English poetry the basis ia sfyy-sn, i.e., enei'gy
of utterance.* 'I'here are, of couise, in the series of syllables contained
in a sentence many degrees of stress, but these are not accurately
measured by the ear ; tivo degrees, liowever, the ear does easily discrim-
inate, and 141011 this fact English metre is built. By various cond)ina-
tions of strongly utt.'red syllables (called strewed) with less strongly
uttered (called inis/ns.'ird), we get our English feet. So, indicating
stressed syllables by the symbol o, and unstressed syllables by x, Me
may fmd a successive jca, xa, or ax, ax, or xxa, xxa, etc. The two
former are by far the most common feet, because in our natural utter-
ance alternate syllables are rendered with greater force than the inter-
vening ones ; this may be noted in the pronunciaticm of any ])olysyllabic
word, like • I'ljcompatibility" ; in this word the odd syllables are
stressed as compaied with the even ones, though not all to the same
extent, t

The Line. — The sense of rhythm is further intensified in poetry (as in
square dances) by superimposing a secondary rhythm upon the primary
one ; we have not only a recurrence of a regular arrai»f^ement of syllables
in a foot ; but also of feet, in lines. The successivf lines are markeci
otr from one another by jtauses ; but the rhythm is found to be made
more palj)able and efl'ective by marking the close of tht line by some
additional ])eculiarity. So, for example, in the four-foot rnapaestic
measure so naturally and universally employed for marching, the kettle-
drum beats ruh-a-dub, rab-a-duh, rid>-a-did), duh-dub, that is, xxa, xxa,

* This is also an important, ttioiiuli not tiie distinctive factor, in <|U.i titative and
alliterati\t' verse, and itidfcd in all vvrse, as niiglil l)e e.\j)eei d from what has been
said of the orijjin of jtoeir. alioxi-.

t The iambic or trochaii' movement is so much a part of our laifjuajre that tri-
8yllal)ie measures are usiil luit rarely, and rven whe!) emjiloyed a larjje number of dis-
syllaliie feet invariably oeein- ; for example, in the following: Ht::n/a from thii Death
of S-'r John Mure (wl.ieh is anapaestic in its movement), out of fourteen feet, eight are
ili8s;vllal)ic ;

We buried hrin darkly at dead of nijjht,

The 8o<ls with our bayonets turnirifr
Ry the str.if^^irlin'j; moonl)eam's misty light
And the lantern dimly burning,'.

See also the anapaestic sori^r in Lad}/ 0/ 'he Lake, II, xix.

MKTRK AM) ITS RELATIOX TO THOUGHT.

and

tri-
Idis-
\uth

are

xxa, xa.* So in the classical hexameter the last two feet ai' invariaitly
nf the f(irni — \t\»\ — , although in any other fet t tit/i*r — «m# or

maybe foiintl. Hut in modern poetry, tlie device euiployi'd for

reinforcing the line-rhytlini is rhyme. 'I'liis is the fundamental jnir-
pose of rhyme, although, in addition, similarity of sound recurring at
regular intervals gives pleasure to the ear.

The Stanza. — Finally, there is another source of rhythmical elFcct in
poetry, the; recurrence of a lixed arrangement of lines to wliich we give
the name of sfdiizd. So in the following, the ear recognizes that the
secoml stan/a is in certain respects a repetition of the iirst, just as it
recognizes that the second line is a repetition of the Iirst :

If aiiprht of oaten stop or ])astoral Bon^j

M"y hope, chaste Kve, to soothe tliy UKxIest ear

(Like tliy own solemn 8iirir!;,'s,

Thy spriiijfs and dyiiijf j^ales) ;

O Xyniph reserved, — while now the luiulil hain-d Sun
Sits in yon wfstern tent, whose cloucly skirts

M'ith t)rfde ethereal wove,

O'trhang his wavy bed.

But, as a rule in English, the stanza-unit cannot be brought sutHciently
into CDiisciousness witlunit the u.se of rhyme. This formation of stanzas
is the third important function r>f rhyme.

Metrical, as related to Sense, stresses and pauses. —We have
tlien, in ixietry, on one side, a series of regular sounds, stresses, and
pauses whose object is to produce a sense of rhythm more or less com-
jlex, and to give pleasure to the ear ; and this rhythm might be made
apparent by means of a series of perfectly meaningless sounds like tni-la,
or ruh-a-di(h. But, on the other side, since poetry must give expression
to thought, we have a series of sounds, stresses, and pauses (just as we
have in j)rose) wliich are necessary to the conveyance of meaning. It is
evident that these two series must, in the nuiin, coincide. If they do
not, and the passage be reatl according to the sense, the rhythm will be
obliterated and the poetic form absent ; or if the metrical stresses, etc.,
be o])served, words will be dialigured, their connection lost, and the
sense be unrecognizable. It is true that this parallelism of the sense-
system and the metrical system is more essential in some cases tlian
others. The poet, for example, nnist not violate the word-pause, c.j/.,

'The unaecented syllable in this fnol has jrreater leii^rth than the previous unac-
ceiiled s\ Habits.

X INTRODUCTION.

tlivido a -word between two lines (except to produce a comic effect) ;
liiit there is con.siderable latitiKh; in prose, much ni<>ro in ]»<)etry, in
the insertion of tliose paiiscH which Miid words toother into phrases.
Again, tlie most emphatic syllable in each word is usually i'wvA ; to give
the chief em]»hasi8 to another syllable is to mutilate the word. Hence
the poet must see that his metre brings the stronger stress upon this
syllable ; but as l)etwecn two monosyllabic words, the metrical stress
may sometimes fall where the sense stress wouM not fall.

In short, the jxx-t has no methoil of imparting rh3'thm except to
arrange his words in such a way that when uttered to express meaning,
the recpiired rhythmic nioveuicnt is given. On the other hand, pro-
vided the sense-s^'stcm and the verse-system in the main coincide, and
thus the proper 'tune' is set up, he may trust this ' tunc' to carry the
read(!r over places in which the sense rendering would leave the metre
douljtful ; ami even, occasionally, where they are in contliot. For
example, in the first line of Pdradise. Lost,

Of man's Urst disobedience, and the fruit

the sense stress in the lirst, third, and fifth feet is also the stress
required by the metre. This is true, likewise, though less manifestly,
in the fourth foot ; for an independent word, even though as insigniti-
cant as "and," possesses naturally greater importance than one of the
weaker syllables of a polysyllable. Here, then, the iambic metre is set
up in the majority of feet ; and this sutHces to carry the rhythm through
the remaining foot where it is ])robable, in ])r()se, "lirst" would be
uttered with more energy than " dis. " If we turn to Shelley's Ski/lark,
we lind the line,

With i)rofiiso straiiin of unpremeditated art,

where the word-accent in "jirofuse" is actually violated by the metre
without unpleasiug efFect ; but such instinu'es are rare. In rendering
the line, the voice attempts to give both stresses, and the result is not
inappropriately called 'hovering accent.' What is true of "profuse"
in this case, is trui , in general terms, of all correct reading of poetry —
the voice gives ho/h the sense and the metrical rendering ; and, for good
poetry, this will be found both possible i\rA pleasing.

It must be noted that in lyincal poetry, a\ ith its predominance of emo-
tion and its association with nuisic, the metrical forms dififer more
markedly from the forms of prose, aiul the regularities of rhythm are
uuire strictlv observed than is the case with other kinds of poetry ; the

i,Miifi-
.f the

is set

(I be

•i/lark,

[use

try-
good

emo-
raore
are
the

METRE AND ITS RELATION TO TMOrfillT.

s(Misc is ooinpletely subjocted to the form, as is the thought to tlie
emotion, P)ut in narr.itive i)o»'try, and esju'cijilly in the drama, the
nR'trical forms are Itotli less striking and less inipiicitly followrd. The
very fre(ju<iit ahsciice of any sense jiaiise at the end of the line, tlio
jihicing of the strongest pauses in many lines at the caesura, the I'ndini.'
of a line ■with a syllahle comparatively "Nveak as ngarils sense-stress, the
freer transiiosition of stresses within the foot, and the multi[)lieatioii or
absence of syllables there, -all these peculiarities mark the fact that in
the drama poetic form is of less account, and that the musio is subor-
di?iated to the sense. It is an instructive fact, in this connection, that
as Shakespeare's dramatic power grew, the subordination of thouglit,
force, and dramatic truth to jtoetic beauty, which we lind at times in his
earlier plays, gradually disap[)ears, mitil at length the very reverse is
true, and beauty and perfection of fnmi are sacritii-ed to dramatic
elFectiveness ; in otlier words, smoothness and i-eL,'ularity of metre
change to energetic and abrupt expression where rhythm is ahnost lost.

Variety in Regularity. — In poetry there is a repetition of similarly
related syllables at regular intervals ; but the relation is oidy .st//(//(U*,
not absolutely the same. So in an iambic liiuj the amount of difTerence
betwe; 11 the stress of the two syllables of each foot varies ; for example,
the dillerence in stress between "Of" and "man's" in the lirst foot
of the lirst line of J\trii>/i'ie Lo.tt, is much greater than that between
"lirst" and " dis " of the second foot. The sense for rhythm is sufTi-
ciently gratitied by the fact that in an iand>ic line the stress ia gieater
ui)on the second syllalile than upon the lirst ; bub the stresses \ii)on all
the it's of a line, or upon all the «'s, are not, as a rule, exactly e((ual. If
they ^vere, the lines would become intolerably monotonous with their
regular see-saw ; the variation of stress enables the poet to produce
cadences, gradual ria.iigs aiul fallings of stress, such as we also have in
the ordinary utterance of any prose scTittnce ; for there are phrase and
clause and sentence stresses as well as word stresses. In metre as else-
where the highest pleasure is given by variety in regularity ; the
synmifctry between two sitles of a tree in its natural shai)e is more j)leas-
ing, though less exact, than the symnudiy between two sides of a tree
artificially clipped ; and the symmetry of the two sides of an elm than
that of the two sitles of a spruce. So tiie most regular lines are not
necessarily the most pleasing to the ear. In metre it is found possible
to make still greater departures fr(tm uniformity than those indicated :
to substitute in certain cases, for example, xxa, or even ax in the
iambic line. The reason ^vhy such departures from the norm are

XII

INTK0in:(TION.

possible, may sometimes be discovered, sometiuics not ; the cultivated
ear is the final court of appeal ; variety is perniitted, proviiUd the
fundamental sense of regularity is not destroyed.

Wlien the regular norm of the verse is most closely adhered to, and
when also there is the most jierfeet correspondence of tin; metrical sys-
tem to the sense system, so that not only stress and p;uise in metre
coincide with stress ami pause in sense, ))ut the relatively stronger
metrical stresses and pauses fall in -with the stronger sense stresses and
pauses, we have a pleasing sense of smoothness and regularity such as
the poetry of Pope gives. Such poetry is not nectjssarily either better
or worse than that more irregular versiticatif)n which yet sulHcicntly
gratilies the sense of rhythm. Kach species is suited to the expres-
sion of certain feelings or attitudes of mind. Fur example, examine the
following two 2>assage8 Mhich exemplify the regular ar.d irregular
treatment of the pentameter couplet.

All are but pnrts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body nature is, and Clod the soul ;
Thi't, chanf,''d thro' all, and yet in all the same,
Clreat in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame,
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the hree/e,
Glows in the stars, and hlossoms in the trees.
Lives thro' all life, extends thro' all extent.
Spreads undivided, operates uiisjieiit ;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as jierfeot, in a hair as heart ;
As fuU, as perfe(!t, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns :
To him no hijj:h, no low, no jrreat, no small ;
He fills, he bounds, comiects, and eijuals all.

— Pope.

We stood
Looking upon the evening, and the flood
Which lay between the city and the shore.
Paved with the image of the sky. The hoar
And airy Alps towards the north appeared
Through mist — an heaven-sustaining bulwark reared
Between the east and west ; and half the sky
Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry.
Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew
Down the steep svest into a wondrous hue
Urighter than burning gold, even to the rent
Where the swift -sun yet paused in his descent
Among the many -folded hills. They were
Those famous Euganean hills, which bear.

MKTUK AM) MS J< KLATION T< * TIIOlCJUT.

Mil

As seen from I.Ulo throii^'h thi nixiliour piles,

The likt'iiesn of a cliiiiii) of |ttaki'il ihl'-n.

And then as if the earth ami sea ha«l been

Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen

Those mountains towerinjj, as froni waves of flame,

Around the vaporous kuii ; from ^liich there i-.ww

The inmost pur]ile spirit of li.,dit, and ma<i<'

Their verv peaks transjiarent.

-Shiltey.

Pope wishes to put e;ich individual tliouglit in a telling way so that
it may come liomu to the reader's intellect, — to excel in terseness and
ei»igrammatic j>oint. Shelley is more under the inlluenoe of feeling and
mood, and the object of his expression is to kindle this emotional state
in his reader. His metrical form is analogous to the instrumental
accompaniment of a song ; Pope's to the emphasis and gestures of the
orator.

Relation of Metre and Matter in Poetry. — The more or less elabor-
ate metrical devices of poetry combine to give pleasure to the ear
independent of the thought conveyed. Tliis pleasure is a more potent
factor in the enjoyment of {»oetry than one might at lirst be disposed to
admit* ; and no great poet has ever been without extraordinary power
of imparting this pleasurable rhythm to language. This pleasure is
evidently analogous to that given by music, and the ear for poetic, as
for musical efTects, varies greatly among individuals. The music of
songs delights whether we catch the words or not, but enjoyment is
greatly enhanced if we follow the sense and are conscious of an adapta-
tion of the music to the thought ; so, in tiie case of poetry, tlu; metrical
flow should in itself gratify the ear, and besides there ought to be per-
ceptible fitness of rhythm to sense.

Now, it is an established fact Ijoth that instrumental music stimulates
and gives intensity to whatever ideas and emotions the hearer may
associate the particular composition being jjerformcd, and also that the
nature of the emotions and ideas vaiits, AV'thin limits, for diilVrent
persons. In other words the signilicance and emotional tendency

■ A little observation will perve to reveal the evtraordinary tiatural siisceiitibility of
men to rh.\ Ihiiiical effects ; the exciniiicnt iicobiccd b\' rh\ ihiuiial .-ouii'ls, t\iii whiii
they are' iiot musical on unsophisticatid r.nfs (Sidiicy Laiiitr in his Srieiic uf Knijlixh
ierni' >trikiimly illustrates this from what lie saw aiiioni,' nej^'ro s!a\ts) and I'liion
I'bildriii ; the irresislil)k' ti iiikni'V to ^-roMjt mr)iiotonous sounds into rh\ thms (>ho\vn,
forexami>le, in the case of the ticiiiii^' of clocks whii'li we hear as tick-t(irk\ ihoyiah it
is really ^■(■^^ tick, tick, etc. ; shown, also, very fully by psycholo^.'-ic^al (.•\jicriment, cf.
American Jdnriinl of I'syrholxjii, vol. ('., No.'J); the universal tendency io dancin^j ;
the popular deliKhb in musio of which the rh.\ thni is st ron^dy u(!centuat('d ; t he c(jminon
inability to listen to Buch music without in some fashion or other keeping' time, etc.

XIV

INTKOKl mON.

of a givt.n arrangement of nnisical notes arc somewhat vague.* So
with iioetic forms ; yet, althoii^li a given ili\ tlmi <»r stanza may have a
very wiile application, still if a piopir jmet ic; fmin has Keen chosen for
the expression of certain ideas ami fn ling, this form — its sensuous
elFect upon the ear-will reinfoi-ei! the stimulus, the pleasure, the
HUggestiveness of the thought c(»nveye(l. 'J'he range of ajiplication
of a giveji poetic form is increased hy variety of treatment in detail, as
is illustrated hy the ]>assages quoted aliove from I'ojx; and Sluslley ; for
all sorts of sound-characters, length of syllaliles, ndnor pauses, etc.,
which are not iiulicated in the notations of j)ni.s(idy, have their efTect on
the ear, and cumulatively this efl'cct m;iy be very great. Although the
influence of the thought or feeling ujion the choice and treatment of
])oetic form is thus subtle and vague, rather to be felt than to l)e
analyzcfl, yet some at least of the broader factors in the determination
of the form may be pointed out.

Determining factors in the choice of Poetic Lines. —It is mani-
fest that a series of very short lines is likely to produce a monotonous
and jerky effect ; just as, in prose, short sentences are inferior to long
in dignity and in the scope they afford to vaiied cadence. Long lines
woidd seem, then, in general nu)re suitable than short ones for the poet's
pur]»oses. On the other hand there must be a limit to the length of the
line ; for it is essential that the mind should withovit effort perceive
that the same number of feet recur in successive lines. The eye can
perceive at a glance that a series of groups each contain the same
numl)er of objects, provided these objects be few ; l)ut if each group
contained, e.tj., twenty-seven objects, the exact eipiality could only be
determined by counting. So it is easy for the ear to ])erceive the regu-
larity of a series: rnh-n-duli, rnh-d-duli, ruh-a-diih, duh-duh ; but if the
ruh-a-did) were rei)eated, c.y. , twelve times before the close of the line
the exact equality of such a series would not be forthwith apparent ; in
other "words, the rhytlim M'ould not be felt. If the reader will make
the experiment of increasing such a line, he will probably find that
eight feet is the utmost limit at which the e(iuality of successive lines
is accurately ])frce])ti))le. If a longer series l»e attempted it will be
found to fall into suli-groupings, c.y. , of five and four feet, with a pause
between tlnnn ; that is, the series falls into two lines. Hence it is that
not only in English, but in other languages with which we are most
familiar, poetic lines do not extend beyond eight, usually not beyond

♦This is illustrated by some experiments recorded in the American Journal of
Ptiyrh<ilo;fy for the jiresent year.

MKTKK AND ITS KKLATION TO T110U(;ilT.

K'lt

six or Boveu feet. It in probaMo tli;it as wo a{ti>i().ii'h tlio limit <tf
length, tlu-re is a liability to confu.siciii ; Ikik'o a ctrtain awkwunliu'ss
about the eight-foot line, veiy ajijtareiit in Ijiglish in tin; fiw exanii»l«H
of this verse. It is the live-foot nuasure (the pentameter) that is by far
the most M'iilely employed in Mnu'lirfh: e.y., in blank verse, in rhyming
eouplets, in the elegiac (juatrain (us in the SffDizas on J'cfle Castle in this
Selection), in tlie sonnet, in the Spenserian and many other stanzas ;
also as the normal foot in tin; coiuplieateil stanzas of odes (as in Words-
worth's liniuurtalitij < V, ('(deridge's On the l)i}>(trtin(j Yrar), where the
longer and shorter lines are evidently employed for special effects. 'I his
wide use indicates a special adaptability in lines of this length. In the
lirst place, they are long enough to have a sonorous and varied cadence,
yet are sullieiently far from the limit of length to be easily carried in
the mind, 'J'hey are j)robably superior to the hexameter as containing
an odd number of feet, and hence incaj)able of falling into the exactly
corresponding halves, as the hexameter constantly does.* To titranutcrs
they are manifestly superior in dignity and variety of rhythm. This
is, in part, (bie to the fact that the pentameter is of such a length that
there is almost always a fairly strong sense-pause within each line.
This pause, which is called the cnefiurd, divides each line into two parts
of varying length ; and the relation of these parts to one another, as
regards the nund)er of syllables and the position of the stresses, gives
variety to the line.

These are ])oints which affect the line as a series of mere sounds,
tho.t is, are considerations of a metrical and rliythmical character. But
sound efTccts have certain relations to thought. For instance, lines in
which trisyllabic feet occur are likely to suggest rapidity and lightness ;
for as Dr. (luest says : " As there is al\\,tys a tendency to dwell on the
accented syllable, C(t<firis pftr'ihns, a verse will be pronounced the more
rapidly, the smaller the number of accents." Compare the two Tenny-
sonian pentameters :

and

Myriads of ri\ ukt.s Inirryiiiu' throu;,'h the lawn
So strode he hack h1(jw to the wounded kitiu,

)St
id

or the absurd cond)ination of mournful se'iitiments and quick metre in
the hymn :

* See, for example, the conchulinj,' lines of each of the stanzas of the Ode to l>uty
helow ; several, at least, of which nii^'ht he equally well re^'arded as two trimeter lines.

XVI

INTRODUCTION.

My Bfiiil is hcHft
With Kriff and (lisiimy ;
I Dwe a VHHt «l(ht
Atid nothing' cun pay.

On thu otlitT hainl, "as the ])r()nunciHti(>ii of an accent reqnires Borne
niusculnr exortioii, a verso is gcnei-.-illy tlu; more em-r^'etic, the greater
the nuin))er of its accents. " Hence a line l)otli heginiiing and ending
with an accenteil syUahlo is suited for tlie ex[«resHi()n of force and
activity (see /inatlirrd No. 10 in the Appendix). Sncli efrrctH and
otlier kindred ones* may be ()l)served in Scott's fre(pu;nt variations on
the normal tetrameter line; of <ight HyTiddes and four stresses, wliich is
th»! liasia of tlie verse of the Lddi/ of tin- Lake.

lint from the point of view of thi>ii<jfi(, the cliief factor in determining
the employment of a line must be the relation that exists between
metrica' units and sense units, —the phrase, the clause, the sentence.
What in grammar is called jt/inise scarcely, however, covers that sense-
unit which is higher than a word ; in iittei;uice "ue run togetlier col-
locatifnis of words which would not in grammar be named jihrases :
for example, in the following passage such collocations are indicated : —

Such divisions are dMubtless in many cases matters of individual feel-
ing and vary with different readers. The points to be noted, however,
are ( 1 ) that the voice thus naturally runs words into groui)S of from one or
two to seven or eight syllal>les, and (2) that the average length of a group
is about five syllables. Short lines, therefore, of two or three feet must,
as a rule, have to consist each of a ]ihrasc, and successive lines of this
length must usually contain succe.s.sive ecjual phrases. On the other
hand, pentameters may conveniently contain two phrases of varying
lengths giving rise to varying positions of the caesura, and are, further,
sutiiciently long to admit an average clause. f Liglit is thrown ujjon the
relative advantages of pentameter and hexameter, by Scott's plea for

* See Guest's Ilistorij of Emjlish Rhythms, i)p. 162-1C8.

t This is well illustrated in the smooth couplets of 18th century writers; see for
example the extracts from Johnson in the Appendix, Nos. 4 and 5, Goldsmith's
Deserted Village, Pope's works, etc.

MKTUK AN!) ITS MKLATION T(» TIIOUiJMT.

XVII

lor

the latter, even altliouj.'li his grtn-rjil contfiitiun cjinnot be n<ltnitte(l.
Ill a letttT to a fiicml u Ito ur^'ed liiiii to utlopt tli ■ |i<'iit»iii«'tt>r ((Uiplet
Oitroic vtrse), lie writes: —

" I am Htill inclitK'il to ficfctid the ciu'litHyllftlilf Htanza, whith I liavf snmchnw j>er-
siKult'd in\s('lf is iiiori' cnii^'i iiiaJ to the Kii^'lish liitiL;ii,'ii,'e- more f:i\<>iiralilf to nurra-
ti\i' poolry at Icii'^i than that which has hciii comiiiuiiiy ttTiiud hiroir \t rsf. If \uii
\\ ill take the Irc'iiMf to rfa<l a \w^(; of l'o|>r's lllu'l, \i>\\ will timl |irol):ilily a >,'o(.(|
many lines out of whii'h two nyllalih'H may It striirk wiihoiil injury to thf smsr. Thr
tirst lines of this translation ha\ v hrtn ripratttUy noticed a.s capaMe of ln-in',' cut <low n
from fhii>s of the line to fri|,'atts, 1)\ atrikin>j out th»! wiid 'wo syilaMcd words, um :

' Achilles wrath, to (Jrcecc, the illrf/ufHynug
< If WOC8 umniinticrcil, hfarfitlii vjoddcss sini,'.
That wrath whiih sent to IMuto'sy/oi.);/// reign
'Ilie souls of mi'jhtii chiefs in battle slain,
NN'hose hones unhuried on the driuTt shore
l>ev()urini,' do^'s aiid/iuui/ri/ vulture's tore.'

Now sinci; it is true hy throwinj'' out the epithets imderscored, we preserve the sense
without dimiiiishin'r the fone of the verse, I do eally think that the structure of verse
which recjuires lea.st of this sort of holsleriiis;, is most likely tohefonihlc and animated.
The case isdilTererit in ilescriptive jjoetry, hecuise these epithets, if Uiey are happily
selected, are rat lu'r to he sought than avoided, and a<lniil of heim,'- \ ;iried <«</ injinitiiiii.

I'.esides, the ei^dit-syllahle Stanza Is capable of certain varieties deniwl to

the heroic. Double rhymi'H, for instance, are contrenial to it, which often uive a sort
of tJothic richness to its cadences ; you ma\ also render it more or less riipi<l by retain-
injf or droiipinif an oc(;asional syllable. Lastly, and whicli I think its jirincipal merit,
it runs better Into sentences than any len^-'th of line I know, as it corresponds, upon an
avera'.;e view of our imnctuation, very commonly with the proper and usual space
between comma and comma."

One thing, at least, is certain, if the omissions wliicli Scott siig>,'e.sts,
be made in I'ope's lines, they lose their impressive cadence ; it may
also ]»e true that there is, in tlie pentameter, a certain roominess which,
as Scott maintains, allows additions not absolutely needful to the sense ;
but, then, most poetry elaborates Av.d ornaments, an<l it is perhaps just
because Scott's poems depend maiidy on tiie swift tlow of events and
changeful scenes, on the efbctiveness of whole pictures and passa^'es,
rather than upon beauty and ex(juisiteness iu detail, that Scott linds
the terse tetrameter couplet coiiLjcnial to him. Further, the undoubted
variety and even license which, through the practice of unsophisticated
ballad-makers, became associated with this metre, were in keeping with
Scott's temperament and art ; whereas the heroic couplet was, especially
at that era, characterized by the minute workmanship and elaborate
regularity im{)arted to it by the poets of the 1 8th century; hence, in
the form in which Scott was familiar with it, little suited to his genius.

xvm

INTJIODLTTION.

The Stanza in its Relation to Thought.— The u»c of rhyme

iiicvitaldy gives risj) to Htaii/;is ; for thcti'lty two lims, at IriiHt, arc
liiikid together, ami form a metrical unit larger than thi; lim; ; aa
tlio liiK! is a iiietiical unit larger than the foot. Tliu Himple.st
Htau/as consist of two similar lines ; starting theuee, mo lln»l varied
decrees of length and complexity, only limited l»y the mind's capacity
for renuMuhering rhymes and easily grasping a complex as a whole. In
general it is tiue, that tin; longer and inon; i'<implex the stan/a, the
more special is tlu! character of its 'tune,' and Ikmicc tin; narrower i's
sphere of employment. Hence it is that for long narrative jioems, like
The I. mill of till Litkr, •which necessarily deal with a v; riety of subjects
and stimulate a vaiiety of feelings, a simple and tlcxihlc form — usually
the couphst or lilanU verse — is employcil. * On the other hand, elal)orate
stan/as with their more pronounced metrical oflcct are best suited to
shorter jxiems, or to i)oenis like In Mnnor'Miii\\'\i\\ one dominating note.
No one, for instance, can fail to feel the ])rf)nounced character of elegiac
verse (employed for example in the S/(()r.((s on J'<i'/i' i'dsth) with its alow
and dignilied cadeiu;e, plainly unsuitable for a long and varied narra-
tive. t Exceptionally however, stan/as of elaborate structure are success-
fully employed in extensive poems, nota))ly the Spenserian stan/a (in
Spenser's Fmrie Qiicvn, Byron's Ch'dilo J/ttrolil, Keats' St. Ai/ties' Kve,
etc.), and the octave rhyme (in hyvnn^ Don Juaji, Keats' L^ahiUa, etc.).
The former stanza (of which we have an example in the ]>reiudes to the
cantos of Till' J. mil/ of t/ic Lak'i) has the advantage of Ix'ing long enough to
adapt itself to the paragraph. It lends itself to the purjjoscs of the three
poets named because, while the poems mentioned arc narratives, their
excellence lies not in narration but leisurely description, and the roomy
stanzas allow the needful accumulation of detail, and often form a series
of pictures each, as it were, in its own frame. J I'he organic nature of
])oetic form is strikingly illustrated ])y the selection, for their romantic
stories, of the most elal)orate and of the most simi>Ie narrative stanzas l>y
Spenser and Scott respectively ; Spenser with his instinct for beauty,

* Note for cxaiiiiilc the contrast in effect between the rhyniinj,' couplets with which
the battle of Beal' an Duine oi>cnH {Laily of the Lake, VI, xv), and the quatrains which
follow (1. 375) with their niai'kedly lyrical tone.

t This is strikin^^ly illustrated in Dryden's Aiitivn Mirahilis, where a yreat master of
versification is evidently lianiptrid l)y tlie use of this form for narrative purposes;
Siott in his edition of Drydcn jioints out in detail how the lont; staniia forces the poet
into "pa<ldin^."

\ See Corson's Pritner of EmjliJi Verse, pp. ltX)-lU6.

MKTKK AND ITS RKI.ATION TO TIIorciIT.

XIX

roe
leir

ics

;ic

r('|M»H»' iiiiil >,'ra(;»', his houhuhhs ami iiH'iiitativf natiirr, tiiuls a lit inatrn-
iiH-iit ill tlu) fonmr ; Scott witli Ins nim|ijirati\(( iiiMfii«iliility to tlx'
moro Huhtlu aspcrtu «if tlio l«'i;itifiil, liis vi;;niir, liin love for activity aiiil
inovuincnt, i8 drawn to tlu; tcrsur, swiftor, ami Hiiiii)U;r form.

In exaiiiiiiiii^' the emotional intlueiice of atan/as, the etTects of tlilT»r« iil
cuinliinatioiiH of rliynii's, of douhle rhyincs, of vai yin^^ tlie lfnj,'tljH of lintit
U8 wtll a-4 of till! imivement of the line (iamhie, aiiapatstif, itc) slioiilil
all he conHiiler«'(l. Korexainplc, when more than two line.s rhyme toj^etlu-r
in sui'iTHsiiiM, a Hense of sustained fteliiit^ <>r thoiiL;lit is jnoilui-ed ; when
this is broken at intervals hy Khoiter lines, a pantinj^ movement is the
result well litted for the expression of the throlia of intense feeling.
(See, for example, the imprecation of Urian, /-'/</// of tlf Lukt, III, ix
and X, and Norman's soni,' in xxiii of same Canto). The close of a line,
We ohaerved, is often marked l»y some special peculiarity in addition to
the pause ; in like maiiinr the m(<re prolon;,'ed pause at the end of a
stan/a is reinforced hy some devii'e, such as tin; use of a lont^er line (as
in the Spenserian stanza or in the Of/c to J>iif;/), hy a ..horter line (as in
To Mij Sisdr), or a rhyming couplet (as in TlnSnlitani J'ki/k r aui\ To
tho lift'. lh\ WonUvitrtli). In the case of a shorter line rhyminjj with
a longer one, the mind involuntarily tills up the lacking heats, and the
sense of pause is strongly intensilied.*

At the opposite pole to the elahorato slan/as of ■which we have
spoken, stands pentameter hlaidv virse, where there is neither rhyme nor
stanza ; lience come a freedom and scoi)C ■which lit it for use in epic and
other long narrative poems, and csj)ecially for the drama, where changt;
of mood and sentiment are continual. On the one side, through ahstnce
of rhyme and conse(pient weakt;ning of se})aration between line and line,
blank vtjrse may be made to ap[)r()ximate to prose (as may be noted in
certain parts of MxcIhwI); on tlie other, with skilfid harnlling it is
capable of extraordinarily beautiful and vari< d rliythmic etFeets, espe-
cially exemplilied in Paradhe Lost. liut on account of the absence <»f
the charm of rhyme, and of the guidanct) aiforded l)y the more stringent
rules of the stanza, no measure is so dillicult to use etl'ectively.t

The Sonnet. — In the stanza we have a form which the poet may
repeat indetinitely, but there also exist forms for a wiiole j)oem ; thus the

* Tennyson's Palace of Art atrikint'ly illustrates thi>.

t For an investigation into the f.'iftors of pfTcotivcnoss in tliis furni, see the writer's
article on Blank Verse in the I'roceedinifs of the Ontario Educatiunal Associaliun.

INTRODUCTION.

thought is limited not only to a certain kind and arrangement, hut also to
a fixed nunihcr, of lines. Sucli restrictidiis are so ])urdensome that
suhstance and sincerity are likely to he saeriliced hy tlie poet, and the
attention of the reader to he distracted from the weighty matters of
thought and feeling to mere technical ingenuity. In English, at least,
such forms — llondeau, Triolet, etc. —are but little used and are
likely to degenerate into mere poetical toys. Tliere is one exception,
however ; the Sonnet has been widely employed with great success by
some of our greatest poets. Some line exemplars of it are to ))e found
among the following Selections, and it "will be proper to state its struc-
ture somewhat in detail.

The Sonnet is a poem consisting of fourteen pentameter lines, and these
lines are, by means of rhyme, combined in a certain fixed way. 'I he first
four lines form a quatrain {i.e., a four-lined stanza), with the first and
last lines rhyming, and also the second ami third. The next four lines
also form a quatrain of exactly the same structure ; and these two quat-
rains are united by having common rhymes. The rhyme-scheme nuiy
therefore be represented as a b b a a b b a. * The eight lines ])eing thus
linked togeth(;r are felt as a whole, and are called the octare. The
remaining six li)ies, in a regular sonnet, are not connected by rhyme
with the octave, but rhyme tugether in such a way as also to be felt as
beU'nging to one another ; they are called the sestttte. The sestette c(m-
tains three, or two, different rhymes; the arrangement of the rhymes is
left very free, provided only the result be that the sestette is felt as
forming a metrical whole, k^o, for example, with two rhymes a com-
mon arrangement is d e d e d e ; or with three rhymes d e f d e f ; but
the arrangement d e d e f f is not lield to be a good one in the regular
sonnet ; because the final couplet is naturally felt as standing aj)art
from the rest, and the sonnet loses its characteristic effect. In the
regular fornx here described a great many beautiful poems have been
wr tten, not merely in English, but in other European languages, espe-
cially in I^alian, Avhere the sonnet originated.

The sonnet, from the point of view of form, is, as compared with
other poems, markedly a whole made up of parts. It has shape, as a
(Jreek pillar, with its base shaft and capital, has shape. There is no
reason in form why a poem written in couplets or stanzas should not

"r^nt^'Hsh ]>oet8 take jjreat liberties with the form, and in some sonnets t lie arran>,'e-
meiit of rhymes is dilliTenl ; hul the 'jnler j,nveii ahove is the accepted one, and is
alao the most usual and, other things being equal, the most effectis e.

■

MF.THK AND ITS HF.LATION To THOUGHT.

XXI

■<pe-

)U)t

d is

end at any stanza, at tlic twelfth li.Mo, f(tr example, rather tliaii tlio
sixteenth. In fdiin, it is a men; repetition of similar parts ; and,
acconlingly, it often liappeiis that lyrics written in (piatrai/is have no
particular beginning or end ; the poet keeps eireling around some
central feeling or tliought, there is no marketl development. On the
contrary, t!ie form of tlie somiet, as well as its music witli the ilow and
(•1)1), manifestly h-nds itstdf to developed thought— to tlie exi)ressi()n of
ideas which start somewhere and end in some conclusion. Such thought
is, other things being equal, more interesting and artistic, than thought
which makes no progress ; just as a story with developed plot is more
artistic and interesting than a series of loosely connected scenes. The
sonnet therefore is, by i*^^s form, suited to the expression of some poetic
conception which can bo briefly ex[)ressed and yet is progressive, — has
unit}', and develojjment, a beginning, middle, and concliu^ion. As the
form falls into two paits, so also will the thought. The octave will
contain the introduction, the circumstances, etc., which give rise to, or
Serve to explain, the main idea or feeling. Tiie sestette will give ex-
pression to this main idea ; and the character of the thought of the
concluding lines of the sestette will be such as to imlicatc that the poem
is closing. As the octave consists of two parts, so often will the thought
of the introduction divide itself into two parts or stages. Again, the
reader cannot but feel that the form of tlie sonnet is very elaborate,
and somewhat rigid. So a sonnet is not fitted to express a strong gush
of emotion, or intensity of feeling — such as we often fmd in the ordin-
ary lyric. lUirns' songs forced into sonnet-form would quite lose their
characteristic flavour of spontaneity, passion, or humour. In the son-
net, too, the movements of line and stanza are slow ami dignitied.
Hence the sonnet is specially adapted to tiie expression of thoughtful,
meditative moods. " When an emotion," says Theodore Watts, very
admirably, "is either too deeply charged with thought, or too nuich
adulterated with fancy, to pass spontaneously into the movements of a
pute lyric" it is appropriately "end)odied in the single metrical Ilow
and return" of a sonnet. As the form of this species of poem (lompeis
brevity and suggests premeditation an<l efl'ort ; so we expect weight and
condensation of thought, and exquisiteness of diction. And as it is a
develo[)iHl whole and, like a tragedy, has a certain culmination, we
expeit this condensation and weiglit and this i)erfection of workman-
slii[). more especially in the sestette. If, on the other hand, there
in no correspondence between thought and form in the sonnet, no
a[)pi'opriateness in the nuisic, the whole thing seems a useless piece
uf artiticiality, little more interesting than an acrostic.

XXll

INTRODUCTION.

"We have given the broad priuoiples of sonnet construction as bor-
rowed frotn the ItaUan; ]>ut Knj^lish writers, as already indicated,
liave treated the form at times very freely, and departed even from
these more general rules. One variant developed by Elizabethan writers
and adopted l)y Slwikespcare, is so marked a deviation from the original
as almost to constitute a dilFerent species of poem. Its structure is
simple ; it consists of three (luatrains, each consisting of lines rhyming
alternately, followed by a couplet. The rhyme scheme is, therefore,
abab, c d c (L o f e f , g g. Looking at the form of this poem, one
might either say it consisted either of four, or of two, parts. In prac-
tice, the difference between the three quatiains on the one hand, and
the couplet on the other is so conspicuous th:it the jioem seems naturally
to fall rather into these two parts. The fust twelve lines are introduc-
tory ; within these twelve lines the thought ni;iy or may not be progres-
sive ; the last two lines contain the gist of the thought, the application
or outcome of what has been given in the quatrains ; thej^ have the
effect of climax or epigram. It very often happens, however, that the
lirst eight lines are introductory, as in the regular sonnet ; the next four
develop the thought towards the conclusion ; while the couplet drops in
the keystone, as it were, which completes and holds together the whole,
llegular sonnets have been compared, in their movement, to the rije and
fall of a billow, to "a rocket ascending in the air, breaking into light,
and falling in a soft shower of brightness." The Shake.:])earian sonnet,
on the other hand, has been likened to a "red hot liar being mouhled
upon a forge till — in the closing couplet— it receives the linul clinching
blow from a heavy hannner. ""*

*The following books may be mentioned as anion},' the most uf^eful on the subject of
English metre: (Juest's IliKtari/ a/ Eiifjlixh llhiitlini.s, ScbipjH-r's Emjlische Metrik
(two extensive and scholarly works, the latUr in German), Mayor's English Metre,
Corson's Primer of Englinh Verse, Lanier's Science of Englitili Verse.

SCOTT.

TflK LADY OF THE J.AKK.

Canto First

ight,
nnet,
il.led
;hiiig

Harp of the North ! that iu(»ul(l(4'ni<,' loiii;' hast hunt;

Oti the witch-ehii that sliailos St. F^illan's spring,
And down the fitful ]>r('(;ze tliy minil)er.s Hung,

Till envious ivy did around tho(; cling,
Muiliing with verdant ringlet every string, — 5

O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep .'
iVIid rustling leaves and fountains nuu'nuiring,

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep .'

Not thus, in ancient days of Calcdon, 10

Was thy voice mute amid the festal ciowd.
When lay of hopeless love, or ghny won,

Aroused the fearful, or suhdued the j)roud.
At each accoi'ding pause, was heard aloud

Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 15

Fair dames and ci'ested chiefs attention l)ow'd ;

¥ov still the burden of thy minstrelsy
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and iJeauty's matciiless
eye.

O wake onc(» inoie I how I'ude soe'ei- the hand
That ventures o'er thy m.igic ma/.(^ to stray ;
ake tjnce more ! though scarce my skill command

•JO

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay

SCOTT.

[Canto

Though liarsh and faint, and soon to die away,

And all unworthy of thy nol)ler strain,
Yet if one heart throl) higher at its sway, 25

The wizard note has not })een touch'd in vain.
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again !

The staLj at eve had drunk his fill,

Where danced the moon on IMonan's rill,

And deep liis midnight lair had made .SO

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;

But, when the sun his beacon red

Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,

The deep-mouth'd bloodhound's heavy bay

Resounded up the rocky way, 35

And faint, from farther distance l)oine,

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.

II.

As Chief, who hears his warder call,

" To arms ! the foemen storm the wall,"

The antler'd monarch of the waste 40

Sprung from his heathery couch in haste.

But, ere his fleet career he took,

The dew-di'ops from his flanks he shook ;

Like crested le.-ider proud and high,

Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky ; 45

A moment gazed adown the dale,

A moment snuffd the tainted gale,

A moment listen'd to the ciy.

That thicken'd as the chase drew ni<;h ;

Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, 50

With one brave Ijound the copse he clear'tl,

And, stretcliing f(.rward free and far.

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Canto

I-]

TlIK LADY OF THK LAKE.

in.

Yoird on the view the openiiii^ pack ;
liock, glen, and cavern, paid tlieni back ;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awaken'd mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs l)ay'd deep and strong,
Clatter'd a hunch'ed stee(ls along.
Their peal the merry horns lUJig out,
A hundred voices join'd the shout;
With haik and wh(K)p and wild halloo.
No rest IJenvoii'lich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult lied the roe,
Close in her covert cower'd the doe,
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondeiing eye.
Till far Ijeyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failiug din
Return'd from cavern, cliif, and linn.
And silence settled, wide and still.
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

IV.

Less loud the sounds of silvan war
Disturh'd the heights of Uam-Var,
And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told,
A giaiit made his den of old ;
For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
And many a gallant, stay'd perforce.
Was fain to ])i-eathe his faltering horse.
And of the trackers of the deer,

SCOTT.

[Canto

Sc.'iii'cc half the lessoning ])aek was near ;

So shrewdly on the mountain side,

Had th(! bold hui'st their mettle tried. 85

The noV)le stag was pausing now

Upon the mountain's southern hi'ow,

Where broad extended, far Ijeneath,

The varied realms of fair jNIenteith.

With anxious eye he wahder'd o'er 90

IVIountain and meadow, moss and moor,

And ponder'd refuge from his t(jil,

liy far Lochai'd or Aberfo^'lo.

But nearer Mas the copse wood grey,

That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 95

And mingled witl; tins })ine-trces blue

On the bold cliffs of lien venue.

Fresh vigour with the hope return "d.

With flying foot the heath he spurn'd,

Held westward with unwearied race, 100

And left behind the panting chase.

VI.

'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er,

As swept the hunt through Cam])us-more ;

What reins were tigh^en'd in despair,

When rose Benledi's ridge in air; 105

W^lio ilagg'd upon Bochastle s heath,

AVho shunn'd to stem the flt)oded Teith, —

For twice that day, from shore to shore,

The gallant stag swam stoutly o'vv.

Few were the stragglers, following far, 110

That reach'd the lake of Yennachar ;

And when the J3rigg of Turk was won,

The headmost horseman rode alone.

Canto

TUK LADV OF THK LAKE.

VII.

100

105

110

Alone, l)iit with unhated zoal,

'I'liat horseman plied ihc! scourge 'ind steel ; 11.")

For jaded now, and sjicnt wilii toil,

Eniboss'd with foam, and dafk with soil,

While every gasp with sohs he drew,

I'lie lahouring stag sti-ain'd lull in \ iew.

Two dogs of })lack Saint Hui)ert's hi-ccd, 1 L'U

li^innatch'd for courage, hreatli, and speed.

Fast on his flying traces came,

And all hut won that desj)erate game ;

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch,

\'in(lictive toil'd the bloodnounds stanch ; \'2i)

Nor nearer might the dogs attain,

Nor farther might the cjiiarry strain.

Thus up the margin of the lake.

Between the precipice and brake.

O'er stock and rock their race thev take. 130

VIII.

The Hunter mark'd that mountain high,

The lone lake's western boundarv,

And dcem'd the stag must turn to bay.

Where that huge ra5n})ai't barr'd the way ;

i^ Iready glorying in the })rize, l.'J5

]\Ieasured his antlers with his eyes ;

For the death-wound and death halloo,

iVEuster'd his bi'cath, his whinyard drew; —

But thundering as he came prej)are(l,

AVith ready arm and weapon bared, 140

The wily (piaiTV shunn'd tlu; shock,

And turnM him from tlu; opposing rock ;

Then, dashing down a darksome glen,

SCOTT,

[Canto

Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken,

In the d«M'p Trosachs' wildest nook 145

His solitary refuge took.

There, while close couch'd, the thicket shed

Cold dews and wild flowers on his h(;ad,

Tfe heard the l)afHed dogs in vain

Have through the hollow pass amain, 150

Chiding tlu* i"ocks that yell'd again.

IX.

Close on the hounds the Hunter came,

To cheer them on the vanish'd game ;

But, stumbling on the rugged dell,

The gallant horse exhausted fell. 155

The impatient rider strove in vain

To rouse him with the spur and rein,

For the good steed, his labours o'er,

Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more ;

Then, touch'd with pity and remorse, IGO

He sorrow'd oVr the expiring horse.

" I little thought, when first thy rein

I slack'd upon the banks of Seine,

That Highland eagle e'er should fee!

On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 165

Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day,

That costs thy life, my gallant grey ! "

Then through the dell his horn resounds,
Frcmi vain pursuit to call the hounds.
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled pace,
Th.e sulky leaders of the chase ;
Close to their master's side they press'd,
With drooping tail and humbled crest :

170

Canto

'■]

THK LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

150

liut still the (lin;,'l(''s hollow throat

Prolon<,''<l the swelling; l)Uf,'lo-noto. 175

The owlets Rtart(!(l from their dream,

Tlie <ai;l<'s fuiswerM with their scream,

llouiid and ai'oiuid the sounds were cast

Till echo seeiii'd an answei'ing blast ;

And on the Hiniter hied liis wa^', 180

To join .some conu'ades of the day ;

Yet oftt;n paused, so strange the road,

So wondrous M'ere the scenes it show'd.

155

IGO

165

170

The western wa\es of ebbing day
Holl'd o'er the glen their level way ;
Each purple peak, eacli flinty spire.
Was bathed in floods of living fire.
But not a setting l)eam could glow
Within the dark ra\ ines ])elow.
Where twined the path in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky p^-ramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintei''d pinnacle ;
Kound many an insulated mass,
The native ])ulwarks of the pass,
Hugo as the tow(>r which builders vain
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
The rocky sunnnits, split and i-ent,
Form'd turret, dome, or battlement,
Or seem'd fantastically set
With cupola f)r minai-et.
Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd.
Or mosque of Eastern architect.
Nor wen^ these earth-])orn castles bare,

185

190

195

200

SCOTT.

Nor liick'd tlicy many u Ikiimu'I' f;iir ;
I''or, fVoni tli<'ir sliiNcrd brows displ.-iyM,
l*';u' o'er \\\i' iiiit'jit lioiiiul)l<> ^'ludc,
All t \s inkliiijLi; with tln^ dewdrop shocri,
The brier-rose fell in strcuiuors ^'n^cii,
And ('rooj)iMg .slirul)s, of tliousuTid dyes,
Wiived in the wcst-wiiid's summer sigiis.

[Canto
205

L'lU

XII.

lioon nature scatter'd, free and wild,

Each plant or tiowcr, tlu; mountain's cijihJ.

Heili ei^lantim; einbalin'd the ail*,

Hawthorn and ha/el iiiin^le(l th( I'e ; 215

The prinu'ose pahi and violet llower,

Found in each cleft a narrow l)ow(u- ;

Fox-'dovo and nii^ht-shade, side; by side,

Eml>lenis of punishment and pride,

(irroupM their dark hues with every stain 220

The weathei'-])eaten ci'ags retain.

With boui^hs that (juakecl at every l)reath,

(Ire; liirch and asj)en wept Ijene .th ;

Aloft, the ash and \vari-i»n' oak

Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 225

And, higher yet, the pine-tree liung

His shatter'd trunk, and frecjuent flung,

Where seem'd the clilfs to meet on high,

His bouglis athwart the iiarrow'd sky.

Highest of all, wliei't; white peaks glanced, 230

Wher(? glistiiing streamers waved and danced.

The wandci'crs eye could Ijarely view

Hie summer ]iea\ en's delicious blue ;

So woiuli'ous \\ild, tlu^ whole might seem

The scenery of a fairy (h-eam. 235

!anto

uur)

I.]

•J 10

215

220

THK LADY OF Till; I-AKK.

XIII.

Onw.'ird, .'iniid tin,' copse Van prep
A UiUTow inlt't, still fiinl deep,
Afloi'din^ scai'c*? sucji hrcadlh «»f l)iiin
As served tlu; wild ducks brix. ^ to swim.
liOst for .'I space, tlii(MiL,di thick, 'ts vt?oriiig,
l)iit Itfoadcr wjicii again appcai'ing,
Tall rttcks and tnt'ted knolls their face
Could on the dark-hluo minor tifice ;
And farther as the Hunter stray'd,
Still l)road(!r sweep its channels made.
Tin; shaggy mounds no longer stood,
Knu'rging fi'oin entangh'd wood,
Jiut, wave-encii'cled, seem'd to float,
Like casth^ gii'dled with its moat ;
Yet broader ilood.s extending still
Divide them from tlieir parenl liill,
Till each, retiring, claims to ]>e
All islet in an inland sea.

210

21.-)

250

\iv,

99fS

230

23;')

And now, to issue from the glen,
No pathway me(!ts the wanderer's ken,
Unh'ss lu; climb, with footing nice,
A far projecting prei'ipice.
The bi-oom's touLjli roots his laddei* ma(l(\
The hazel saj)lini;s lent their aid :
And thus an airy point lit; won,
A\'here, gleaming with the sotting sun,
One burnishVl slu'ct of living gold,
J.och Katrine lay beneath him roH'd,
In all hor length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,

255

2 GO

2G5

SCOTT.

And islands tlmt, rmjmfpliMl l»ri;^lit,
Floated amid tlu^ lixrlirf li.:,'lit,
And mountains, tliat like t^iants stand,
To sentinel ondianled land.

Hi.d.

1 on tnu sou

th, 1

lU-'O

vnvcnue

[t'

\NTo

|)own to tlio lak'o in masses threw

Cra<?s, knolls, and mounds, confusedly liuiTd,

The fi'a<,'ments ^\f an earlier world ;

A wilderini^ fore>t; feather'd o'er

His ruin'd sides and summit hoar,

While on the nortli, throULjli middle air,

13en-an lieaNcd hi,L,di his f'oichead hare.

270

27.')

XV.

Fi'om tlie steep ])i'oniontory f^azed

The stranger, raj)tui'e(l and amazed,

And, " What a :. (nio wei'C here," he eried, 2S0

" For i)rineely j)omp, or churchman's pride !

On this hold ])row, a lordly towei- ;

In that soft val(>, a lady's bower;

On yonder ni(\'idow, fa* away,

The turrets of a cloister gray ; 285

How Idithely might tlu^ hugle-horn

Chide, on tlu^ lake, the lingering morn !

J low sweet, at eve, tho lover's lute

Chim(% when the groves were still and mute !

And, when the midnight moon sliould lave 290

Her forehead in the silver wave,

How solemn on tlu; ear would come

Tho hol}^ matins' distant hum,

AVhiU^ the deep peal's commanding tone

Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 295

A sainted hermit fi'om his cell,

To drop a bead with every knell —

[Cant

270

urlM,

(\, 280
le!

285

ite!

e 290

295

-s:
u
o

TIIK LADY OF THK LAKE.

And but^U', lute, and boll, and all,
SIkjuUI each ])e\vilder'd stranger call
To friendly feast, and lighted hall.

.SOO

'■O

"s
•2J

XVL

" lilitli3 wore it then to wander here !
But now, — heshrow yon nimble deei-.
Like that same heiniit's, thin and spare.
The copse must give my evening fare ;
Some mossy }}ank my couch nnist be.
Some rustling oak my canopy.
Yet pass we that; the war and chase
Give little choice of resting place ; —
A sunnner night, in greenwood spent,
Were but to-morrow's men-inicnt :
But hosts may in these wilds abound,
Such as are better miss'd than found ;
To meet with Highland plundorei's hei-e
Wore worse than k)ss of steed or deer. —
1 am alone ; — my })ugle strain
May call some straggler of the train ;
Or, fall the worst that may ])etido.
Ere now this falchion has been trietl."

305

310

315

XVI 1.

But scarce again his Ik? "n he wound,
When lo ! forth starting at the sound,
From undorneatli an aijed oak,
That si iitod from the islet rock,
A damsol guidor of its way,
A littl(> skill' shot to the bay,
That round the pi'omontory steep
Jjod its (loop luu^ in graceful swoop,

320

325

SCOTT.

[Canto

Kddying, in almost viowless wave,

The \vo('])iiig willow twig to lave,

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,

The beach of pebbles ])right as snow. 330

The boat had touch'd this silver strand,

.J list as the Hunter left his stand.

And stood cf)nceard amid the brake,

To view this Lady of the Lake.

The maiden paused, as if again 335

She thought to catch the distant strain.

With head u}) raised, and look intent.

And eye and ear attentive bent,

And locks flung back, and li})S apart.

Like monument of Grecian art, 340

In listening mood, she seem'd to stand,

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 ! 345

What though the sun, with ardent frown.

Had slightly ting(Ml her cheek with brown, —

The sportive toil, which, short and light.

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright.

Served too in hastier swell to show 350

Short glimpses of a breast of snow :

What tlioui>h no I'ule of courtly grace

To measured mo(jd had train'd her j)ace, —

A foot ]\u>n) light, a step more true.

Ne'er from the heath (lower dasli'd the dew ; 355

E'en the slight harebell raised its head,

Elastic from her airy tread :

■■

Canto ■

'■■

T.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

What tliotigli u})()ii luT speech then* liiing
The accents of tlie niouiitaiu t<>ii,i,'Ut>, —
Those silver sounds, so soft, so deal',

360

330

The list'ner lield liis ))reath to hear !

XIX.

A chieftain's daughter seeni'd tlio maid ;

335 ;

Her satin snood, her silken plaid,
Her golden l^rooch such hirth betray "d.

And seldom was a snood amid

365

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid,

Whose glossy l)hick to shame might hi-ing

340

i,
■i

The plumage of the raven s wing ;
Ami seldom o'er a l)reast so fail-.

\ '.

]\[antled a plaid with UKtdest care.

370 '

And never l>i-ooch the folds conihined

Above a heart moi-e good and kind.

Her kindness and her woi'th to spy,

You need but g;ize on Kllcn's eye ;

Not Katrine, in her mij-ror blue.

6r.)

345

Gives l)ack the .shaggy l)anks more ti-ue,

Tlian every free-boi-n glance confessM

1'.

The guileless movcMuents of her breast ;

Wiiether joy danced in her dai-k eye.

Or woe or pity claim'd ;i sigh,

380

350

Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotit)n pour'd a prayer,
Or tale of injuiy call'd forth
The indign;int spirit of the North.

One only passion unreveal'd,

385

355

With maiden pride the maid conceal'd,
4 Yet not less purely felt the flame ; —

I need I tell that passion's name !

SCOTT.

[Canto

XX.

I ^

rmpatient of the silent liorn,

Now on tlie gale her voice was borne : — 390

" Father ! " 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 utter'd fell, 395

The echoes could not catch the swell.

*' A stranger I,' the Huntsman said,

Advancing from the hazel shade.

The maid, alarm'd, with hasty oar,

Pusli'd her light shallop from the shore, 400

And when a space was gain'd 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 flutter'd and amazed, 40o

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 press'd its signet sage, 410

Yet l:ad not quench'd the open truth

And fiery vehemence of youth ;

Forward and frolic glee was there.

The will to do, the soul to dare,

The spai'kling glance, soon blown to fire, 415

Of hasty love, or headlong ire.

His limV)s were cast in manlv mould,

For hardy sports or contest bold ;

[Canto

THK LADY OF TlIK LAKE.

390

395

And thougli in jjoaceful garb array'd,

And weaponless, exee})t his blade, 420

His stately mien as well inij)lied

A high-born heart, a martial pride,

As if a Baron's crest he wore,

And sheathed in armour trodc the shore.

Slighting the petty need he show'd, 425

He told of liis ])enighted I'oad ;

His 'Nidy speech tlow'd fair and free,

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ;

Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland,

Less used to sue than to command. 430

400

xxn.

405

410

415

A while the maid the stranger e3'ed,

And, reassui"ed, at length replied,

That Highland halls wei-e open still

To wilder'd w^anderers of the hill.

" Nor think you unexpected come 435

To yon lone isle, our desert liome ;

Before the heath had lost the dew,

This morn, a couch was pull'd for you.

On yonder mountain's purple head

Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 440

And our ])road nets have swept the mere,

To furnish forth your evening cheer." —

" Now, by the rood, my loNcly maid,

Your courtesy lias err'd/' he said ;

*'No right have T to claim, misplaced, 445

The welcome of exjiected guest.

A wanderer, here by fortune tost,

My way, my friends, my courser lost,

T ne'er before, believe me, fair,

SCOTT.

[c.

.NTO

]I;i\ o evei" druwn your mountain air,
Till on tins lake's romantic stivind,
T found a fay in faiiy land ! '" —

450

XXIII,

" r well believe,"' the maid replied,

As lier light ,';kifT approach'd the side, —

"I well believe, tliat ne'er before 455

Your foot has trod Loch Kati'ine's shore ;

liut y(;t, as far as yesternight,

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, —

A grey-hair'd sire, whose eye intent

Was on the vision'd future bent. 460

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 tassellM horn so gaily gilt, 465

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,

That cap with heron plumage tiini,

And von two hounds so dark and grim.

He bade that all should ready })e,

To grace a guest of fair degree ; 470

Hut light I held his prophecy,

And deem'd it was my father's luji'n,

Whose echoes o'er the lake were l)orne."

X.VIV.

The stranger smiled : - "Since to your liorae

A destined errant-knight ] como, 475

Announced by prophet s(M)th and old,

Dooin'd, doubtless, for achievement bold,

I'll lightly fr<.>nt each high emprise,

[Canto
450

I.]

455

460

465

470

475

TMK LADY (»F Till: LAKK. 17

For one kind glatn'c of tliost; l)i'ii,'ht oyos.

Poniiit nic, iivst, the task t(» <,'ui(le 480

Your faiiy frii^ate o'c^r tlio tido."

The maid, with sinilo suppi-css'd and sly,

Tlie toil unwonted saw liini try ;

For seldom sui-e, if e'er Ijefore,

His nol)le hand liad i^M'asp'd an oai* : 485

Yet with main streni;tli liis strokes lie drew,

And o'er the lake tlu^ shallop ilew ;

With heads erect, and whiin})erin;j; cry,

The hounds behind their passan;e ply.

Nor frecjuent does the blight oar break 490

The darkening mirror of the lake,

Until the I'ocky isle they reach,

And moor their shallo[) on the beach.

\\v.

The stranger view'd th(! shore around ;

'Twas all so close; with copsewood bound, 495

Nor track nor pathway might declar<!

That human foot frecjuented there,

Until the mountain maiden show'd

A clambering unsuspected road,

That winded tln'ough the; tanghnl screen, 500

And open'd on a nairow green,

Where weeping ])ii'cli and willow round

With their long fibres swej)t the ground.

Here, for retreat in dangerous hour.

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 505

XXVI.

It was a lodge of ample size.

But strange of structure and device ;

Of such materials, as around

SCOTT.

WTO

The workman's hand liad rcadiost found.
Lopp'd of their l)()U,i,di.s, llieir hoar trunks

l)ar('(l,
And by tlio liatcliot rudoly S(juarod,
To ^dve the walls their destin(?d hoight,
Tlie sturdy oak and asli unite ;

To fe

Hie inoss an

d el,

and loaves c

ond)ined
nd.

nee each crevice ironi tin; wii
The ligliter pin(;-ti'ees, overliead,
Tlieir slender len^'th foi" raftei's s])read,
And with(M''d heath and rushes (hy
8ui)plied a russet canopy.
Due westward, fronting to the ^M'oen,
A i"ural portico was seen,
Aloft on native pillars borne,
Of mountain fir with l)ark unsliorn,
Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
The ivy and Id;ean vine.
The cl(;matis, the favour'd tlciwer
Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,
And every liardy plant ccjuld Ijear
Loch Katrine's keen and searcliing air.
An instant in tliis porch slie staid,
And gaily to the strang<;r said,
"On heaven and on thv ladv call,
And enter the enchanted hall ! "

510

i)h)

520

525

530

XXV 1 1.

" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,
My gentle guide, in following thee." —
He cross'd the threshold —and a clang
Of angry steel that instant rang.
To his bold brow his spirit rush'd,
But soon for vain alarm he blush'd,

535

[Canto

!•]

THE LADY OF I UK I.AXK.

mks

510

led

515

520

525

Wlion on the tluor lie s; disphiyM, 510

Cause of t\w dill, a naked hiad*^

Dropp'd fi'oni the slieutli, that eai-eless Hung

Upon a sta<,''s hui^e antlers swun^j ;

For all around, tho walls to grace,

Hung trophies of tho fight or chaso : 515

A target there, a bugle here,

A battle-axe, a hunting speaj\

And broadsword!-, bows, and arrows store,

With th(^ tusk'd trophies of the boar.

Here grins tho W(jlf as when he died, 550

And there the wild-cat's brindled hide

The frontlet of tlui elk ;i.dorns.

Or mantles o"er the bison's horns ;

Pennons and tlags defaced and st.'iin"d.

That blackening streaks of blood retain'd, 555

And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white,

With otter's fur and seal's unite,

In rude and uncouth tapestry all.

To irarnish forth liu.' silvan hall.

530

535

XXVIII,

The wondering sti-anger round him gazed, 560

And next the fallen weapon raised : —

Few were the arms whos(i sii'owy strength

Sufficed to stretch it foitli at k'ngth.

And as the brand he; })oised and sway'd,

"I never knew but one, ' he said, 5G5

" Whose stalwai't arm might brook to wield

A blade like this in battle-field."

She sighed, then smiled and took the woi'd ;

"You see the guardian champion's swoi'd :

As light it trembles in his hand, 570

As in my grasp a hazel wand ;

SCOTT.

[Canto

My sire's tall form iiii<,'lit gnico the j)art
Of F('ri-ui;us, or Ascal)art;
But in tli(; ahsont j^iaiit's hold
Are women low, ami nioiiials old."

575

XXIX.

The mistress of tlu; mansion came,

Matui-e of a<,'e, a <,'raceful dame ;

Whose easy step and stately port

Had well become a princely comt,

To whom, though more than kindred knew, 580

Young Ellen gave a mother's due.

Meet welcome to her guest she made,

And every courteous rite was paid.

That hospitality could claim,

Though all unask'd his ])irth and name, 585

Such then the reverence to a guest.

That fellest foe might join the feast,

And frtnn his deadliest foeman's door

Unquestion'd turn, the baiKjuet o'er.

At length his rank the stranger names, 590

"The Knight of Siiowdoun, James Fitz-James

Lord of a bairen hei'itage,

Which his brave sires, fi-om age to age,

By their good swords liad held with toil :

His sire had fall'n in .such turmoil, 595

And he, God wot, was forced to stand

Oft for his right with blade in hand.

This morning with Lord Moray's train

He chased a stalwart stag in vain,

Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer, 600

Lost his good steed, and wander'd here."

[(.'anto

I
I

I.]

575

!w, 580

585

590

lames

TIIK LADY OK TMK LAKK. 21

XXX.

Fain would tho Kiiii^lit in turn rpquire

Tli«i nunie and stat<; of Ellen's siro.

Well sliow'd tho older lady's mien,

That cDUits and cities she had seen ; 605

Kllen, th(»ui(h nioro her looks display'd

The siiiiph* graeo of silvan maid,

In speech and gesture, form and face.

Show''' she was come of gentle rai-e.

'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 610

Such looks, such manners, and such mind.

Each hint the Knight of Snowdoiin gave.

Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;

Or Ellen, innocently gay,

Turn'd fill in(|uiry light away ; — 015

" Weird women we ! by dale and down

We dwell, afar from tosver aiid town.

We stem the Hood, we ride tlu; blast,

On wandering knights our sj)ells we cast ;

While viewless minstrels touch the string, 620

'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing."

She sung, and still i h.-irp unseen

Fiird up the symphony between.

595

600

XXXI.

" Soldier, rest ! th}- warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking

Dream of battled tields no moi-e,
Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall.

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing.

625

RcoTT. [Canto

Fairy strains of nm^ic fall, C30

Kvcry sense in slunilM'f (l''\vin^.
Soldit'i', rest ! thy warfares o'ri',
hrrain of lii^'litini,' -Hclds no more :
Sl(M'j) tlitj sleep that knows not l)reakin^,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. G35

" No nulo sound sliall reacli tliino ear.

Armour's clang, or war-steed eiianiping,
Trump nor piljroeli summon liero

Mustering clan, or stjuadi'on tramping.
Yet tlic lai'k's shrill fif(! may come G40

At the (lay-break fiom the fallow,
And tho bittern sound his drum,

I'ooming from the sed<'v sh.illow.
Kuder sounds shall none l>e near,
(Juards nor warders challenge! hero, G45

Here's no war-steed's neigh and cham|)ing,
Shouting clans or sijuadrons stamping.''

XXXII.

She paused — then, l)lushing, led the lay

'J'o grace the stranger of tlu^ day.

H<'r mellow notes awhile prolong G50

The cadence of the ilowing s(mg,

Till to her lips in measured frame

The minstrel verse s})ontaneous came

^ong continucb.

" Huntsman, rest I thy chase is done,

AVhile our slumbrous spt^lls assail ye, G55

Dream not, with the rising sun,

lUigles here shall sound reveille.
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ;

[Canto
n.'iO

i.J

G35

OiO

G45

G50

055

TIIK LADY <»K THK LAKK.

Sl«»«'|) ! tljy lioimds nvo. l»y tlio»» Iviug :
SN'j'p ! nur (li»*.im in yoiulor ;,'l«'rt,

ll«»\v thy g.illfiiit Ht('«'«l 1,'iy dyiiii,'.
I luiitsiiiiin, rest! tliy tliusp is done,
Tliink not of ilu- risin<,' sun,
Fof ;it da\vnin;( to assjiil v«',
Hero no huglt's sound rnveillw."

XXXIII.

Tlu' liiill was ck'iUH'il — tli«' sti'an^tTs Ix'd
Was thei'o of mountain licatlicr s|»t('ad,
Where oft a hundred guests had lain,
And (hoani'd their fofest sports again.
J>ut vainl V did tlie lieatli-tlower shed
Its moorland fragMjince round his head ;
Not Ellen's spell had lull'd to rest
The fever of his troubled breast.
In broken di'eams the imai;e rose

varied peinls, j)ains, and \V(»es

•J3

660

665

670

675

His steed now flounders in the brake,

Now sinks his ]»arg(^ upon tlu^ lakt; ;

Now leadei" (»f a bi-oken host,

His standard falls, his honour's lost.

Then, — from my etiueh may heavenly might G^O

Chase that worst phantom of the night ! —

Again return'd the scenes of youth,

Of confident unditubting truth ;

Again his soul he interchanged

AVith friends whose hearts were long estranged. 685

They come, in dim procession led,

The cold, the faithless, and the dead ;

As warm each hand, each brow as gay,

As if they parted yesterday.

And doubt distracts him at the view — 690

SCOTT.

O were his senses false or true ?
Dreamed lie of death, or broken vow,
Or is it all a vision now?

[Canto

XXXIV.

At length, with Ellen in a grove

He seeni'd to walk, and speak of love ; 695

She listen'd with a blush and sigh,

His suit was warm, his hopes were high.

He sought her yielded hanfl to clasp,

Aird a cold gjiuntlet met his grasp :

The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 700

Upon its head a helmet shone ;

Slowly enlarged to giant size,

With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes,

The grisly visage, stern and hoar,

To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 705

He woke, and, panting with affright,

Recall'd the vision of the night.

The hearth's deca3'i ng l)rands were red.

And deep and dusky lustre shed,

Half showing, half concealing, all 710

The uncouth trophies o^ the hall.

]\Iid those the stranger fix'd his eye

Where that huge falchion hung on high.

And thouglits on thoughts, a countless throng,

Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along, 715

Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

XXXV.

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom.

Wasted around their rich perfume :

The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm, 720

[Canto

I-]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

695

700

705

710

The aspens slept beneatli tlie calm ;

The silver light, with <{uivering glance,

Play VI on the water's still expanse, —

Wild wore the heart whose passion's sway

Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 725

He felt its calm, that warrior guest,

While thus he communed with his breast : —

" Whv is it at each turn I trace

Some memory of that exiled race ?

Can T not mountain-maiden spy, 730

But she must bear the Douglas eye 1

Can I not view a Highland brand,

But it nuist match the Douglas hand 1

Can I not frame a fever'd dream,

But still the Douglas is the theme ] 735

I'll dream no more, — by manly mind

Not even in sleep is will resign'd.

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,

Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes,

And sunk in undisturb'd repose ;

Until the heath-cock shrilly crew.

And morning dawned on Ben venue. 745

t>ng,

715

720

SCOTT.

[Canto

CANTO SP]COND.

The Eslanb.

At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing,

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's l>lithest lay,
All Nature's children feel the matin spring

Of life reviving, with reviving day ;
And while yon little bark glides down the bay, i

Wafting the stranger on his way again.
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel grey.

And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy stiviin,
Mix'd with the sounding harp, O white-hair'd Allan-bane !

II.

" Not faster yonder rowers' might 10

Flings from their oars the spray.
Not faster yonder rippling l)right,
That tracks the shallop's course in light,

Melts in the lake away.
Than men from memory erase 15

The benefits of former days ;
Then, stranger, go ! good speed the while.
Nor think again of the lonely isle.

" High place to thee in royal court.

High place in battle line, 20

Good hawk and hound for silvan sport !
Where beauty sees the bra^■e resort,

The honour'd meed be thine !
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,

[Canto

II.]

■Ijano !

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKE. 27

Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 25

And lost in love's and friendships smile
Be memory of the lonely isle.

III.

<JSong coutinucb.

" But if l^eneath yon southern sky

A }>lai(h'd stranger roam,
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 30

And sunken cheek and heavy eye,

Pino for his Highland home ;
Then, warrior, then be thine to show
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ;
Remember then thy hap ere while, 35

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 40

Beneath the fickle gale ;
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,
On thankless courts, or friends estranged,
But come where kindred worth shall smile.
To greet thee in the lonely isle." 45

IV.

As died the sounds upon the tide,

The shallop reach'd the mainland side,

And ere his onward way he took,

The stranger cast a lingering look,

Where easily his eye miglit reach 50

The Harper on the islet beach.

SCOTT.

[Canto

Reclined against a Ijlighted 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,

Seem'd watching the awakening fire ;

80 still he sate, 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.

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 vex'd spaniel, from the beach,
Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach ?
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows,
Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose 1 —
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity !
Perchance the maiden smiled to see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu.
And stop and turn to wave anew ;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire
Condemn the lieroine of my lyre.
Show me the fair would scorn to spy,
And prize such conquest of her eye ?

i^i

II.]

THE LADY OF THt: LAKE.

VI.

While yet lie loiter'd on the spot,

It seem'd as Ellen nuickd hiiii not ;

But when he tiu-ned him to iho- irlade,

One courteous parting sign she made ; 86

And after, oft the knight would say,

That not when prize of festal day

Was dealt him hy 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 trusty mountain guide,

And his dark stag-hounds by his si«le,

He parts, — the maid, unconscious still,

Watch'd him wind slowly round the hill ; 95

But when his stately form was liid,

The guardian of her bosom chid, —

" Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid ! "

'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said,—

"Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100

On the smooth phrase of southern tongue ;

Not so had ]\[alcolm strain'd his eye.

Another step than thine to spy.

Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried

To the old ISIinstrel by her side, — 105

" 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 Gneme I "

Scarce from her lips the word had rush'd, 110

When deep the conscious maiden blusli'd ;

For of his clan, in hall and bower,

Young Malcolm Gramme was held the flower.

SCOTI

[Can'1

VII.

Tho minstrel wukod his liarp, — three times

Arose tlie well-kiioNvu martial chimes, 115

And tlirice tlieir !ii;^li lieroiu pride

In melanclioly muinnirs died.

"Vainly thou l)i(rst, O nohle maid,"

Clasping his withri-'d hands, he said,

*' Vainly thou })id'st me ^vake the strain 120

Though all unwont to bid in vain.

Alas ! than mine a mightier liand

Has tuned my harj), my sti'ings has spann'd !

I touch the chords of jov, l)ut low

And mournful answer notes of woe ; 125

And the proud march, which victors tread,

Sinks in Uu) wailinij for the dead.

O well for mc, if mine alone

That dirge's <!(•('{) ])r()phetic tone !

If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130

This harp, which erst Saint 3Iodan swayed,

Can thus its nuister's fate foretell.

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell !

VIII.

" Jiut ah ! dear lady, thus it sigh'd,

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 135

And such the sounds which, while I strove

To wake a lay of war or love.

Came mari-ing all the festal mirth,

Appalling jui! who ga\e them birth.

And, disobedient to my call, 140

\Vaird loud through IJothwell's banner'd hall.

Ere Douglases, to ruin driven.

Were exiled from their native heaven. —

[Canto

115

120

IL]

THK LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

Oh ! if yet worso mishap aiid \\i»\
]\Iy muster's house must uiidcri^o,
Or aught l)ut weal to Ellen fair,
J3r()o(l ill those accents of despaii",
No futui'o h.'i.rd, sad Harp ! shall fling
Triumph ov raptui'o fi-om thy sti'iiig ;
One short, one fmal sti-ain shall flow.
Fraught with ujiuttei-able woe,
Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie,
Thy master cast him down and die ! "

145

150

125

130

135

dl.

IX.

Soothing she answer'd him — " Assuage,

Mine honour'd friend, the fears of age ; 155

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

Confusedly bound in memory's ties.

Entangling, as they rush along.

The war-march witli the funeral song ? —

Small ground is now for boding fear ;

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 165

My sire, in native virtue great,

Resigning lordship, lands, and state.

Not then to fortune more resign'd,

Than yonder oak might give the wind ;

The graceful foliage storms may i-eave, 170

The noble stem tluy cannot grieve.

For me," — she stoop'd, and, looking round,

Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground, —

"For me, whose memory scarce conveys

An image of more splendid days, 175

SCOTT.

[Canto

This little flowor, that loves the leji,

May well my simple emblem be;

rt drinks lieaven's (l(!w as blithe as rose

That in the Kind's own garden grows ;

And when ] ])lace it in my hair,

Allan, a ])ai'd is bound to swear

He ne'er saw coronet so fair."

Then playfully the chaplet wild

She wreatli'd in her dark locks, and smiled.

180

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 185

Wiled the (jld Harper's mood away.

With such a look as hermits throw,

When angels stoop to soothe their woe,

He gazed, till fond regret and pride

Thriird to a tear, then thus replied : 190

" Loveliest and best ! thou little know'st

The rank, the honours, thou hast lost !

O might I live to see thee grace.

In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place,

To see my favourite's step advance, 195

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 Ladv of the Bleeding Heart ! "— 200

XI.

" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried,
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd ;)
" Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy ;

[Canto

IT.

180

185

THK I,AI)Y OK Tin; T.AKK. 33

\nr would my fooistpps s|ti'i!ii; imuv'c i,mv 20;")

III coui'tly (l.incc tlijui hlillir st i";ii lispry.

Nor liiilf so |)l»'us('<| niinc (';ii' iiifliiic

To royal iiiin.stT'(>rs lay as tiiiiH;.

And thou for suitors proud und liiijli.

To bend ))efore my coiKjucrini; eye, — 210

Thou, thittorini,' hard ! thyself wilt say,

That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.

The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpines ])ride.

The terror of Locli-Loniond's side,

Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 215

A Lennox foray — for a day," —

XII.

190

195

200

The ancient hard her glee repress'd :
" Til hast tliou chosen tluMiie for jest I
For who, through all this western wild.
Named IJlack Sir lloderick e'er, and smiled ! 220
Tn Holy-Rood a knight he slew ;
T saw, when l)ack the dirk he drew.
Courtiers give place l)ef()re the stride
Of the undaunted homicide ;

And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand 225
Full sternly kept his mountain land.
AVho else dare give— ah ! woe tlu^ day
That T sucli hat<'d truth should say —
The Douglas, like a stricken deer,
Disown'd hy excry noble peer, 2150

Even the rude refuge we have hercl
Alas, this wild m;i lauding Chief
Alone might hazard our ivdief,
And now thy maiden charms expand,
Looks for his guerdon in thy haml ; 2.35

S(;OTT.

[(!anto

l*'rill soon Tjwiy dispotjsatioii soui^lit,

To I);m k liis suit, fi'oin lioiiu! Ix' ln'ou^rht.

'riicn, tliou^li Jill exilo on tlu; Iiill,

Tliy fullicr, us tli<5 Dou^^'las, still

lie 1h;1(1 ill reverence and fear ; 240

And tliou^di to Iloderick thou 'rt so dear,

That thou nii^ht'st guide; witii silken thread,

Slave of thy will, tins ehieftain dread ;

Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain !

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." — 245

XIII.

"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high

Her father's sold glanced from lier eye,

" Aly d(!l)ts to Rixlerick's house I know :

All that a mother could bestow,

To \itu\y JNIargai'et's care I owe, 250

Since first an orphan in the wild

She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child ;

To her l)ra\e chieftain son, from ire

Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire,

A deeper, holier de])t is owed ; 255

And, coidd 1 jtay it with my l)lood,

Allan I Sii- Roderick should command

jNIy ])]ood, my life — but not my liand.

Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell

A votaress in JMaronnan's cell ; 260

RatluM" through realms beyond the sea,

Seeking the world's cold charity,

Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word,

And ne'er the name of Douglas heard,

An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 265

Than wed the man she cannot love.

[Canto

II.J

THK LaKV OI' THK LAKK.

:\'t

XIV

240

245

250

255

260

265

" Tlioii sliak'st, ^(»o(l tVi«'ti(l, thy ti'«\ssps ^rt'V, —

'riial jdradiiii,' l(»(»k, what can it say

But what I own ! -I ^'raiit him hravo,

But wild as JJracklinii's tliuiuhMini,' wavt'; 270

And i^cncrous, — save vindictive niuod,

Ov jealous ti'ansport, chafe his blood :

I <^rant him true to friendly hand,

As his claymore is to his hand ;

But O I that vei'v hlade of steel 275

Moi'e mercy for a foe would feel :

T ^'rant him liheral, to lling

Amoiii,' his clan the wealth they hrin^',

When back by lake and glen they wind,

And in the Lowland leave behind, 28U

Where once some pleasant hamlet stood,

A mass of ashes slaked with blood.

The liand that for my father fought,

I lionour, as his daughter ought ;

But can T clasp it reeking red, 285

From peasants slaughter'd in their shed I

No ! wildly while liis virtues gleam.

They make his passions darker seem.

And Hash along his spirit high,

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 290

While yet a child, — and children know.

Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, —

I shudder'd at his brow of gloom.

His shadowy plaid, and sabk })lume ;

A maiden grown, I ill could bear 295

His haughty mien ami lordly .lii' :

But, if thou join'si a suitor's claim.

In serious mood, to Roderick's name,

HCOTT.

[Canto

T (liiill willi ;int,'iiisli I or, if e'er

A I >(»ii;^lfis kiH'W llm \vui«l, with fcir. .'{00

To c'liau^^'t? Slltli o<lioiiH llicint! utir Itrsf,

What, tliiiik'sl tliou of oiu" strvmgcr ^iicst, I" -

XV.

"What think T of liim? — \vo(» tiif whilo

That l)n)U<j;ht sucii wandcicr to our i,sl(5 !

Tliy fatlicr's battlc-ijrand, of yoro 305

For Titu'-inan forufcd l)y faiiy lorci,

W'liat time he h'agucd, no losii^'ci' foes,

His Jiorder spoars witli irotspui's h<»ws,

Pid, s('lf-unscal)l)ai'd('d, foicsliow

The fo<jtst('p of a secret foe. ."»|()

If courtly spy hath harhourM liere,

What may we for tlie Dounlas fear?

What for tliis i.shmd, deein'd of old

Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold i

]f neither spy nor foe, 1 pray 31')

What yet may je^alous Koderiek say 1

— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head,

l)ethink thee of the discord dread,

That kindled M'hen at Beltane game

Thou ledst the dance with IMalcohn Gra'me ; 31*0

Still, tliou<^h thy siie the peace renew'd.

Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ;

IJeware ! — But hark, what sounds are these?

]VIy dull ears catch no faltering breeze.

No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 325

Nor breath is dimpling in the lake.

Still is the canna's hoary beard.

Yet, by my minstrel faith, 1 heard —

And hark again ! some pipe of war

Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 330

;mo

305

;;io

SIT)

:i20

TIIK I,AI»V OF TIIK I.AKK.

\VI.

Viir ii|> tlio loiii^'tlHMrd l;ik(> worn spird
Four (hirkciiiii^' specks u|n»n the tide,
TliHt, slow onl.ir^'iiig on tho view,
Four iii.'inird and masted l)ai'i,'es grew,
And, ])eaiing dowiiwai'ds from (Jlengyle,
Steer-'d full upon the; lonely isle;
Tho point of lirianehoil tliey pass'd.
And, (o tlio ^vindward as they cast,
Against t'/io siiu they gave to shinn
Tho bold Sir lioderiek's ])annei''d Pine.
Neai'cr and nearer as they hear,
Speai's, ])ikcs, and axes Hash in iiir.
Now might you seo tln^ tai'tans hrave.
And plaids and pliimago danco and wave :
Now see the bonnets sink and rise,
As his tough oar tho n wer plies ;
Seo, ilasliing at each stunly stroke.
The \vave ascending into smoke ;
See the proud pipers on tho ])ow,
And mark tho gaudy streamers tlow
From their loud chanters down, and sweep
The furrow'd bosom of the deep.
As, rushing tln'(»ugli the lake amain,
They plied the ancient Highland strain.

:v.\'y

:\\{)

:\\r^

350

s^n

330

XVII.

Ever, as on they boi-e, more loud
And louder rung tho pibnx-h proud
At first tho rounds, l)y di^tanc*; tame,
INlellow'd along tho Matei's cuiie,
And, lingering long l)y cap(; and ba\',
Wail'd every harsher note aN\'ay,

3:).")

3G0

] !

SCOTT.

[Canto

Tlioii bursting boldor on the car,

The chill's slirill Gatl»ering they could licar;

Those tlirilling sounds that call tlni iiiight

Of Old Clan-Alp' le to the fight.

Thick beat the rapid notes, as wlien 365

The mustering hundreds shake the glen,

And liurrying at the signal dread.

The ])atter'd earth returns their tn^iid.

Then prelude light, of livelier tone,

Express'd their merry marching on, 370

Ere peal of closing battle rose.

With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ;

And mimic din of stroke and ward,

As broadsword upon target jarr'd ;

And groaning pause, ere yet again, 375

Condensed, the battle yell'd amain ;

The rapid charge, the rallying shout,

lletreat borne headlong into rout,

And bursts of triumph, to declare

Clan- Alpine's conquest — all were there. 380

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
AV^ere busy with their echoes still ;
And, when the y slept, a vocal strain
l>ade their hoarse chorus wake a<;ain,
AMiile loud a hundi'ed clansmen raise
Their voices in their Chii^ftain's pi-aise.
Kach boatman, bending to his oar,

3H.5

390

;ant()

•I]

TlIK LADY OF TUK LAKK.

365

With measured sweep the l>ur(leii Imh-c,
In such wild cadence as the l)i'ee/o
Makes througli December's leafless tn-es.
The chorus first could Allan know,
" Roderick Yich Alpine, ho ! ii-o : "
And near, and nearer as they row'd,
Distinct the martial ditty llow'd.

39:)

370

375

380

3X5

390

XIX.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances !

Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! 100
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter find grace of our line !
Heaven send it happy d(;w,
Earth lend it sap anew,
(xaily to ])Ourgeon, and broadly to grow, 105

While every Highland glen
Sends our shout ])ack again,
" lloderigh Yich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! "

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown l)y the fountain,

Blooming at IJeltane, in winter to fade ; HO

AV'hen the whirlwind has stripp'd evei-y le;if on tin;
mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her sliade.
Moor'd in the rifted rock.
Proof to the tempest's shock,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 415

INIenteith and ]>rea(lalbane, then,
Echo his praise again,
" lloderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho 1 ieroe ! "

SCOTT.

[Canto

i-\

XX.

Proudly our pi})roeh lias thrill'd in Glen Fruin,

And JinnnooliJif's groans to our slogan replied ; 4 20
(ri<Mi Luss and Hoss-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And tlu; Ix'st of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Haxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan- Alpine with feur and with woe ; t'JS
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear again,
" lloderigh Vich Alpine dim, ho ! ieroe I "

Itow, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 4.'iO
( ), that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,

Were wreathecl in a gai'land around him to twine !
O that some seedling gem.
Worthy such noble stem,
]{onourM and ])less"d in their sh.-idow might grow !
Loud should Clan- Alpine then 436

]^ing fi'om her deepmost glexi,
" Roderigh Vich Al})ine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! "

XXI.

AVith all her joyful femah? band,

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 440

Loose on the l)reeze their tresses flew.

And high their snowy arms they threw,

As echoing back with shi'ill acclaim,

And choius v\ ild, the Chieftain's name ;

AVhile })rompt to })l('.'ise, with mother's art, 4 .1^5

The darling })assion of his heart,

The Dauu^ called Ellen to the strand,

II]

THE LADV OF TIIK LAKK.

To <,'rpot her kinsman ere he land :

"Come, l()it(M-er, come ! a J)(»ULi;las thou,

And shun to wreathe a vict< i-'s hj-ow T' — 450

]{eluctiintly and slow, the maid

The unwelcome summonin;^ obcy'd.

And, when a distant bugle rung,

Tn the mid-})ath aside she sprung : —

''List, Allan-hane! Fi'om mainland cast 455

r ht'ar my fathei''.s signal l)last.

lie ours," she cried, " the .skifY to guide.

And waft liini fi-om the mountain-side."

Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright,

She darted to her shallop light, 460

And, eagerly while Koderick scannM,

For h(M' dear foi'in, his mother's band,

Tlie islet far behind her lay,

And she had landed in the bay.

XXII.

Some feelings are to moi'tals given.
With less of earth in tluMU than heaven ;
And if there be a human tear
From passion's di"oss relined and cleai-,
A tear so limpid and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head !
And as the Dfniglas to his l)reast
His darling Ellen closely press'd,
Sucll holy droj)S her tl'esses steep'd,
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd.
Nor while on I'llen's faltering tongue
Her liliai wclccjmes crowded hung,
Mark'd she, diat fear (atl'ection's proof)

465

470

475

•12

SCOTT. [OaNTO

Still held a jjji'acefu] youth aloof ; 480

No ! not till Doui^las naniod his iwuiio,
Although tho youth was Malcolm (jci'ioino.

XXIII.

Allan, with wistful look tho wliilo,

MarkVl liodei'ick landing on tho islo ;

His master pitoously he oyod, 485

Then ga/od upon the Chieftain's pride,

Then dasliM, with hasty hand, away

From his dimni'd eye the gatheiing spray ;

And ])ouglas, as his hand he laid

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 490

" Canst thou, young friend, no mt^aning spy

In my poor follower's glistening eye 1

I'll tell thee ;- he recalls tho day,

When in my praise he led the lay

O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwcll proud, 495

While many a minstrel answer'd loud,

When Percy's Norman pennon, won

In l)loody field, ])eforo me shone,

And twice ten knights, the least a name

As nn'ghty .is yon Chief may claim, 500

Gracing my pomp, beliiiul nic came.

Yet trust me, JMalcolm, not so proud

Was I of all that marsJuillM ci'owd,

Though the waned crescent own'd my might,

And in my train troop'd lord and knight, 5C5

Though JUantyre liymn'd her holiest lays,

And Dothweli's hards flung back my })raise,

As when this old man's silent tear,

And this poor maid's alfection dear,

A welcome ^ive more kind and true, 510

ANTO

II.]

THK LADY OF THH LAKK.

480

Than ought my better fortunes knew,
Forgive, my friend, a fatlier's },.)ast,
() : it out-heggars all 1 lost ! "

485

490

496

500

5C5

510

XXIV.

l)(;lightful praise I — like summei* rose.

That brighter in tlie dev.-drop glows, 515

The bashful maiden's cheek appeai-'d.

For Douglas spos*^, and JMaloolui heard.

The Hush of shame-faced joy to hide.

The hounds, the hawk, her cares dividt; ;

The loved caresses of the maid 520

The dogs with crouch and whimjier paid ;

And, at her whistle, on lici" hand

The falcon took his favourite stand.

Closed his dark wing, rclax'd his eye,

Nor, though unhooded, sought to ily. 525

And, trust, while in such f;V ise slie stood,

Like f:d)Ied G(»ddess of the wood,

That if a father's partial thought

O'erweigh'd her worth, and beauty aughi,

Well might the lover's judgment fail 530

To balance with a juster scale ;

For with each secret glance he stoh;

The fond enthusiast sent his s<nd.

XXV.

Of statiirt^ tall, and slender fi'ame,

But firmly knit, a\;is Malcolm (Ij-aunc!. 535

The belted plaid and tarlnn hose

Did ne'er more j^raccful limits disclose ;

His ilaxen hair, of sunny hue,

Curl'd closely round his bonnet bhu;.

SCOTT.

[Canto
540

Traiii'd to llio cliuse, his oaglo eye

'J'lio ptarmigan in unow could spy :

Kach pass, l)y mountain, lake, and lieath,

][(; knew, tlirough Lennox and Menteith ;

Vain was the Ijound of dark-brown doe.

When jMak'olm bent his sounding bow, 545

And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear,

Outstrip])'d in speed the mountaineer :

]{iglit up Ben- Lomond could he press.

And not a sob his toil confess.

His form accorded with a mind 550

Lively and ardent, frank and kind ;

A blith(;r heart, till Ellen came.

Did never love nor sorrow tame ;

It danced as lightsome in his breast,

As jilay'd the feather on his crest. 555

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 youth to manhood grown, 560

Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown

Be foremost voiced by mountain fame.

But (piail to that of Malcolm Graeme.

XXVI.

Now back they wend their wateiy way,

And, " O my sire ! " did Ellen say, 565

" Why urge thy chase so far astray ?

And why so late return 'd 1 And why" —

The rest was in her speaking eye.

*' My child, the chase I follow far,

'Tis mimici-y of noble wai" ; 570

And with that gallant pastime reft

i ^

[Canto
540

545

fear,

550

rr.]

TlfK LADY OF TIIK LAKK. 45

W('r<^ all of |)<)UL;las I ]\;l\^\ left.

T mot yoiuiL? .Malcolm as I stray'd

Far eastw.u'd, in C«](Miliiilas' sliadc,

Nor stray 'd 1 safe; for, all around, 575

Hunters and hoi'semen scoui'd the i,M-ound.

This youtli, though still a royal waid,

Risk'd life and land to be my gu.ifd.

And through the passes of the wood

Guided my steps, not unpursucd ; 5^<0

And Ivoderick shall his wt^looiiie make,

Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sakv>.

Then nmst he seek Strath-Endrick glen,

Nor peril aught for me again.''

555

560

565

570

XXVII.

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 585

Redden'd at sight of ^Malcolm (Jra'me,

Yet, not in action, word, oi* eye,

Fail'd aught in hospitality.

In talk and sport they whiled away

The morning of that sunnner day ; 590

But at hiyh noon a coui-ier lii'ht

Held secret parley with the knight.

Whose moody as])ect soon declai'cd,

That evil were the news he heard.

Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head ; 51)5

Yet was the evening ban(juet made,

Ere he assembled round the llame,

His mother, Douglas, an<l the (Ir;eme,

And Ellen, too ; then cast around

His eyes, then fix'd them on tli • ground, GOO

As studying phrase that might a\ail

Best to convev unT>]'^;i>.a.iil talc;.

SCOTT.

[Canto

Long Willi liis (l;ii,'gor's liilt ho, playM,
'J'1h!Ii raised liis liauglity Ijrow, uiid said

XXVI H.

" Short 1)0 my speech ; — nor time affords, 605

Nor 111.' pl'xin tonipor, glozing words.

!'.i) ijin and fath(;r, — it' such name

J ''>;<■' vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ;

INL.iC hoi , ''•'d mother : — Klleii — why,

My cousin, turn away thine eye? — GIO

And Gnuine ; in whom I hojie to know

Full soon a noble friend or foe,

When age shall give thee thy command,

And leading in thy native land, —

List all I — The King's vindictive pride 015

Boasts to have tamed the Jjorder-sidc,

Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came

To share their monarch's silvan g.'ime,

Themselves in bloody toils were snared ;

And when the ban(i[uet they prepared, 620

And wide their loyal jxirtals thing.

O'er their own gattnvay struggling hung.

Loud cries their blood from Moggat'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 the same,

The same pretext of silvan, game.

AVhat grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye

V>y fate of Border chivalry.

Canto

II.]

605

Tin-: I.ADV OP TIIK LAKE.

^'('t iii(»i'<^ ; amid ( llciirmlas" i^'iccii,
J )u Hi,' I. -IS, thy .stately t'ofiii was -it'cii.
This l>y espial suro I know :
Your counsel in the .strciglit I slunv."

XXIX.

47
635

GIO

615

ame

620

625

630

Ellen and Mai'garot foai-fully
Sought comfort in each other's eye
Then turn'd their ghastly look, ea« 'i <
This to her sire, that to her son.
The hasty colour went and can
In the bold cheek of ]\ralcohn Gi-a : le

But fi-oni his trl.'ince it well

ap:

'Twas but for Ellen that he fearVl ;

While, sorrowful, but undismay'd.

The Douglas thus his counsel said : —

" Jirave Roderick, though the temp(!st roar,

It ma}' but thunder and pass o'ei* ;

610

645

or wi

11 I 1

lere remain an Jioui

To draw the lightning on thy bower ;
Eor well t\u)\i know'st, at this gri'y head
The royal bolt were fiercest sped.
For thee, who, at thy King's conunand,
Canst aid him with a gallant band,
Submission, homage, humbled pride,
Shall turn the monarch's wrath aside.
Poor remnants of the IJleeding Heart,
Ellen and I will seek, apart.
The refuge of some forest cell.
There, like the hunted (juariy, dwell.
Till on the mountain and the moor.
The stern jmrsuit be pass'd and oer." —

650

655

6G0

..V'*-^

SCOTT.

ANTO

"No, l)y iiiiiic liMiKdir,"' Koflci'icls said, 605

"So liflp ]iu'. Ilciscti, and my <jfoo(l hladc I

No, iicNci' ! Iilastod 1)0 yon i'iiic,

My falli('i-'s anficnt cr'cst and mine,

If from its shado in danger part

Tiie lineage; of tlio IJlecding Heart ! G7U

Hear my })lunt speecli : grant mo this maid

To wife, tliy counsol to mine aid ;

'J'o Douglas, leagued with Roderick l)hu,

Will friends and allies flocic enow ;

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and gi"ief, (575

Will bind to us each Western Chief.

When the loud pipes my bi'idal toll,

The Links of Foi'th shall hear the knell,

The guards shall stai't in Stirling's })orcli ;

And, when I light the nii})tial torch, G80

A thousand villages in flames

Shall scare the slumbers of King James !

— Nay, ]^Ilen, 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,

Whc'n the sage Douglas may unite

Each mountain clan in friendly Ijand,

To guard the passes of their land.

Till th(> foil'd king, fi'om pathless glen, ()90

Shall bootless turn him home again."

XXXI.

There are who have, at midnight hour,
Fn slumber scaled a dizzy tower.
And, on the verge; that beetled o'er

ANTO

ir.]

Tin: LADY OF TlIK LAKK.

665

G70

075

680

685

690

Tlio ocoMii tide's imcssjuil ro.ir, 605

Droani'd calmly out tlicir daii'^'crous dn^am.

Till wakcii'd l>y the iiioniiti^' heani ;

A\'h('ii, da/./lcd Ity i\w. oastcni .i^low,

Hucli stai'tlei- cast Ids gl;mc<' hrldw,

And saw uiuucasurod depth .•iiound, 7n<»

And hoard uniiitei-niit.ted sound,

And thought the battled fvnvt' so frail,

It wav(!(l like cc)I)NV(^I) in the galo ; —

Amid his senses' giddy wheel,

])id he not despeiatc^ impulse feel, 705

Headlong to plungf^ himself Im'Iow,

And meet the worse his fears foreshow "? —

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound,

As sudden ruin yawn'd aroinid,

By crossing terroivs wildly toss'd, 710

Still for the Doucrlas fearing most,

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,

To buy his safety with her hand.

xxxii.

Such purpose dread could ]\ral('olm sj)y

In Ellen's (quivering lip and eye, 715

And eager rose to speak — but ere;

p[is tongue could hurry forth his fear,

Had Douglas mai'kM the hectic strife.

Where death seem"d combating with life ;

For to her cheek, in feverish ilood, 720

One instant rusliM the throbl)ing blood,

Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,

Left its domain as wan as clay.

"Roderick, enough ! enough !" he cried,

" ]\ry daughter cannot be thy bride ; "25

Not that the blush to wooer dear
4

Maiiii

730

735

740

SCOTT. [Canto

NoC jLilciicss (ll.'ll of lil.'iidcil fell?*.

If irijiy n<»t 1)(' -foi'i;iv(^ Iht, Cliii'f,

Nor li;i/;inl uu;,'lit, tor our rrlicf.

Ai;;iiiist, liis .sov( rciifn, |)oui^l;is lu^'cr

Will ]ov<'l a rebellious sjtear.

"Pw as I that tau,L,'lit liis youthful hand

'i'o rein a steed and wield a hi'aiid ;

I s(!(! him yet, i\>v, ])riiieoly l)oy !

Not Kllen iiior(! my pride and joy ;

I lo\o him still, despito my wrongs

iJy hasty wratli, and slandeivtus tongues.

() seek the j^rac(! you well may find,

Without a cause to mine combined."

XXXIII.

Twice tl)rou<^li the hall the Chieftain strode
The wavin<5 of liis tartans l)road,
And darken'd brow, where wounded pride
With ir«^ and disappointment vied,
Seem'd, l)y the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill Demon of the iiight,
Sti)oj)ing liis ])inions' shadowy sway
rpon tin; nighted j)ilgrim's way :
I Jut, unrecjuited Love ! thy dart
}'lunge(l deepest its cnvenom'd smart,
And lloderick, with thine anguish stung,
At length the hand of Douglas wrung.
While eyes that niock'd at tears before.
With i)itter (h'ops were running o'er.
The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope
Scarce in that ample l^reast had scope,
J>ut, struggling with his spirit proud,
Convulsive lieaved its che<juer'd shroud,
While every sob— so mute were all —

745

750

755

NTO

TIIK I.ADV OF Tin; LAKE.

r.i

7:^0

W'fis licunl «li.stinctly throu<,'li tlir luill.
TIm' sum's dcspuir, the iin»i Ikt's ImmIn,
III ini^lit tlm j^'ciit Ic I'lllfii liiti(»k ;
Slu^ rose, Hiid to luT s'uU^ tlicro cumc,
To iiid Im'I' jiiirlin^' steps, tlic (Jj-m'Iih>.

7r.u

XXXIV

Tlif)

74C

l\i)

750

755

Then Uodorick from tlio Douuhis ))rok(' —

As tl.'islies tlfiiiK^ throu^'h sahic^ siiutkc,

Kiri(lliii<^ its wrcatliS, loiii,', daik, and low,

To one l)ioad l)lazo of ruddy ^'low,

So the deep anL^'iiisli of (1( sj>air

liui'st, in iiei'ct! jealousy, to air.

With stalwart grasp liis liand lie laid

On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid ;

" iJack, beardless l)oy ! " ho sternly said,

" IJaek, mini(»n ! hold'st thou thus at nought

Tiie lesson I so lately taught?

This roof, th(^ Douglas, and that maid,

Thank thou for punishment delay 'd.'

iiger as greyhouiK

d on 1

US I'ame

Fiercely %viih liodej-iek gra])pl«'d (rneme.
" Pei'isli my name, if aught afVord
Its Chieftain safety save his sword ! "
Thus as they strove, their desp(;ratr hand
Griped to th(^ dagger or the bj'and,
And death had ])een — but Douglas rose,
And thrust ])etween the struggling foes
His giant strength: — "Chieftains, forego
I hold the first who strikes, my fo(^ —
jVbidmen, forbear your frantic jar !
AVhat ! is the Dougla;^ fall'n so far,
His daughtei-'s hand is deem'd the sj)oil
Of such dishonourable broil ! "

/ (1.)

770

•80

785

790

SCOTT.

[Canto

Sullen and slowly, they unclasp,

As stfuck with shame, thcif (Icsjx'ratc ijfasp,

AikI (iach u|)<»n his ri\al ^Harcd,

With foot advanced, and l)lad(^ half har'ed.

XXXV.

Ere yet the l)rands aloft were fluiiij^, 705

]\Iar<j;aret on Roderick's mantle liuiii,',

An<l Malc;olin lieard liis Ell('n's st-ream,

As falter'd tln-ough terrific dream.

Then Koderick plunged in sheath his sword.

And veil'd his wrath in scornful word : 800

" Piest safe till morning; pity 'twere

Such cheek should feel the midnight air !

Tlien mayest thou to James Stuart tell,

Koderick will keep the lak(; and fell,

Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, 805

The pageant pomp of earthly man.

Mor(; would ho of Clan-Alpine know,

Thou canst our strength and passes show. —

Malise, v.'hat ho?" -his henchman came ;

"(!i\(^ our safe conduct to the (Jrjeme." 810

Young ^Falcolm answci'd, calm and l)old,

" Fear nothing for thy favourite jjold ',

The s})ot, an angel deign'd to gi'ace,

Is l)less'd, though i'ol)hers haunt, the place.

Thy churlish courtesy for tho.s- 815

Reserve, who fear to lu; thy foes.

As safe to me the mountain v-ay

At midnight as in blaze of day,

Though with his boldest at his Ijack,

Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.— 8L'0

l>i'a\e Douglas, -lovely Ellen, —nay,

Naught here of parting will J say.

ir.]

THK LADY OF THE LAKK. 53

Earth does not hold a lonosonu' ijlon,

So secret, but we meet again. —

Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour," — 82.")

He said, and left the silvan l>ower.

XXXVI.

C)]d Allan foilow'd to the strand,

(Such w;is the J)ouglas's command,)

And anxious told, how, on the morn.

The stei'n Sir lloderick deep liad sworn, 830

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er

iJale, glen, and valley, down, and moor.

Much were the peril to the Gra-nie

From those who to the signal canu^ ;

Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 835

Ifimsfjlf would row him to the strand.

He gave his counsel to the wind,

While Malcolm did, unheeding, Ijind,

Round dirk and pouch and broadsword roH'd,

His ample })laid in tighten'd fold, 840

And stri})})\l his lind)s to such array,

As best might suit the watery way, —

XXXVII.

Then spoke a})rupt : " Farewell to t ju'e,

Pattern of old fidelity!"

The ^[instrel's hand lie kindly j)ress'd, — ■ 84.")

" O ! could 1 point a place of rest I

My sovereign holds in wai-d my land,

My uncle leads my ^•assal band ;

To t.'unc; his foes, his friends to aid,

Poor ]\Ialcolm has but heart a.nd blade. 8o0

Yet, if there be one faithful (Ira'ine

; t

S(.'OTT.

[Canto

AMio lovos thn fliioftaiii of liis iianio,
N(jt loni^ sliall lioiioiii'd Doughis dwell,
Like liniited stag in niouutaiii cell ;
Nor, ero you pride-swoll'n roldx'i- daro, —
1 may not givo the rest to air !
Tell lloderick Dim, I owed liiin nought,
Not tlio poor service of a l)oat.
To waft me to yon mountain-side."
Tlien plungeil he in the llasliiiig tide,
l)<)\d o'er the ilood his head he hoi-e,
And stoutly steer'd liim fi'oin iIh; shore ;
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye,
Far 'mid the Like ]\i.< form to spy.
Darkening across each puny wave,
To which the moon lier silver gave.
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active limh ;
Then landing in the moonlight dell,
Loud shouted of Ins weal to tell.
The Minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore withdrew.

855

860

865

870

IIT.j THE LADY OF TIIK LAKK. bi)

CANTO Tirn^!).

Ulu (fathering.

TiiiK^ rolls his ceaseless course. The i-ace of }<»r<',

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our niai-velling boyhood legends stoi-c,

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land ov sea,
How are they blotted from the tilings that ))c I

How few, all weak and withei-'d of their foi-cc,
Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning liM.iisr,
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his (•cas'lcs.s roursc

Yet live there still who can remember ^vell, 10

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blrw,

Both field and forest, dingle, clitl', ami dell,
And solitary heath, the signal knew ;

And fast the faithful clan around him drew.

What time the warning note wjis ke(>nly wound, 1 .'>

What time aloft their kindred banner ilcw,
ile clamon

■ous war-[)ipes yell'd tlie gathei-ing sound,
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a luctror, ir.iind.

II.

The Sunnner dawn's reflected hue
To purph; changed Loch Katriiic blue ;
jMililly and soft the western bi-ce/.e
Just kiss'd the lake, just stii-t'd flic trees,
Aiul tlu; pleased l;d<c, like iii.iidcii coy,
Trembled but dim})led not for joy ;
The iiiountain-sjwu^i^v s on her ]»f.;«st

•gaMBMB

A U

I '<

SCOTT.

Wore neitlH'i' bi-okeu nor at rest;

111 Itri^lit uncertainty tliey lie,

Like future joys to Fancy's oyi^

TIk; waler-lily to the light

Jler chalice I'car'd of silver bright;

Ti\e doe awoke, and to the lawn,

Begenun'd with dcwdrops, led her fawn ;

The ,'^rey mist left the mountain side,

The torrent show'd its glistening pride;

Invisible in flecked sky,

T'he lark s(?nt down her I'eveliy ;

The blackl)ird and the speckled thiush

Good-inorrf)w gave fi-om brake and bush ;

In answer coo'd the cushat dove

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.

[Canto

III.

No thought of peace, no thought of rest.

Assuaged the storm in Koderick's l)reast.

^.s'ith sheathed bioadsword in his hand,

Abru{)t he paced the v-l.'! ci'and.

And eyed the rising s..a, and laid 45

His hand on his impatient blade.

Beneath a rock, his vassals' care

Was prompt the ritual to prej)are,

With deep and deathful meaning fraught ,-

For such Antiquity had taught 50

Was preface meet, ere yet abroad

The Ci'oss of Fire should take its road.

The shrinking band stood oft aghast

At the impatient glance he cast ; — •

Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 55

A^, from the clitts of Ben venue,

She spread her dark sails on tlie wind,

111.]

T5IK LADV OF THK LVKK. ,>t

And, lii.^li i'^ middle licfut'ii i-ccliiiccl,

Witli lici' ])r(>;id shadow on (lie lukr,

Silenced th«! \vai'])lor.s of the brake. 60

IV.

A heap of witherM Ixjughs was piled,

Of juni]K'i' and rowan nvIM,

INIingli'd with shivers fi'oni the oak,

Kent by the li''htnin<j:'s recent stroke.

Brian, the Hermit, l)y it stood, G5

Barefooted, in his frock and hood.

His grisled l)eard and matted hair

Obscured a visage of despair ;

His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er.

The scars of frantic penance bore. 70

That monk, of savage form and face,

The impending danger of his race

Had di-awn from deep(;st solitude,

Far in Benharrow's bosom rude.

Nor his the mien of Christian })riest, 75

But Druid's, from the grave released,

Whose harden'd heart and eye mi t brook

On human sacrifice to look ;

And nnich, 'twas said, of heathen lore

Miy'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 80

The hallow'd creed gave only v -rse

And deadlier emphasis of cur'^o ;

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer,

His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care,

The eager huntsman knew his lioi'iid, 85

And in mid chase call'd off his ho ud ;

Or if, in lonely glen or strath,

The desert-dw(;ller met his jjath,

SCOTT.

II«; pr;iyM, and sii,MiM iht^ cross Ix'tweeii,
Wliilc, terror took (l('\<»t ion's inifsii.

[Canto

Of Brian's ])irtli strango talcs wcrt; l«»ld.

His mother watchVl a midniglit fold,

l^uilt deep witliiii a dreary glen,

W'liere scatter'd lay tlio ])ones of men,

In some foi-gottcu battle slain, 95

And l^leacli'd l)y drifting Mind and i-ain.

It miglit liavo tamed a warrior's heart.

To view sucli mockery of his ai't !

The knot-grass fetter'd thei'o the; hand

Which once could l)tir"st an iron l)and ; 100

Beneath the ])road and ample hone

That biickler'd heart to fear uidcnown.

A feelile and a timorous ^'uest,

The field-faro framed her h)\vly nest ;

There the slow blind-worm left his slime 105

On the fleet limbs that mock'd at time ;

And tl\ere, too, la;^ the leader's skull,

Still \s reath'd with ch.qdet, flush'd and full,

For heath-ljell, with her purple bloom,

Suppli(Ml the l)oniu>t and the plume. 1 10

Ail night, in this sad glen, the maid

Brite, shroud(Kl in her mantle's shade :

— She srJd, no she})herd sought her sid(;.

No hunter';; hand her snood untied,

Yg! nr'er ag.'un to Ijraid her hair 1 15

The • I'gin shoihI did Alice wear ;

(lone vas lu!r maiden glee and s])<»rt,

llei' maiden girdkj all too short.

Nor sought slu , from that fatal night,

Or holy church or blessed rite, 120

III.]

•Jlli: I-.\1)V OF 'IHK LAKH.

5i)

I>iit lock'd Ikt srci-(M ill li(M' l)r(';Lst,
And (lied in ti';i\;iil, uuconfcss'd.

VI.

Al«

one, iiinoiii,' liis youiiL,' eonipt'cr:

IS l)i'i;iTi rrom his iiit;iiit ve;us
A inoudv ;ind hejirt-lii-okcii 1m»v,

Est

d f

til

r;in<j;e(l tium sviiniatliv and lov,
iJearinti eai'li taunt wliicli careless ton;

On liis mysterious linea

L£fe i\

1111!,'.

AN'liolo nights lie spent l)y iiiooiiliL;ln p.dr
To wood and stream liis li.ip to w.id,
Till, frantic, he as truth rccciNcd
What of his ])irth tli(^ crowd hclieNcd.

And

soui;

ht.

in mist and meteor lire

To meet and know liis T'hantom Sire !
in vain, to soothe his v.a\\\ard fate.

Tlu; cloister

oped her })itying gJttc

n vam,

the 1

e.arnin<r o

f tl

Hi a<;e

V'^'A*

rnclasp'd the sahle lettered
Even in its treasures Ik; eoiild fiiul
Food for the ftncr of his mind.
Ea<j:er he read whatever tcdls

mairic, c

[ibah

a, ana sTieiis

'11^

xVnd every dark pursuit allied

To curious and presumptuous ])ride ;

Till with fired brain and n<'r\ es o'crstrung,

And heart with mystic horrors wrung,

Desperate he sought l>enharrow's den.

And hid him f

rom

the 1

launt s ot men.

12:)

;{()

1 35

140

145

VII.

The desert gave him visions wild,
Such as might suit the spectre's child.

150

^swagnr a.-ix loibu jm.

SCOTT.

[Canto

ii«

I I

Wlir-re witli ])lji('k dill's tli«3 ton-onts toil,

He wulch'd tli(! wheeling eddies hoil.

Till, fiorii their lojiiii, liis dazzled cyoH

lielield tho llivor Demon rise ;

'i'lie inountfiiri mist took foi'iii and linil), 165

Of noontide hag, oi' gohlin grim ;

The midiught wind came wild and drciad,

►S\\ ell'd with the voices of the dead ;

Fur on the future battle-heath

His eye beheld tho ranks of death : IGO

Thus the lone Seer, fi'om mankind hurl'd,

Shaj)ed forth a disembodied world.

One lingering sympathy of mind

Still bound iiim to the mort.d kind ;

Tho only parent he could claim 165

Of ancient Alpine lineage came.

Late had he heard, in })rophet's dream,

The fatal Ben-Shie's boding sci-eain ;

Sounds, too, had conio in midnight l)last,

(Jf charging steeds, careering fast 170

Along Benharrow's shingly side,

Where mortal horsenjan ne'er might ride ;

The thunderbolt had split the pine, —

All augur'd ill to Alpine's line.

He girt his loins, and cami! to show 175

le si<qia

Is of

ip^

impencunir woe,

And now sto(»fl promjjt to bless or ban.
As l)ad<^ the Chieftain of his clan.

(

VIII.

'Twas all [)re})ared ;--and from the rock,
A goat, the patriarch of the Hock,
Ilefore the kindling pile was laid.
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade.

180

TFT.]

TiiF, r,AHY OK riiF'; i, \kk.

r.i

Patient the sickriiiiii^ Nictim cyt-d

T1m> litVl)l<MM| rl)l) ill ci-imsoii tiilf,

J)<>\vii liis i'1<il;lj<1 hcinl aiiil sli.iLCuy liiiil), iSb

Till «larl<ii('ss ijlazcd liis ('V<'l);ills diin.

The <,M'isly j)i"iost, witli iiiui-miiiiiii; jiraycr,

A .sieiidci- ci'osslot, tVaiiicd with carr.

A ciiljit's Icnutli in nM-a^urr due ;

Tlie sliat't and liinl)S wcvo nuls of yew, IIU)

"W'lioso parents in Ineh-Cailliaeli wa'.f

'J'heir shadows o'er Clan-AI})ine's j^i.-in* ,

And, ati.swei'ing Lomond's l)i'ee/.es deep,

Sootlie many a cliitfttains endless sleep.

The Cross, thus formM, Ik; lield on hJLjh, 195

With wasted hand, and lia^.uard eye.

And straniije and minified feelings wnke,

Wliil«> his anatheni.'i lie spokt; :

IX.

"Woe to the clansmen, nn ho shall \iew

Tliis synihol of sepulchi'al yew, '2(H)

Forgetful that its l^randies i^rew

Where weep tlie heavens tiieir holiest, (]<'w

On Alpine's dwellin"^ low !
Deserter of his Chieftains trust.
He ne'er shall minicle w ith their dii>t, 'JOf)

But, from liis sii'es and kindreil tlini>t,
Each clansman's execration just

Shall doom him wrath and \\<»e."
He paused ; — the word the \asvals took,
W^ith foi'ward step and liery l(M»k, 210

On high their naked l»ran<ls they sli(»ok.
Their clattering targets wildly strook ;

And fii'st in murmur low,
Then, like the billow in his course,

SCOTT

Canto

'I'liat far to scuward lirids liis souroo, 215

Ami tliiii;s to sluin! liis iiiiistcrM force,
lUirst,, will) Idiid roar', llicir answer lioar.sc,

*' W'l.c to ihc (raitor, woe ! "
lien ail's L^rev scalp tla; aeceiits knew,
The joyous wolf from co\'ert drew, '220

1'lie cxultiiii,' <'aij;le sereaiii'd afar, —
'J'licy kii(!W tlu! voice of Alpines war.

The slioiit was liir liM on l.ike and fell.
Tlio Monk I'csuined his nnitlerd spell :
Dismal and low its accents camo,
'J'h(^ w liile ho scathed the Cross ^vith llame
And the few words that reach'd the air,
Although the lioliest name was there.
Had more of blasphemy than pra3'er.
Jhit when he shook alxive the crowd
Jts kindled points, he spok(! aloud : —
" AVo(! to till! wretch who fails to rear
At this di'(^ad sii^n the ready spear !

Lor, as

the fl

lines this

l)ol

sear,

His home, the refni^e of his fear,

A kindred fate shall know ;
Far o'er its loof the \(>lum(Ml ilame
Clan- Alpine's ven<j;eance shall j^roclaim,

iilo mauls and matr(»ns on ins name
Sliall call down wretchedness and shame.

And infamy and woe."
Then rose tlu; cry of females, shrill
As

cross haw k"s whistle on the hi

enounciiiLC misery aiu

1 ill.

IMingled with childhood's hahljling trill
Of curses staunner'd slow ;

225

230

235

240

245

TIT.l

220

TIIM I,AI>V or TIIK I.AKK.

Amsnvcimiii;. witli iiiipiTcMf ion dicad,
"Sunk lie lii-> lidiin- ill ciiiIht-- ltd !
And i'urscd Ix' tlif iiit-.-mcst slicd
Tliut v\'V slijill liid(^ tlic liousclrss Im'jkI,

Wc (loom l<» w.iiit .'iikI wmc!"
A slijirp Mild slirickiiii,' ccIh) l,^■l\i•,
Coir-rrisUiii, thy guMiii v:\\r '.
And tlin .i^i'cy })<'iss wlici'o hiiLlics wave,

Oil I'.c.du mjuii-Im).

L'oO

H;');*)

f) O Tx

•-'30

>35

xi.

TIk'Ii d('('[H'r paused (lie priest anew,
And liai'd liis lalxjurini^ l)i'(\-itli lie drew,
Wliile, with sot teelli and cleiiclied hand,
And eyes that glow'd Hke liery brand,
lie meditated curse more (h'ead,
And deadlier, on th(5 clansman's head
AN'ho, summon'd to his chiet'tain's aid.
The signal saw and disohey'd.
The erosslet's points of sj)ai-kling wood,
He quench'd among the l)ul)l)ling hlood,
And, MS again the sign he rear'd,
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard :
" When tUts this Cross from man to man,
Vich-Alpine'.s sinniiions to his clan,
l^>urst he the ear that fails to heed I
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed I
May ravens tear the cai-eless eyes,
Wolves make the coward heart their prize !
As sinks that hlood-stream in tlu^ eaith.
So may his heart's-lilood drench his heai'th I

Asdi

les 111 hissing gore the s})
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark
And he the irrace to him denied,

•-'CO

2G5

270

•JT;")

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Corporation

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 1 4580

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^n:

^9)

'^\ ^\

T-

SfOTT.

Bought ))}• tin's sigji to all l)e.si(l(! ! "
He ceasod ; ?i<. ccIki iiiisc .-igaiii
The luunmir of th*? deep Allien.

AN TO

280

XII.

Thon Jlodcrick, with impatient look,

Fidin Urians hand the syinhol took :

'' Speed, ]\ralise, speed ! " lie said, and gave

The ci'osslet to his henchman l)rave. 285

"The muster-place be Jjanrick mead —

Instant the time— speed, .Malise, speed ! "

I^ike heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,

A l)arge across J.och Katrine ilew ;

High stood the henchmMn on the i)i'ow, 290

So I'a^ idly the l)arge-iiien row,

The bubbles, where they launeh'd tlu' boat

\V«'re all unbroken and afloat.

Dancing in foam and ripple still,

When it had lu'ar'd the mainland hill ; 296

And from the silver beach's side

Still was the prow tlii'ee fathom wide,

When lightly Ix.unded to tlm land

The messenger of blood and brand.

XIII.

Speed, Aralise, speed : the dun deer's lii(l(

On ileeter foot was never tied.

Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of hasti

line active sinews never braced.

I5eiid 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,

l)urs

nlik

(^ toi-rent from its crest

\\ itli shoit and sp!-inging footstej) |

)ass

The trembliiiL'' 1

)og am

I fal

s(! morass

300

305

III.]

TIIK LADY 01" lUK LAKE.

Across the brook like roebuck ImhukI,

And thread the })riike like questing hound ;

The crag is high, the scaur is deep, 310

Yet shrink not from the desperate leap :

Parch 'd are thy burning lips and brow,

Yet by the fountain pause not now ;

Herald of battle, fate, and fear,

Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 315

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 warrior deed, 320

Are in thy course — speed, Malise, speed :

»5

XIV.

Fast as the fatal symbol flies.

In arms the huts and hamlets rise ;

From winding glen, from upland brown.

They pour'd each hardy tenant down. 325

Nor slack'd the messenger his pace ;

He show'd the sign, he named the place,

And, pressing forward like the wind.

Left clamour and surprise behind.

The fisherman forsook the strand, 330

The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ;

With changed cheer, the mower blithe

Left in tlui half-cut swathe the scythe ;

The herds without a keeper stray 'd,

The plough was in mid-fui-row staid, 335

The falc'ncr toss'd his hawk away.

The hunter left the stag at bay ;

Prompt at the signal of alarms,

SCOTT.

[Canto

Each son of .Vljiino rusliM to arms ;

So swept, tlie tuimilt and affray

Alon,^ tlie margin of Aclu-ay.

Alas, tliou lovely lake! that o'or

Thv hanks should (*c'ho scninds of fear!

Tlur rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep

So stilly on thy b(»som dcn^p.

The lark's blitlie carol, from the cloud,

Seems for tlie. scene too gaily loud.

340

345

XV.

Spe( (1, Malise, speed ! The lake is past,

l>uncraggan's huts appear at last,

An<l peep, like moss-grown rocks, half-seen, 350

Half -hidden in tlie copse so green ;

There niayst thou rest, thy labour done,

Their Lord shall speed the signal on. —

As stoops the i'lawk upon his prey,

The henchnian shot him down the way. 355

— What woeful accents load the gale ]

The funeral yell, the female wail !

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,

A valiant wai'rior fights no more.

Who, in the battle or the chase, 360

At Koderick's side shall fill his place ! —

Within the hall, where torch's i-av

Supplies the excluded beams of day,

Lies ])uncan on his lowly ])ier.

And o"(M' him sti-eanis his widow's tear. 365

His stripling son stands mournful by.

His youngest weeps, but knows not why ;

The village maids and matrons round

The dismal coromuh resound.

NTO

TIL]

THE LADY OK THE LAKE.

340

345

350

355

360

XVI.

Coromuh.

H(! is gone on the mountain, 370

Ho is lost to the forest,
Like a suninier-ch-ied fountain.

When our need was the sorest.
Tlie font, reappearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 375

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 tlie weeper 380

Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

AVaft the lea\'es that are seare«t,
But our flower was in flushinir.

When blighting was nearest. 385

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the forav,

How sound is thy sluml)er !
Like the dew on the mountain, 390

Like the foam on the river.
Like the bubble on the fountain

Thou art g(jne, and for ever !

365

XVII.

See Stumah, who, the bier beside,
His master's corpse with wonder eyed,
Poor Stunuih ! whom his least halloo
Could send like lightning o'er the dew,

395

.S(;OTT. [('ANTO

hristlos lii.s rrosl. and ixtiiits liis oars,

As if soiiKi stranuf'i" slcp lif licacs.

'Tis not- a iiiounicr's iiiuillcc! head, 400

W'lio (•((iiK'S 1<» soj-row o'ci- tlic <U'a<l,

r.iit licadloni,^ haste, or deadly foar,

i'ri^c t.lio pi-eci|)itale career.

All stand .'iirliast: — niilieediiig all,

'IMie lieiiclimjiu Imt-sts into tlio liall ; 405

Uet'or*^ the (lend niatrs ])ier lie stood :

Held forth the Ci'oss liesiiiear'd with hlood :

" 'I'he innstei--))la,('e is jiaiii'iek iiie.ul ;

Speed forth the signal ! claiisLueii, sj)eed ; ''

XVIII.

AniifMs, th(^ heir of Duncan's line, 410

SpriMig forth and seized the fatal sign.

In haste the stripling to his sid(>

His fathei's dick and l)r()adsword tied ;

l)Ut when he s;iw his mother's eye

Watch him in spcM'chless agony, 415

hack to her open'd arms ho Hew,

Press'd on her lips a fond adieu —

" Alas ; ■" she sohh'd, "and yet he gone,

And speed thee forth, likc^ Duncan's son I "

( )ne ItMik he cast upcm the hiei-, 420

Dash'd frmn his eye the gathering tear,

lireatheil deep to clear his labouring hreast.

And toss'd aloft his honnet <'rest,

Then, like the high hred colt, when, freed.

Kirst li<^ essay> his lire and speed, 425

lie \aiiiNh d, and o'er inttoc and nioss

Sp(>d forward with the iMery C*ross.

Suspended was ihe widow s tear

While yet his footsteps she could hear ;

^TO

III.]

TUK LADV OF TIIK LAKK.

•k'(l the hench

430

400

405

410

415

And wlion she mark ( I the iiencliman

Web witli imwoiitecl sympathy,

'' Ivinsman," she said, "Jus race is run

That should have sjumI thine ei'rand on ;

The oalv has fall'n, - tlie sapHnu; l)ough

fs all l)uncraggan's shelter now. 435

Yet trust T well, his duty done,

Tlie orpiian's God will guard my son. —

And you, in many a danger true,

At Duncan's liest your blades that drew,

To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 440

Let babes and women wail the dead."

Then weapon-clang and martial call

Resounded through the funeral hall,

While from the walls the attendant ])and

Snatch'd sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 445

And short and flitting energy

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye,

As if the sounds to warrior dear

Miirht rouse her T)uncan from his bier.

But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 450

Grief claim'd his right, and tears theii- course.

420

425

XIX.

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire,

It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.

O'er dale and hill the summons flew.

Nor rest iior pause young Angus knew ;

The tear that gather'd in his eye

He left the mountain-breeze to dry ;

Until, where Teith's young waters roll,

Betwixt him and a wooded knoll.

That graced the sable strath with green,

The chapel of Saint Bride was seen.

455

460

-^•

SCOTT.

[Canto

Swohi was tlio stream, romoto tlie bi-i(l,i,'o,

lint Angus jjansMd not on the od^c ;

Tlj()ii.<;li the dark waves danced dix./ily,

Tliou'di rcel'd liis svninalhotic! eve, 4G5

He dash'd amid tlie tuircnt's roar:

His i-ijj;lit hand liii;li tiie erosslet hore,

His left th(i pole-axe j,M-asj)"d, to guidt;

And stay liis footing in the tide.

He stunihlcd twice — the fo.-iiii splash'd higli, 470

With hoars<M- swell the stream raced by ;

And had he falTii, — for ever there,

Farewell Duncraggans <ji-phan heir !

But still, as if in parting life,

Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife, 475

Unt,' the opposing hank he gain'd,

A t'.i .p the chapel pathway strain'd.

XX.

A blithesome rout, that morning tide,
Had sought the chapel of St. i»ride.
Her troth Tombea's JNlary gave
To Norman, heir of Armandave,
And, issuing from the Gothic arch.
The bri<lal now resunu'd 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 children, that, unwitting why,
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ;
And minstrels, that in measures vied
IJefore the young and bonny bride,
Whose downcast eye an<l cheek disclose
The tear and blush of morniner rose.

480

485

490

<T0

Tll.l

1G5

TIIK LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

Witli virgin stop, and l)ashful liand,
SI 10 hold the 'kerchiofs snowy band ;
Tiie galhint bridogrooni, by lior side,
Beheld his prize with victor's pride,
And the glad nmther in hor ear
Was closely whispering word of jheer.

495

470

475

480

485

XXI.

Who meets them at the chui-chyard gate!

The messenger of fear and fate !

Haste in his hurried accent lies,

And grief is swinuning in his eyes.

All dripping from the recent ilood,

Panting and travel-soil'd he stood,

The fatal sign of fii'o and sword

Held forth, and spoke the ai)poiiited word

"The muster-place is Lanrick mead :

Speed forth the signal ! Norman speed ! "

And must he change so soon the hand

Just link'd to his by holy band.

For the fell Cross of blood and l)rand 1

And nmst the day, so blithe that rose,

And prt)mised rapture in the close,

Before its setting hour, divide

The bridegroom from the plighted brid(1

fatal doom! it nuist ! it nuist !
Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,
Her summons dread, brook no delay :
Stretch to the i-ace- away ! away !

500

505

510

515

520

490

XXIL

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside.
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride.
Until he saw the starting tear

SCOTT.

Canto

»N

Speak woe lie iiiiulil imt sinj) to clieor ;

'I'lu'ii, trusting nor, m second look, 525

In li.'istc li(> sjxmI liin\ up tlio brookj

Noi" )){U'k\\ar(l glanced, till on the iieatii

Wlicr*^ Lul)n.iig's lake supplies the Toith.

• What in the racer's hostmi stirr'd '^
Tiie sickening pang ol' hoj)e dt'ferr'd, 530

And iniMuory, with a torturing train
Of all his morning \ isions \ain.
Mingleil with love's impatience, came
The manly thirst for martial fame ;
The stormy joy of mountaineers, 535

Ere yet they rush ujxtn the spears ;
And zeal for clan and Chii'ft.'iin burning,
And hop(\ f;.)m mcII fought field returning.
With war's red honours on his crest.
To clasji his M;i,ry to his l)i'east. 540

Stung hy surh tlioughts, o'er hank and brae,
Tiike fire fiom flint he glanced away,
While high resolve, and feeling strong
Burst into voluntary song.

XXI II.

-S^ong.

The heath this night nuist be my bed.
The bracken curtain for mv head.
My lullaby the warder's tread.

Far, far. fi-om lov(^ and thee, Mary
To-morrow e\(>, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy \\ni\, sweet maid I

It will not wak

en me.

irv

545

550

HI.]

TriK I.ADV OF TJli; T.AKK.

1 may not, dai-o not, fancy now

Th(; «,M'iet' that elou(is tliy lovoly brow,

I (laro not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond re^^ret nmst Norman know ;
When hursts Clan- Alpine on the foe.
His heart must be like bended bow,

His foot \'i\n) ari'ow fr(;e, Maiy,

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 return'd from conquer'd foes
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary !

555

560

565

XXIV.

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,

lialquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, 570

Hushing, in conflagration strong,

Thy deep ravines and dells along,

VV^ rapping thy dill's in purple glow.

And reddening the dark lakes below ;

Nor fas;,3r 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

Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy c(jurse ; 580

Thence southward turn'd its rapid road

Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad.

Till ro.se in arms each man might claim

«( r»TT.

[Cant

«>

, !

\\\

A portion m <'l-'ii Alj-iiic's n;iino,

|''i(»iii tin* >;rey sin-, wlio.vc tn-mMin^' luiml

Could Imrdly l)Ui'l<l<' «mi lii^ Itr.iud,

'\\> llui IHW l»oy, wliosp slifift and bow

Were V<'t SCUffn tc(r«»C to (In* (TOW.

I'lacli \;illcy. cmIi sjM|ur.st('i''d .i^lt'ii,

Mustcr'd its littJc horde nt' mni,

Tliul iiu't, .'IS Innvnls fmiii tlic liel^dit.

In lli;.;lil!in(l d.il s llM-ir stroiuns unite,

Still ;.,'atl luring, us tlicy pour al(»ni;,

A Noicc more l<tud, a lido more sti'oiig,

Till at tlir, it'ndr/.\..us tlicy stood

l>y hundreds ]ii'oiMi»t tor l)lo\vs and l)ioo(i,

Kaeli traiiiM to arms sinct^ lit'i^ hegan,

OwniniT no tie hut to liis clan,

No oath hut l>y his diieftain's hand,

No law hut Rode?i(k Dhu's eoininaiul.

585

590

595

600

xxv.

'I'hat summor morn had Koderick Dliu

Survoy'd the skirts of Ken venue,

And sent, his scouts o'ei- hill and luMith,

To view the frontiers of Menteith,

All liaekward e.inie with news of ti'uce : G05

Still lay eju'h maitial (Jra'uie and iJruce,

In l{(Hlnoek courts iiu liorNciuen wait,

No l)anner wa\ed on ( .'ardross gate,

On I )uchray's toweis no beacon shone,

Noi- scared the Herons from J^och Con ; GIO

All seem'd at peace. — Now wot ye why

Th(! C^^hieftain, with such anxi(^us eye,

Kre to tlu» muster lie repair,

This west(M"n frontier scann'd with care?

In r>envenue's most darksome clel't, 015

III.]

TIIK r.ADY i,

\ r.AKK.

390

A fair, tliou^^li ci'uel, {)l('(li,'o was left ;
Tor DoujijlaK, to liis pnuniso triu',
That mornini,' from llio islo withdrew,
Ami ill a (l(M'j) s('(jii(>sl(M''(l <loll
Had soiii^'lit; a low and lonely cell.
Hy many a })ai"d, in Celtic ton<^ue,
Has Coir-pan-l^riskin heen sun^ ;
A softer name the Saxons ^^mvc,
And called tlii! ^'rol the (jtol)lin-Cav(\

620

[)95

GOO

G05

GIO

GIT)

XXVI.

It was a wild and stivmge retreat, 025

A.S e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.

The dell, upon the mountain's crest,

Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's hi'east ;

Its trench had staid full many a rock,

ITurl'd l)y primeval eartlujuakc shock G30

From lienvenue's grey summit wild,

And luM'c, in random ruin j)iled.

They frown'd incumlK'nt o'er the spot,

And form'd the rugged silvan grot.

The oak and birch, with mingled shade, G35

At nocmtide there a twilight made,

Unless when short and sudden .shone

Some straggling beam on cliff or ston'^,

With such a g]im})se as prophet's eye

Gains on thy depth, Futurity. 640

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 645

The inces.sant war of wave and rock.

Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,

"^i ,

i !

SCOTT.

SoemM nodding o'ei- tlie cavern grey.
From such ;i den the wolf had sprung,
Tn such the wild-cit leaves lier young ;
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Grey Superstition's whisper dread
l)"])arr'd the spot to vulgai tread ;
Foi' tiuM-e. she said, did fays resort,
And sat^'rs hold their silvan court,
By moonlight tn^ad their mystic maze,
And hlast the rash })eholder's gaze.

[Canto

650

655

p-t

XXVII.

Now eve, with western shadows long,

Floatefl on Katrine bright and strong, 660

When Roderick', with a chosen few,

Repass'd the heights of Benvenue.

Above the Goblin-Cave they go.

Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ;

The prompt retaint^rs speed before, 665

To launch the shallop from the shore,

For cross Loch Katrine lies his way

To view the passes of Achray,

And iilace his clansmen in arrav.

Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 670

rnwonied sight, his men behind.

A single page to bear his sword.

Alone attended on his lord ;

The rest their way through thickets break.

And soon await him by ^\e lake. 675

It was a fair and gallant sii;ht,

To view them from the nei<dibourinir heiirht.

By the low-levell'd sunbeam's light !

For strength and stature, from the clan

rro

III.]

THE LADV OF THE LAKE.

Each warrior was a chosen man,

As even i-.far might well be seen,

By their proud step and martial mien.

Their featliers dance, their tartans Hoat,

Tlieir targets gleam, as by tlie boat

A wild and warlike group tliey stand,

That well became such mountain-strand.

XXVIII.

Their Chief, witn step reluctant, still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by wher 3 turn'd 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 thiniv of Ellen Douglas more ;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fettei"=' flame with flaxen band.
Has yet a harcl^r task to prove —
By firm resolve to conquer love !
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,
Still hoveling 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 strain 1
It is the harp of Allan-bane,
That wakes its measure slow and high.
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.

77
680

685

690

695

700

705

710

SCOTT.

[Canto

What Tiioitinpr voice attends tlie strings 1
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

i I

f -1 i

XXIX.

Ijinnn to thr Virgin.

Ave Maria ! maiden mild !

Listen to a maiden's pi*ayer !
Thou canst hear though from the wild, 715

Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care.

Though banish'd, outcast, aiid reviled —
]\Iaiden ! hear a maiden's prayer :

Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 720

Ave Maria !

Ar<' Maria! undeliled !

The tlinty couch we now must share
Shall seem with down of eider piled,

If thy protection hover there. 725

The nuu'ky cavern's heavy air

Shall breathe of balm if tliou hast smiled !
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer,

]\[otliei', list a suppliant child !

Ave Maria! 730

jive Maria! stainless styled I

Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted liaunt exiled.

Shall ilee before thy presence fair.
AVe bow us to our lot of care, 735

Beneath thy guidance reconciled ;
Hear for a nuiid a maiden's prayei',

And for a father hear a child ;

Ave Maria !

III.]

THE LADY OF THK LAKE.

XXX.

Died on the harp the closing hymn —
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As Ust'ning still, Clan- Alpine's lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until ♦^he 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 mutter'd thrice, — "the last time e'er
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear ! "
It was a goading thought — his stride
Hied hastier down the muuntain-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,
Th'? band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where muster'd, in the vale below,
Clan- Alpine's men in martial show.

740

745

750

755

XXXL

A various scene the clansmen made, 760

Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayM ;

But most, with mantles folded round.

Were couch 'd to rest upon the ground.

Scarce to be known by curious eye

From the deep heather where they lie, 765

So well was match'd the tartan screen

With heath-bell dark and brackens green ;

Unless where, here and there, a blade,

SCOTT.

[Canto

; (I

Or lance's point, a <^ninimor made,

Like ^'iow-wonn twinkling through the shade. 770

IJut when, advancing through the gloom,

Thcv sJiw the ('hiet'taiii's eagle plume,

Th(;ir shout of welcome, shrill and wide,

Shook the steep mountain's steady side.

Thrice it ajo.so, and lake and fell 775

Thicc t'mwM return'd the martial yell ;

It died upon l'>ochastle's plain.

And Silence claim'd her evening reign.

ihij^

fTO

IV.]

TIIK LADY OF THE LAKE.

CANTO FOURTH.

"IThc fJrophfcw.
I.

" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,

And hope is briglitest when it dawns from fears :
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morninir dew.

And love is loveliest when enibalm'd 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 1 " —

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Yennachar's broad wave.

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung.

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.

All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spi-ay,

His axe and bow beside him lav,

For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,

A wakeful sentinel he stood.

Hark I — on the rock a footstep rung.

And instant to his arms he spru: '^

" Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise? — soon

Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune.

•JO

By thy keen step and glance T know.

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." —

(For while the Fiery Cross hied on.

On distant scout had ]\lalise gone.)

"Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchnan said.

" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 25

To his lone couch I'll })e your guide." —

Then call'd a slumberer by his side,

SCOTT.

ANTO

And stirr'd him with his slncken'd ])ow-
" Up, up, (Jh'iiturkin ! rouse thee, ho !

(1 see

k tJi« CI lief tain ; on tlie track.

Keep eagle watch till I come back."

III.

'I\)gether up the ])ass they sped :

" What of the foeman ?" Norman said. —

" Varying reports from near and far ;

This certain, — that a band of war

Has for two days V)een I'eady ))oune,

At prompt connnand, to march fi-om Doune ;

King James, the while, with })rinceiy powers.

Holds revelry in Stii'ling towers.

Soon will this dark iind gathering cloud

Speak on our glens in thunder loud.

Inured to hide such bitter bout.

The warrior's plaid may bear it out ;

lUit, Norman, how Milt thou ju'ovide

A shelter for thy bonny bride?" —

" What I know ye not that Roderick's care

To the lone isle hath caused repair

Each maid and mati-on of the clan,

And every child and agi^l man

U)\fit for arms ; and given his charge.

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge,

Tpon these lakes shall tloat at large,

Hut all beside the islet niooi-.

That such dear pledge may rest secure I " —

IV.

" Tis well advised— the Chieftain's plan

r>espeaks the father of his clan,

lUit wherefore sleeps Sir Koderick Dhu

IV.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Apart from all his followers true ? " —

" It is, because last evoiiing-tide

Brian an augury hath tried,

Of that dread kind which must not })e

Unless in dread extremity.

The Taghairm call'd ; })y which, afar.

Our sires foresaw the events of war.

Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew."

MALISE.

" Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew.
The choicest of the prey we had,
When swept our merry-men (rallangad.
His hide was snow, his horns were dark,
His red eye glow'd like fiery spark ;
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet.
Sore did he cumber oiir retreat.
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe,
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha.
But steep and flinty was the road.
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad.
And wnen we came to Dennan's Bow,
A child might scatheless stroke his brow.

NORMAN.

" That bull was slain : his reeking hide
They stretch'd 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.
Couch 'd on a shelf beneath its brink.

SCOTT. [Canto

Close where the (hunderint,' torrents sink,

](ockiii<^ ])eneath tlicir liea(llon<j^ sway,

And (lri/zl«'(l ])y tlie ceaseless S})i-ay,

Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream,

The wizard waits })r()j»hetic dream. 90

Nor distant rests tlu^ Chief; — hut hush !

See, gliding slow thi'ough mist and husli,

The hermit gains yon rock, and stands

To gaze upon our slumhciing l)an(ls.

Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 96

That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host ?

Or raven on the ])laste(l oak,

That, watchitig while the deer is hi-oke,

His morsel claims with sullen croak i "

MALISE.

— "Peace ! peace ! to (»ther than to me, 100

Thy words were e\ il augury ;

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,

Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hell.

Yon fiend-begotten ]\[onk can tell. 105

The Chieftain joins him, see — and now

Together they descend the brow."

VJ.

And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord

The Hermit Monk held solemn word : —

*' Roderick I it is a fearful sti-ife, HO

For men er;dow'd with moi-tal life,

Whose shroud of sentient clay can still

Feel feverish pang and fainting chill,

Whose eye can stare in stony trance,

^i^i^hose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, 1 1 5

IV.]

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

'Tis hard for such to view, unfuiTd,

The curtain of the future world.

Yet, witness evevy quaking liiid),

My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim,

My soul with harrowing anguish torn, 120

This for my Chieftain liave I boi-iie I —

The shapes that sought my fearful couch,

A human tongue may ne'er avouch •

No mortal man, — save he, who, bred

Between the living and the dead, 12;')

Is gifted ])eyond nature's law, —

Had 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, 130

But borne and bi'anded on my soul ; —

Which spills the foremost fokman's life.

That party conquers in the strife."

VII.

" Thanks, Brian, f(jr thy zeal and care :
Good is thine augury, and fair.
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, —
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,
Till, in deep path or dingle brown,

135

140

145

SCOTT.

[Canto

1 ;

i|i^

He light on thoso sliall hriiiij liiin down.

But see, who conies liis news to show !

j\[;ilis»^ ! wliJit tuUngs of the foe T' —

vni.

" At Douno, oVr ni.vny a spoar and glaivo 150

Two Barons proud tlieir banners wave.

I saw the JMoi-ay's silver star,

And mark'd the sable pale of !Mar."

" liy Ali)iiio'3 soul, high tidings those !

I love to hear of worthy foes. 155

AVhon move tliey on ? " — '' To-morrow's noon

Will see them here for battle boune." —

"Then sliall it see a meeting stern ! —

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn

Nougiit of the friendly clans of Earn 1 IGO

Strengthened by them, we well might hide

The battle on B(Miledi"s side.

Thou couldst not I well I Clan- Alpine's men

Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen ;

"Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll tight, 165

All in our maids' and matrons' sight,

Each for his hearth and lujusehold fire,

Father for child, and son for sire,

Lover for mai<l belo\ed ! — But why —

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 170

Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear !

A messenger of doubt or fear 1

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance

Unfix Benledi from his stance.

Than doubt or terror can pierce through 175

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dim !

'Tis stubborn as his trustv tarfje.

Each to his post — all know their charge."

IV.]

TIIK LADY OF TIIK LAKK.

The pibroch .sounds, tht; bands advance,
The broadswords gleam, the ])anners daiicr.
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.

I turn ine from the martial roar,

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

XX.

Where is the Douglas ]— he is gone ;
And Ellen sits on the grey stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ;
While vainly Allan's words of cheer
Are ponr'd 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 cow'd by the approaching storm.
I saw tlunr boats with many a light,
Floating the livelong yesternight.
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north ;
I mark'd at morn how close they ride.
Thick moor'd l)y 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 care
Some safe retrer^t for thee prepare 1 " —

185

IPO

195

200

205

8C0TT.

[Canto

IV.

Mli

BLLKN.

" N(», Allan, no ! Prctoxt so kind

iMy wakct'ul ternn's could nob blind.

W'licu in .such tender tone, yet <,'ruvo,

i)t)U^da.s a })arting blessing «;avc, 210

Tlio tear that glisten'd in liis oyo

Drown'd nob his purpose iix'd and iiigh.

My soul, thougli feniinino and weak,

Can imago his ; e'en as the lake,

Itself dl.sturb'd by slightest stroke, 215

lletlects the invulnefal)le rook.

lie hears report of battle rife,

lb' deems Iniusclf the cause of strife.

I saw him redden, when the theme

Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream 220

Of Malcolm (b-icmo in fetters bound

Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.

Tliiid\"st thou he trow'd thine omen auijrht ?

Oh no ■? 'twas aj)prehensive thought

For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 225

(Let me be just) that friend so true ;

In danger both, and in our cause !

J^linstrel, the ])ouglas dare not pause.

Why else that solenni warniiii; L'iven,

' If not on eartli, we meet in heaven ! ' 230

AVliy else, to Cam])us-Kenneth's fane,

If eve retui'n him not again,

Am T to hie, and make me known 1

Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne.

Buys his friend's safety with liis own ; — 235

He goes to do — what t had dojie,

Had Douglas' daughter been his son ! " —

IV.]

TIIK I-AhY (U* TIIK LAKK.

XI.

Nay, lovely Ellen ! — doaresl, nay !
Tf aught should his return delay,
lie only named yon holy fann 240

As fitting place to meet again.
Do sure he's safe ; and tor the Giwrne, —
Heaven's hlessing on his gallant naiiwi ! —
My vision'd sight may yet prove true.
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 245

When did my gifti'd dream beguile?
Think ot' the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow
That pi'(!saged this approaching woe I
Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 250

Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot !
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I knov/ —
] )ear lady, change that look of woe, 255

My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." —

ELLEN.

" Well, he it as thou wilt ; I hear.

But caimot stop the bursting tear."

The IVlinstrel tried his simple art,

But distant far waj Ellen's heart. 260

XIL
ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing,

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry.
And the hunter's horn is ringing.

-;3i?w-"

SCOTT.

" O Alice Brand, iny native land

Is lost for love of you ;
And we musfc hold by wood and wold,

As outlaws wont to do.

"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright.
And 'twas all for tliiiie eyes so blue,

That on the lu'ght of our luckless ilight,
Thv brother bold I slew.

" Now must I teach to hew the beech,
The hand that lield the glaive,

For leaves to spread our lowly bed.
And stakes to fence our cave.

[Canto
265

270

275

" And for vest of pall, thy finger small.

That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer,

To keep the cold away." — 280

" O Richard I if my brother died,

'Twas but a fatal clia,nce ;
For darkling was the battle tried,

And fortune sped iIk^ Lmce.

'■ If ])all and vair no more 1 wear,
Nor thou the crunson sheen,

As warm, m-c'II suy, is the I'usset grey,
As gay the forest-green.

"And, liieharti. if our lot be hard,

And lost thy native l;ind,
Still Alice has her own Jiichard,

And he his Alice Brand."

285

290

265

IV.]

270

275

280

285

290

295

THE LADY OF THE! LAKE.
XIII.

^villnl) ronttnucb.
'Tis merry, 'ois merry, in good greenwood,

So blithe Lady Alice is singing ;
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,

Lord llichard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Eltin King,

AVho wonn'd within the hill, —
Like wind in the porch of a riiin'd church,

His voice was ghostly shrill.

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech an<l oak,

Our moonlight circle's screen 1
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 1

" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie.

For thou wert christen'd man ;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly.

For mutter'd word or ban.

" Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart.

The curse of the sleepless eye ;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part,

Nor yet find leave to die."

XIV.

^allab continucb.
'Tis merry, 'tis nuM-ry, in good greenwood,

Tliough the birds have still'd their singing ;
The evening blaze doth Alice raise.

And llichard is fagots bringing.

300

305

310

315

iiijf

SCOTT. [Canto

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,

Before J^ord Kichard stands, 320

And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself,
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,

" That is made with bloody hands."

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,

That woman void of fear, — 325

'' And if there's blood upon his hand,

'Tis but the blood of deer." —

" ]Sow loud tiiou liest, thou bold of mood !

Id cleaves unto his hand,
The staui of thine owii kindly blood, 330

The bloo.l of Ethert Brand."

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,

And made the holy sign, -
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand,

A spotless hand is mine. 335

"And I conjure thee. Demon elf,

By Him whom Demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself.

And what Ihine errand here]"

XV.

IV.]

340

^allnb coutinufb.

" 'Tis merr} , 'tis merry, in Fairy-land,

When faii'Y ])irds ace sini/inir,
Wiien tlio court doth ride by their monai-ch's .side,

With bit .ind bridle ringing :

NTO

320

IV.]

325

330

335

340

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

" And gaily shines the Fain/dand —

Buu 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,
Who now like knight and lady seem,

And now like dwarf and ape.

345

350

360

" It was between the night and day,

When the Fairy King has pow er,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away 355

To the joyless Elfin bower.

" But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mold.

As fair a form as thine."

She cross'd him once— she cross'd him twice—

That lady was so brave ;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ; 365

He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish mold,

Her brother, ]bthert Brand !

Merry it is in good greenw^ood,

When the mavis and merle are singing, 370

But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,

When all the bells were ringing.

SCOTT.

[Canto

1 I,

■ ; ,

XVI.

Just ns tlio iiiinstrol sounds wore staid,

A str.'ingor cliinhd tlio stcepy '^flude ;

His martial stiip, his stately mien, 375

His hunting suit of Lincoln green,

Jlis eaijflo <dance, roniembranco claims —

'Tis Snowdoun'.s Knight, 'tis James Fit /-James.

Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream : 380

" () stranger ! in such hcur of fear,

AV'liat evil hap has brought thee here ?" —

" An evil hap how can it be,

Tliat oids me k)(»k again on thee ?

By promise bound, my former guide 385

iNFet me betimes this morning tide,

And marshaird, over bank and bourne.

The lia}>]>y path of my return." —

" The happy path ! — what ! said he nougiit

Of M-;ir, of battle to he fought, 390

Of guarded pass ? "--" No, by my faith !

Nor saw 1 au'dit could auffur scathe." —

" O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,

— Yondt^r his tartans I discern ;

Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 395

That he will guide the stranger sure ! —

What pi'ompted thee, unhappy man 1

The meanest serf in Roderick's clan

Had not been bribed by love or fear.

Unknown to liim to <,^uide thee here."

400

XVII.

"Sweet Kllen, dear my life must l)e,
Since it is v.Mrthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,

IV.]

TIIK LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

When love or honour's weigli'd witli death.

Then let me profit by my chance, 405

And speak my purpose bold at once.

I come to bear thee from a wild,

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled ;

By this soft hand to lead thee far

From frantic scenes of feud and wai-. 410

Near Bochastle my horses \vait ;

They bear us soon to Stirling gate.

I'll place thee in a lovely bower,

I'll ijuard thee like a tender flower " —

" O ! hush, Sir Knight ! 'twere female art, 415

To say I do not read thy heart ;

Too much, before, my selfish ear

Was idly soothed my praise to hear,

That fatal bait hath lured thee back.

In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ; 420

And how, O how, can I atone

The wreck my vanity brought on ! -

One way remains — I'll tell him all —

Yes ! struiiirlinj; bosom, forth it shall !

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 425

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame !

But first— my fatli#r is a man

( )utlaw'd and exil'd, under ban ;

The price of blood is on his head.

With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 130

Still would'st thou speak I —then hear the truth !

Fitz-James, thci'o is a nol)le youth, —

If yet he is I — exposed for me

And mine to dread extremity —

Thou hast the secret of my heai t ; 435

Forgive, be generous, and depart ! "

1)6

at;oT'r.

[Canto

XVIII.

Fit/ Jjunos knew every wily traii\

A l.ulys tic'kl«i heart to gain,

lint liere lie knew and felt them vuin.

Thei-e shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 440

To gi\e her steadfast speech the lie ;

In maiden eonfidence she stood,

Though mantled in her cheek the blood,

And told her love with such a sigh

Of de(>p and hopeh^ss agony, 445

As (h>ath had st'al'd her Malcolm's doom,

And sh(» sat sorrowing on his tomb.

Hope vanisird from Fitz-James's eye,

J->iit not with hope tied sympathy.

He protTer'd to attend her side, 450

As brother would a sister guide. —

'• (.) ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart !

Safer for both we go apart.

O haste thee, and from Allan learn.

If thou mayst trust yon wily kern." 455

With hand upon his forehead laid,

The conlliet of his mind to shade,

A ])arting stcj^ oi- t*N o he made ;

Then, as some thought had cross'd his })rain.

He paus'd, and turn'd, and came again. 460

xi\.

*' Hear, lady yt^ a parting word I —
It I'liaiu'ed in tight that my poor sword
Pres«'r\('d \\\o life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful ^Monarch gave,
And bade, when T had boon to crave.
To bring it back, and boldlv claim

465

STO

IV.]

TlIK LADY OF Til.. LAKE.

440

445

450

455

Tlie recompense that I would name.

Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

f>ut one who lives by lance and sword.

Whose castle is his helm and shield, 470

His lordship the embattled field.

What from a prince can I demand,

Who neither reck of state nor land 1

Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thin(^ ;

Each guard and usher knows the sign. 475

Seek thou the king without 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 golden circlet on, 480

Paused — kiss'd her hand — and then was gone.

The aged Minstrel stood aghast,

So hastily Fitz-James shot past.

He join'd his guide, and wending down

The ridges of the mountain brown, 485

Across the stream they took their way,

That jc^'ns Loch Katrine to Achray.

XX.

460

465

All in the Trosach's glen w\as still.

Noontide w^as sleeping on the hill :

Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 490

" Murdoch ! was that a signal ciy 1" —

He stammer'd forth — " I shout to scare

Yon raven from his dainty fare."

He look'd— he knew the ravtMi's prey,

His own brave steed : — " All ! gallant grey ! 495

For thee —for mo, perchance — 'twere well

We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. —

SCOTT.

[Canto

IMur(l()(;li, movo first — but silently ;
Whistle or w lio(>|), and tiioii shalt die ! "
Jealous and sullen ou they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.

500

XXI.

Now wound the })ath its dizzy ledgo

Ai'ound a precipice's edge,

When lo ! a wasted female form,

P>lighted by wrath of sun and storm, 605

In tatter'd weeds and wild array.

Stood on a cliff beside the way.

And glancing round her restless eye.

Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,

Seem'd nought to mark, yet all to spy. 510

Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom ;

With gesture wild she waved a plume

Of feathers, which the eagles fling

To crag and cliff from dusky wing ;

Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 515

AVI 1 ere scarce was footing for the goat.

The tartan plaid she first descried,

And shriek 'd till all the rocks replied ;

As loud she laugh 'd when near they drew,

For then tlie Lowland garb she knew ; 520

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 strain'd and roughen'd, still 525

Kung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

IV.J

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

XXII.

They bid lue sleep, they bid me pray,

They say my brain is warp'd and wrung —

I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot piay in Highland tongue. 530

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 my wintry day !

'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 535
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 drown'd in blood the morning smile ! 540

And woe betide the fairy dream !

I only waked to sob and scream.

XXIII.

'* Who is this maid 1 what means her lay"?

She hovers o'er the hollow way,

And flutters wide her mantle grey,

As the lone heron spreads his wing,

By twilight, o'er a haunted spring."

" 'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,

" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,

Ta'en on the morn she v/as a bride,

When Roderick foray'd Devan-sitle.

The gay bridegroom resistance made,

And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.

545

550

100

SCOTT.

[Canto

Meet signal for their revelry." —

501

T inurvcl she is now at lur^e,

But, oft slio 'sea}>es from MaiidHn's charge. - ^)')b

lleiiee, Inviiii-sick fool ! " II'' raised his bow : —

" Now, if thoii .^Irik'sl her l»ut one hlow,

T'll piteh thee fi'oni the clifVas far

As ever peasant ]iitcird a bar I " —

"Tlianks, champion, thanks," the Maniac cried.

And press'd her to Fitz-Janies's side.

" See the grey pennons I pi-epare,

To seek my true-love through tlu^ air !

T will not lend that savage groom,

To break his fall, one downy plume !

No ! — deep amid disjointed stones,

The wolves shall batten on his bones,

And then shall his detested plaid,

By bush and brier in mid air staid.

Wave forth a banner fair and free,

5G5

570

XXIV.

" Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still ! " —
" O ! thou look'st kindly, and I v. ill. —
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln green ;
And, though mine ear is all unstrung,
8till, still it loves the Lowland tongue.

" For my sweet William was forester true.
He stole poor Blanche's henrt away !

His coat it was all of the greenwood hue.
And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay !

" Tt was not that I meant to tell . . .
But thou art wise, and guessest well."
Then, in a low and bi-oken tone.

575

580

jf)

•V] TIIK LADY OF TIIK LAKK. ]()]

And hurriod noto, tho song went on. 585

Still on tho Clansman fearfully

Slic5 fix'd hor approhonsivo eyo ;

Then turn'd it on tlie Knight, and then

Her look glanced wildly o'er the gien.

XXV.

" The toils are pitch'd, and tluj stakes are set, 590

Ever sing merrily, merrily ;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

Hunters live so cheerily.

" It was a stag, a stag of ten,

Bearing its branches sturdily ; 695

He came stately down the glen, —

Ever sing hardily, hardily.

" It was there he met with a wounded doe.

She was l^leeding deathfully ;
She warn'd hira of the toils below, 600

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

XXVI.

Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd.
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ;
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction brought.-
Not like a stag that spies the snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,

610

102

SCOTT.

[Canto

H<5 waved ut om-e his hlado on lii«;li,

" DisoloHc tliy trcacliery, or die ! "

Forth at full speed the Clansman Hew,

Hut in Ids race his bow he drew. 615

The shaft just ^'razed Fit/James's cn\st,

And thrili'd in Jilanche's faded breast, —

Murdoch of Al])ine ! prove thy s})eed,

For ne'er hud Alpine's son such need !

With heart of fii-e, and foot of wind, 620

The fierce aven^'er is behind !

Fate judges of the rapid strife —

The forfeit death — the prize is life !

Thy kindred ambush lies before,

Close couchM U[)on the heathery moor ; 625

Them couldst thou reach ! — it may not })e —

Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt set^,

The fiery Saxon i,^•uns on thee !

— Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,

As lightning strikes the ])ine to dust ; 630

AVitli foot and hand Fitz- James must strain

Ere he can win his blade again.

Bent o'er the falln, with falcon eye.

He grimly smiled to see him ilie ;

Then slower wended back his way, 635

Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

XXVII.

She sate beneath the birchen tree,

Her elbow resting on her knee ;

She had withdrawn tli(? fatal shaft,

And gazed on it, and feebly laugh 'd ; 640

Her wreath of bioom and feathers grey

Daggled with blood, ])eside her lay.

The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried, —

IV.]

TMK LAI»Y OF TIIK I.AKK.

10"5

'• Stranger, it is in vain ! " she criod.

" Tliis hour of death lias given nu' more G45

Of reason's power than yeai's lieforo ;

F'or, as tlieso el)l)ing v('ins decay,

My frenzied visions fa<le away.

A helpless injured wretch T die.

And something tells mo in thine eye, 6.00

That thou wert mine avenger horn. —

Seest thou this tress? — O ! still J've worn

This little tress of yellow hair,

Through danger, frenzy, and despaii- !

It once was bright and clear as thine, 655

But hlood and tears have dimm'd its shine;.

I will not tell thee wlien 'twas .shred.

Nor from what guiltless victim's head —

My l)rain would turn ! — bub it shall wavo

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 ! —

! by thy knighthood's honour'd 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 plum(».

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 thee by pass and fell . . .

Avoid the path . . . O God ! . . . farewell."

XX VI II.

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James ; 675

Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's claims ;

ir^'^

104

SCOTT.

[L'

ANTO

ifil!

And now, witli minified grief and ire,

Ho .saw the niurderVi maid expire.

" God, in my need, be my relief.

As i wreak tliis on yonder Cliief ! " 680

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair

lie l)len(ied with her bridegroom's hair ;
'I'lie minified braid in blood he dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet-side :

" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear, 685

No other favour will I wear,

Till this sad token I imbrue

Tn t he best blood of Roderick Dhu !

— But hark ! what means yon faint halloo 1

The chase is up, — but they shall know, 690

The stag at bay's a dangerous foe."

Rarr'd from the known but guarded way,

Through copse and cliflfs Fitz-James must stray,

And oft must change his desperate track,

By stream and precip^'<'e turn'd back, 695

Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length.

From lack of food and loss of strentrth.

He couoh'd him in a thicket hoar,

And thought his toils and perils o'er : —

" Of all my rash adventures past, 700

This frantic ff^at must prove the last !

AVho e'er so mad but might have guess'd,

That all this Highland hornet's nest

^\'ould mr-rer up in swarms so soon

As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ? — 705

Lik«^ bloodhounds now they search me out. —

Hark, to the wliistle and the shout ; — r

If farther through tlie wilds I ('o,

1 only fall upon the loe :

IV.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

I'll couch me here till evening grey,
Then darkling try my dangerous way."

105
710

XXIX.

The shades of eve came slowly down,

The woods are wrapt in deeper brown,

The owl awakens from her dell,

The fox is heard upon the fell ; 715

Enough remains of glimmering light

To guide the wand(;rer'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,

Temper'd the midnight mountain air,

But every breeze, that swept the wold,

Benumb'd his drenclied limbs with cold.

In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,

Tangled and steep, he journey'd on ;

Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd.

A watch-fire close before him burn'd. 730

725

XXX.

Beside its embers, red and clear,
Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer ;

And up he sprung with sword in hand,

" Thy name and purpose ! Sax(. 1, stand ! "
" A stranger." " What dost tliou require ?
" Rest and a guide, and food and fire.
IMy life's beset, my path is lost,
The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost."

'35

I
I

VT--

106

SCOTT.

i !

[Canto

" Art thou a friend to Roderick I " " No."

" Thou darest not call thyself a foe '? " 740

" I dare ! to him and all the band

He brings to aid his murderous hand."

*' pjold words ! — but, though the beast of game

The privilege of chase may claim,

Though space and law the stag we lend, 745

Ere hound we slip, or l)ow we bend.

Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when.

The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain 1

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie.

Who say thou earnest a secret spy 1 " 750

*'They do, by heaven I — Come Roderick Dhu,

And of his clan the ])oldest two,

And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest.''

" Tf by the blaze 1 mark aright, 755

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."

" Tiien by these tokens may'st thou know

Eacli proud oppressor's mortal foe." —

" Enough, enough ; sit down and share

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 760

XXXI.

He gave him of his Highland cheer.

The harden'd tl<'sh of mountain deer ;

Thy fuel on the fire he laid,

And bade the Saxon share his plaid.

He tended him like wclccmie guest, 765

Then thus his further speech address'd :

" Stranger, I am to P»odei-ick Dhu

A clansman born, a kinsman true ;

Each word against his honour spoke,

Demands of me avenging stroke ; 770

IV.]

THE LADY OF THK LAKE.

107

Yet more, -upon thy fate, 'tis said,

A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn, —

Thou art with numl)ers overborne ;

It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 775

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 lioly name ; 780

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,

Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 786

As far as Coilantogle's ford ;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."

*' I take thy ^ourtesy, by heaven,

As freely as 'uis nobly given ! " 790

" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."

With that he shook the gather'd heath,

And spread nis plaid upon the wreath ;

And the brave foemen, side by side, 795

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried.

And slept until the dawning beam

Purpled the mountain and the stream.

ir-'

los

S( 'OTT.

[Canto

CANTO FIFTH.

%\\t Cnmbnt.

\\ \

Fair as tlio earliest beam of eastern light,

AVlieii first, l»y the bewilder'd pilgrim spied,
Tt smiles upon the dreary brow of night.

And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide.
And lights the fefirful path on mountain-side ; — 5

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,
(ii\ing to horror grace, to danger pride,

Sliiiio martial faith, and Courtesy's bright star,
Through all th(? wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War.

II.

That early beam, so fair and sheen,
Was twinkling through the hazel screen.
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly })ed,
Look'd out upon the dappled sky,
INlutter'd their soldier matins ])y.
And then awaked their fire, to steal.
As short and rude, their soldier meal.
That o'er, the Gael around him threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way.
By thicket green and mountain grey.
A Nvilderijig path !--they winded now
Along the preci})ice's brow,
ConnnaiHling the I'ich scenes V)eneath,
Tlic windings of th(5 Foi'th and Teith,
Ai.d all the vales Ix^tween that lie,

[Canto

of War.

lili

j ■

•«

-s:

v.]

THE I.ADY OF THE LAKli

109

Till Stirling's turrets melt in sk^

en.

furthest irl;

icst glance

1, sunk m copse, then- tni
Gain'd not the length of hoi'seiiKiM's hinco
'Twas oft so steep, tlie foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to irain ;
So tangled oft, that, bursting through,
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew.
That diamond dew, so puie and clcai-.
It rivals all but Beauty's tear !

35.

III.

■s:
u

c
^

3
^

At length they came where, stei-n and steep.

The hill sinks down upon the deep.

Here Yennachar in silver flows.

There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ;

Ever the hollow path twined on.

Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ;

A hundred men might hold the post

With hardihood against a host.

The rugged mountain's scanty cloak

Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak.

With shingles bare, and cliffs between,

And patches bright of bracken green,

And heather black, that waved so hiiih.

It held the copse in rivalry.

But where the lake slept dt ep and still.

Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ;

And oft both path and hill were torn,

Where wintry torrents down had liorue.

And heap'd upon the cumber'd land

Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.

So toilsome was the road to trace.

The guide, abating of his pace.

Led slowly through the pass's jaws.

.-•-T'

110

SCOTT.

[Canto

And Hsk'd Fitz-Janios, hy wliat strange c
He soiigJit these wilds? ii-aversed hy few,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhii.

cause

ill

IV.

" Bi"ive Gael, my pass,, in danger tried.
Hangs in my ])elt, and by my side ;
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said,
" I dreamt not now to claim its aid.
Whim here, but three days since, I came,
Bewilder'd in pursuit of game,
All seem'd as peaceful and as still,
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ;
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,
Nor soon expected back from Mar.
Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide.
Though deep perchance the villain lied."
" Yet why a second venture try ? "

" A warrior thou, and ask me why !

Moves our free course by such fix'd cause
As gives the poor mechanic laws 1
Enough, I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day;
Slight cause will then suffice to guide
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide,—
A falcon flown, a greyhound stray'd.
The merry glance of mountain maid :
Or, if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone."

" Thy secret keep, T urge thee not;—
Yet, ei-e again ye sought this spot.
Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war,

NTO

\^-]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Ill

Against Clan-Alpine, rais'd by IM.-ir ? "

— " No, ])y niy word ;— of l)aii(Is ])fep;i,re(l f"

To guard King James's sports T licai-d ;

Nor doubfc I aught, l)ut, when they hear

This muster of the mountaineer,

Their pennons will abroad be flung,

Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." — 95

" Free be they flung ! for we were loth

Their silken folds should feast the moth.

Free be they flung !— as free shall wave

Clan- Alpine's pine in banner brave.

Bat, Stranger, peaceful since you came, 100

Bewilder'd in the mountain game,

Whence the bold boast by which you show

Vich- Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ? " —

" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew

Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 105

Save as an outlaw'd desperate man.

The chief of a rebellious clan.

Who, in the Regent's court and sight.

With ruflian dagger stabb'd a knight :

Yet this alone might from his part 110

Sever each true and loyal heart."

Wrothful at such arraignment foul,

Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowl.

A space he paused, then sternly said,

" And heard'st thou why he drew his blade 1 115

Heard'st thou, that shameful word and blov,

Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe 1

What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood

On Highland heath, ov IToly-Rood 1

He i-ights such wrong where it is given, 120

112

•!ii

SCOTT.

Tf i( were in the court of li('u\(;n." —
" Si ill was it, oiitiaijc ; yet, 'tis t nio,
Not (lieu claiinM soNcrcigiily liis due ;
Whiles .All)aiiy, witli tV'chIo luind,
McM IxMi'ow M I ninchcon of coinmnnd,
Tlio yomii; Kini(, imswM in Stirling tower,
AN'.is stranger to respect and power.
lUit then, thy Chieftain's rol)l>er life ! —
Winning mean l)rey by causeless strife,
Wrenching fi'oni riiin'd Lowland swain
J I is herds and hai vest rear'd in vain. —
Metliitdcs a soul, lik(^ thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray ])orne."

[Canto

125

130

]\^

VII.

The Gael l)eheld him grim the while.

And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 135

"Saxon, fron. yonder mountain high,

T mai'k'd thee send delighted eye.

Far to the south and east, where lay.

Extended in .succession gay.

Deep waving fields and pastures green, 140

With gentle slopes and groves between : —

These fei'tile plains, that soften'd vale,

Were once the birthright of the (lael ;

The stranger came witli iron hand.

And from our fatliers reft the land. 145

Where dwell we now 1 Hee, rudely swell

Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.

Ask we this savage hill we tread,

For fatten'd steer or household l)read.

Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 150

And well the mountain might reply, —

* To you, as to your sires of yoj-e,

v.]

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKK.

113

BoloMg tlio target .and clayniore !

J givo you sludtcr in my breast,

Your own good ))lad()s must win tlu; rest.' 155

Pent in this fortress of the Noilii,

Think'st thou we will not sally forth,

To spoil the spoiler as we may,

And from the robber rend the prey /

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 160

The Saxon reai's one shock of urrain ;

Whih^, of teji thousand herds, there sti'ays

But one along yon river's mjr:e, —

The Giw], of plain and river heir,

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his shar*'. 165

Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold

That plundering Lowland field and fold

Is aught but retribution true ?

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Bhu." —

VIII.

Answer'd Fitz-James,— " And, if I sought, 170

Think'st thou no other could be lirouirht i

What deem ye of my path waylaid 1

My life given o'er to ambuscade 1 " —

" As of a meed to rashness due :

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 175

I seek my hound, or falcon stray'd,

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, —

Free hadst thou been to come and <;o ;

But secret path marks secret foe.

Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 180

Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die,

Save to fulfil an augury." —

" W^ell, let it pass ; nor will I now

Fresh cause of enmity avow.

Ill

SCOTT. [Canto

To cliafc tliy mood and cloud (liy hrow. 185

I^Jioiiyli, I am l)y promis(3 tiod

To match mo witli this man of pride :

Twico havo 1 .sou^dit Clan Alpine's ^lon

In jKiaco ; but when I como a^'ain,

I como with ))anm'r, brand, and l)ow, 190

As leader seeks his mortal foe.

For love-lorn swain, in lady's l)ower,

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour.

As I, until iteforo nu. stand

This rebel chieftain and his band ! " 195

IX.

" Havo, then, thy wish ! " — He whistled shrill,

And he was answer'd from the hill ;

Wild <is the scream of the curlew,

From crag to crag the signal flew.

Instant, through copse and heath, arose 200

Bonnets atid spears and bended bows ;

On right, on left, al)Ove, below.

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ;

From shingles giey their lances start,

The bracken bush sends forth the dart, 205

The rushes and the willow-wand

Are bristling into axe and brand.

And every tuft of })room gives life

To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.

That whistle garrison'd the glen 210

At once with full five hundred men.

As if the yawning hill to heaven

A subterranean host liad given.

\\ atching their leader's beck and will,

All silent there they stood, and still. 215

Lik« the loose crags wiM)se threat'tiing mass

VNTO

IH5

190

195

v.l

TIIK I,AI»V OF TIIK I, A KM.

115

Lay t()tt.friii<? oVr tlio hollow pass,

As if an iiif.iiil's loiicli coiild xwjft^

Their ht'.'ulloMg |)as.su<;(^ (lown the v«m';^(!,

With step and ',v»'ap(>ii forwai'd Ihuiij, L*'JO

Upon (1m; mou.itaiii sidii they iiun^.

'rh(! iMoiiii(niii(!C'r cast glance of pride

Along licnlcfh's living sido,

Then fix'd his eye and sal)le brow

Full on Fit/-Janies — ''How say'sb thou now ( 225

'I'liese are Clati-Alpino's warrioi's true ;

And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu ! "

200

205

210

215

Fitz-Jaines was hi-ave : — Though to his heart

The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start,

He niann'd liimself with dauntless air, 230

Keturn'd the Chi(;f his haughty stare.

His back against a rock ho bore,

And fii-ndy j)laced his foot before : —

" Come one, come all ! this rock shall tly

From its firm base as soon as I." 235

Sir ]{o(lerick mark'd — and in his eyes

Kespect was mingl(Hl with surprise,

And the stern joy which warriors feel

In foemen worthy of their steel.

Short space he stood— then waved his hand : 2 10

Down sunk the disappearing ])an(l ;

Each warrior vanisli'd where he stood,

Tn br(K»m or bracken, heath or wood ;

Suid-c bi'and and spear and ])ended bow,

In osiers pale and copses low ; 245

It seem'd as if their mother Earth

Had swallow'd up her warlike birth.

The wind's last breath had toss'd in air.

116

SCOTT.

[Canto

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, —

The next but swept a lone hill-side, 250

Where heath and fern were waving wide :

The sun's last glance was glinted back

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, —

The next, all unrefiected, shone

On bracken green, and cold grey stone. 255

XI.

Fitz-James look'd round — yet scarce believed

The witness that his sight recei\'tid ;

Such apparition well might seem

Delusion of a dreadful dream.

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 260

And to his look the Chief replied :

*' Fear nought — nay, that I need not say —

But — doubt not auo;ht from mine array.

TLou art my guest ; — I pledged my word

As far as Coilantogle ford : 265

Nor would I call a clansman's brand

For aid against one valiant hand,

Though on our strife lay every vale

Rent l)v the Saxon from the Oael.

So move we on ; I only meant 270

To show the reed on which you leant.

Deeming this path you might pursue

Withoat a pass from Rodei'ick Dliu."

They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave.

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 275

Yet dare not say, that now his blood

Kept on its wont and temper'd flood.

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew

That seeming lonesome pathway through,

Wliiclv yet, by fearful proof, was rife 280

\NTO

v.i

THK LADY OP THE LAKE.

117

250

255

260

With lances, that, to take his life,
Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonour'd and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanish'd guardians of the ground,
And still, from copse and heather deep.
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain,
The signal whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far behind
The pass was left ; for then they wind
Along a wide and level green,
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,
Nor rush nor ])ush of broom was near.
To hide a bonnet or a spear.

285

290

295

265

270

275

280

XIL

The Chief in silence strode before.

And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore.

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,

From Yennachar in silver breaks.

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 300

On Bochastle the mouldering lines.

Where Rome, the Empress of the world.

Of yore, her eagle wings unfurl'd.

And here his course the Chieftain staid.

Threw down his target and his plaid, 305

And to the Lowland warrior said —

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just,

Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.

This murderous Chief, tliis I'uthless man.

This JK^ad of a rebellious clan, 310

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward.

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.

118

SCOTT.

Canto

Now, man to man, and steel to steel,

A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand,

315

Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand :

For this is Coilantogle ford.

And thou must keep thee with thy sword.

XIII.

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delay'd.

When foeman bade me draw my blade ;

320

Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith.

And my deep debt for life preserved.

A better meed have well deserved :

Can nought but blood our feud atone ?

325

Are there no means ? " — " No, stranger, none ! §

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, —

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ;

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred

Between the living and the dead ;

330

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life,

His party conquers in the strife.' "

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said,

" The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath tlie dift] —

335

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate liatli solved her prophecy.

Then yield to Fate, and not to me.

To James, at Stirlinir, I'^t us m\

Wlien, if thou wilt be still his foe.

3t0

Or if the King sliall not agree

To grant thee grace and favoui- free.

I plight mine honour, oath, .-ind woi'd,

That, to thy native strengths restored,

NTO

V.J

315

320

325

530

J35

JIO

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 119

With each advantage shalt thou stand, 345

That aids thee now to guard thy land."

XIV.

Dark lightning flash'd from Iloderick's (»ye —

" Soars thy presumption, then, so high,

Because a wretched kern ye slew.

Homage to name to Roderick Dliu ? 350

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate !

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : —

My clansinan's blood demands revenge.

Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, T cliange

My thought, and hold thy valour liglit 355

As that of some vain carpet knight,

Who ill deserved my courteous care,

And whose best boast is but to wear

A braid of his fair lady's hair." —

" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 3G0

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ;

For I have sworn this l)raid to stain

In the best blood that warms thy vein.

Now, truce, farewell ! and, rutli, ])og<)ne ! —

Yet think not that by thee alone, 3G5

Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ;

Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn.

Start at my whistle clansmen stern,

Of this small horn one feeljle l)last

Would fearful odds against thee cast. 370

But fear not — doubt not — wliieli tliou wilt —

We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."

Then each at once his falchion drew,

Each on the ground his scal)l)ai'd threw,

Each look'd to sun, and sti'eiun, and pbiiii, 375

As what they ne'er might sec again ;

III!!

120

SCOTT.

[Canto

i 1

I i

I '

it'

Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed.

XV.

Til fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dash'd aside ;
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's bhide was sword and shield.
Jle practised every pass and ward.
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintain'd unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Haxon blade drank blood ;
No stinted draught, no scanty tide.
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain.
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain ;
And, as firm rock or castle-roof
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill ;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his bi'and
Forced Roderick's weapon frora his hand.
And backward borne upon the lea.
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

380

385

390

395

400

XVI.

" Now, yield thee, or l»y Him who made

The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! "

" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 405

Let recreant yield, who fears to die,"

rxo

v.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

121

— Like adder darting from his coil,

Like wolf that dashes through th(; toil,

Like mountain-cat who guards her young.

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; 410

Received, but reck'd not of a wound.

And lock'd his arms his foenian round. —

Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own !

No maiden's hand is round thee thrown I

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 115

Through bars of brass and triple steel ! —

They tug, they strain ! down, down tliey go.

The Gael above, Fitz-James below.

The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd.

His knee was planted on his breast ; 420

His clotted locks he backward threw.

Across his brow his hand he drew.

From blood and mist to clear his sight.

Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! —

— But hate and fury ill supplied 425

The stream of life's exhausted tide.

And all too late the advantage came,

To turn the odds of deadly game ;

For, while the dagger gleam'd on high

Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and 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 ;

Unwounded from the dreadful close, 435

But breathless all, Fitz- James arose.

XVII.

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life,
Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ;

122

[Canto

Next on his foe his look lie cast,

Wliose every gasp appoar'd his hist ; 440

In lloderick's gore he dippVl the Ijraid, —

" Poor Bhmche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid ;

Yet with thy foe must die, or live,

The praise that Faith and Valour give."

"With that he blew a bugle note, 445

Undid the collar from his throat,

Unbonneted, and by the \va\e

Sate down his brow and hands to lave.

Then faint afar are heard the feet

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 450

The sounds increase, and now are seen

Four mounted squires in Lincoln gi'een ;

Two who bear lance, and two who lead,

By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed ;

Each onward held his headlong course, 455

And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse, —

With wonder view'd the bloody spot —

— " Exclaim not, gallants ! question not.

You, Her))ert 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 ])i-ing him on to Stirling straight ;

I will before at lietter speed.

To seek fresh horse and fitting Aveed. 465

The sun rides high ;— I must Ik^ boune.

To see the archer-game at noon ;

But lightly Bayai-d clears the lea. —

De Vaux and llerries, follow me.

XVIII.

" Stand, I'ayard, stand ! " — the steed obey'd, 470
With archin<; neck and bended head.

V.J

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

123

And glancing eye and quivering ear,

As if he loved his lord to hear.

No foot Fitz-Janies in stirrup staid,

No grasp upon the sarldle laid, 475

But wreath'd his left hand in the mane,

And lightly bounded from the })lain,

Turn'd on the horse his armed heel,

And stirr'd his courage with the steel.

Bounded the fiery steed in air, 4(^0

The rider sate erect and fair,

Then like a bolt from steel crossbow

Forth launch'd, along the plain they go.

They dasli'd that rapid torrent through,

And up Carhonie's hill they flew ; 485

Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight,

His merry-men follow'd as they might.

Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride,

And in the race they mock thy tide ;

Torry and Lendrick now are past, 490

And Deanstown lies behind them cast ;

They rise, the banuer'd towers of Doune,

They sink in distant woodland soon ;

Blair- Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire.

They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 495

They mark just glance and disappear

The lofty brow of ancient Kier ;

They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides,

Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides.

And on the opposing shore take gi-ound, 500

With plash, with scramble, and with bound.

Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig- Forth !

And soon the bulwark of the North,

Grey Stirling, with her towers and town.

Upon their fleet career look'd down. 505

-rr"

124

SCOTT.

[Canto

'(iii

XIX.

As up the flinty path they .stmhi'd,

Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ;

A signal to his squire he flung,

AVho instant to his stirrup sprung: —

*' Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gr<;y, 510

Who town-ward holds the rocky way,

Of stature tall and poor array ]

]\lark'st thou the firm, yet active stride,

With which he scales the mountain-side \

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom V

" No, by my word; — a burly groom 516

He seems, who in the field or chase

A baron's train would nobly grace." —

" Out, out, De Yaux ! can fear supply,

And jealousy, no sharper eye? 520

Afar, ere to the hill he drew,

That stately form and step I knew ;

Like form in Scotland is not seen,

Treads not such step on Scottish green.

'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle ! 525

The uncle of the ])anish'd Earl.

Away, away, to court, to show

The nea^' a})proach of dreaded foe :

The King must stand upon his guard ;

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 530

Then i-ight-hand wheel'd their steeds, and straight

They won the castle's postern gate.

XX.

The Douglas, who h.'id bent his way
From Cambus-Keinieth's abbey grey
Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf,

535

v.]

TTIK LADY OF TIIH LAKE.

125

Held Scad coramunion with Idniself : -

"Yes ! all is true my fears could fnuiH^ ;

A prisoner lies the noble Ora'nic,

And fiery Roderick soon will feel

The vengeance of the royal steel. 540

Tj only I, can ward their fate, —

God grant the ransom come not late !

The al)bess hath her promise given,

My child shall be the bride of Heaven ; — •

— Be pardon'd one repining tear ! 545

For He, who gave her, knows h(nv dear,

How excellent ! — but that is by,

And now my business is — to die.

— Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread

A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 550

And thou, O sad and fatal mound !
That oft has heard the death-axe sound.
As on the noisiest of the land

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand,-—

The dungeon, block, and nameless toml)

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom !

— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ?

And see ! upon the crowded street,

In motley groups what mas(|uers meet !

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,

And merry morrice-dancers come.

I guess, by all this quaint array.

The burghers hold their sports to-day.

James will be there ; he loves such show, 5{')5

Where the good yeoman bends his ))ow,

And the tough wrestler foils his foe.

As well as where, in proud career.

The high-born tilter shivers spear.

555

5G0

•jr>

SCOTT.

I'll follow to tli(> Castle-park,

And j)l;iy my pri/.<! : Ki'ii,' .laiiios shall mark

If a,<,'o lias taiiH'd tlicsfi sinews Hturk,

Whose fnr-cc; so oft, in ha})i)ifU' (lays,

Jlis hoyish woiulc'r loved to praise."

[Canto

Tlie Castle gates were open flung, 575

The (piivering draw-bridge rock'd and rung.

And echoVl hjud the Hint y street

Beneath the coursei's' clattering feet,

As slowly down the steep descent

Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 580

While all along the crowded way

Was jubilee and loud huzza.

And ever James was bending low,

To his white jennet's saddlebow,

Dorting his cap to city dame, 585

Who smiled and blush'd for pride and shame.

And well the simperer Miight be vain, —

He chose the fairest of the train.

Gravely he greets each city sire,

Commends each pageant's quaint attire, 590

Gives to the dancers thanks aloud.

And smiles and nods upon the crowd,

WHio rend the heavens with th(nr acclaims, —

" Long li\e the Connnons' King, King Ja.mes

Behind the Iving throng'd peer and knight,

And nijble dame and damsel bright.

Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay

r)f the steep str(»et and crowded way.

- Ihit in the train you might discern

Dark lowering brow and visage stern; GOO

595

v.]

THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 127

Thero nobles moiiiii'd their pi'ido i-estniiiiM,

And the mean hui'mliei-'s joys disduin'd ;

And cliiefs, wlio, lioslu^'*! for their cljin,

Were (^aeh from liome a hanisli'd man,

There thouglit upon their own grey tower, 005

Their waving woods, their feudal power,

And deem'd themselves a shameful part

Of pageant which they cursed in heart.

XXII.

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out

Their chequer'd bandc ohe joyous rout. 610

There morricers, with Ijell at heel,

And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ;

But chief, beside the butts, there stand

Bold Kobin Hood and all his band, —

Friar Tuck with quarterstaif and cowl, 615

Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl,

Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone,

Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ;

Their bugles 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 asfain.

His second split the first in twain.

From the King's hand nmst Douglas take 625

A silver dart, the archers' stake ;

Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye.

Some answering glance of sympathy, —

No kind emotion made reply !

Indiiferent as to archer wight, 630

The monarch gave the arrow bright.

IL'S

8COTT.

[Canto

will.

N<»\v, «'l»'iir the fill;; I for, Iwind to liand,

Tlie iiiaiily wrestlers tako their .stand.

Two o'er the resti superior rose,

And proud deiiiaiided mightier foes, G35

Nor caird in \ain ; for Douglas eanie.

— F(»r lite is Hugh of Larhert lame;

tSeai'e(5 ])ettei' .lohn of Alloa's far(!,

AVlioin senseless homo his comr.ules bare.

Prize of the wrestling match, the King 640

To Douglas gave a golden ring,

While coldly glanced his vyc, of blue,

As frozen di'op of wintry dew.

])ouglas would speak, but in his ])reast

His truggling soul his words supi)ress'd ; G45

Indignant then he turn'd hiiu where

Their arms the brawny yeomen bare,

To hurl the massive bar in air.

When each his utmost strength had shown,

The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 650

From its deep Ix'd, then heaved it high.

And sent the fragment through the sky,

A rood Ijeyond the farthest mark ;

And still in Stirling's royal park,

The gi'ey-hair'd sires, who know the past, 655

To strangers point the Douglas-cast,

And moralize on the decay

v)f Scottish strength in modern day.

\.\iv,

The vale with loud applauses rang.
The Ladies' Koek sent back the clanir.
The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd

660

NTO

v.]

TJIK hADY OK TIIK l.AKK.

129

G35

640

G45

650

655

A purs(» w«>ll fillM witli piocos l)n)Uil ;

ln(lii^n;irit smiled tlio Dou^^las proud,

And throw tlio gold .•iinoiig tho crowd,

W'Ikj now, willi ;iuxioua wonder, scan, 605

And sliurpcr gl;ince, tho dark grey man ;

Till whispers rose among (ho tlii-ong,

That licart so free, and liand so strong,

]M.ust to the Douglas blood hclong ;

The old men mark'd and shook tlu; head, 670

To see his hair with silver spread,

And wink'd asid(^, and t<jld each son,

()i feals upon the English done,

Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand

Was exiled from his native land. 675

The women prais'd his stately form,

Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm ;

The youth with awe and wonder saw

His strength surpassing Nature's law.

Thus judg(H], as is their wont, the crowd, 680

Till murmur rose to clamours loud.

Ijut not a glance from that proud ring

Of peers who circled round the King,

With Douglas held communion kind,

Or caird the banish'd man to mind ; 685

No, not from those who, at the chase.

Once held his side the h« !iour'd place,

Begirt his board, and, in the field,

Found safety underneath his shield ;

For he whom royal eyes disown, 600

When was his form to courtiers known !

660

XXV.

The monarch saw th(! gambols flag,

And bade let loose a gallant stag,
9

I 3-

\M)

R( ;OTT.

itll

[Canto

iiiiii

; 1

I'ii

AV hose prido, tlio holiday to ci-own,

Tun ravourite greylioiinds sliould pull down, 695

'J'liat venison fice, and JJouidcaux wine,

Might serve tlie ;uvlie)y to dine.

But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side

Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,

The fleetest hound in all the North,— 700

Brave Lufra saw, and djirted forth.

She left the royal hounds luid-way,

And dashing on the antler'd prey,

Sunk ]ier sliai-p niuxzle in his Hank,

And deon the 11(Avini>' life-blood drank. 705

The King's stout huntsman saw the sport

I>y strange intruder broken short,

Came up, and with his leash unbound,

\n anijer struck the noljle hound.

— The Douglas had endured, that morn, 710

The King's eold look, the nobles' scorn,

And last, and worst to spirit proud.

Had borne th(^ pitv ';f the ci'owd ;

But Lufra had l)(>en fondly bi'ed,

To share his b(»,i.d, to watch his ])ed, 715

Aiul oft would Ell(Mi, Lufra's neck

In maiden glee with garlands deck ;

They were such iilayiiiates, that with name

Of Lufi'a, Kllen's image came.

His stitl(>d wrath is brimming high, 7'^2

Tn darkend Itrow and flashing ey<' ;

As waves before the bark (lis ide,

Tlu^ crowd gav(^ way l)ef(»re his sti'ide ;

Needs but a V)uffet and no more.

The groom lies senseless in his gore. 725

Such blow no other hand could fleal,

Though gauntler,(Ml in glove of steel.

v.]

THE LADY OP THE LAKE.

131

730

735

XXVI.

Then claniour'd loud tlio royal train,

And brandisli'd swords and staves amain,

But stern the Baron's warning —" Back !

Back, on your lives, ye menial pack !

Beware the Douglas.— Yes ! behold,

King James ! The Douglas, doom'd of old,

And vainly sought for near and far,

A victim to atone the war,

A willing victim, now attends.

Nor craves tliy grace but for his friends." —

" Thus is my clemency repaid ]

Presumptuous Lord ! " the Monarch said ;

" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan.

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] —

What ho ! the Captain of our Guard !

Give the offender fitting ward. —

Break oflF the sports ! " — for tumult rose.

And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, —

" P>reak off ti^e sports ! " he said, and frown'd,

** And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 751

xxvn.

740

745

Then uproar wild and misarra}'
Marr'd the fair form of festal da}'.
The horsemen prick'd among the crowd,
Repell'd by threats and insult loud ;
To earth are borne tlie old and weak,
The timorous fly, the women shriek ;

755

132

SCOTT.

[Canto

With flint, witli .shaft, witli staff, with bar,

The haniier ur.i^e tiuimltuous war.

At unce 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 disorder'd roar.

With grief the noble Douglas saw 7G5

The Commons rise against the law,

And to the leading soldier said —

" 8ir John of Hyndford, 'twas my blade,

That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ;

For that good deed, permit me then 770

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 8c(.)tlan(rs laws. 775

Are these so weak as must require

The aid of your misguided ire 1

Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,

Is then my seltish rage so strong,

My sense of ]»ublic weal .so low, 780

That, for iiK^an vengeance on a foe,

Those coi'ds of love I should unbind,

Which knit my country and my kind 1

( ) no ! ]]elieve, in yonder tower

It will not soothe my captive hour, 785

To know those spears our foes should dread,

For me in kindred gore arc red ;

To ^ now, in fr-uiiless b 'awl begun,

For me, that mother wails her son ;

V-]

THE LADY OF THK LAKE.

For me, that widow's mate expires ;
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 keep your right to love me still ! "

133
790

795

XXIX.

The crowd's wild fury sunk again

In tears, as tempests melt in rain.

With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd

For blessings on his generous head

Wlio for his country felt alone,

And prized her Ijlocjd beyond his own.

Old men, upon the verge of life,

Bless'd him who staid 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 sii'c :

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ;

As if behind some bier l)eloved,

AVitli trailing arms and drooping head,

The Douglas up the hill he led.

And at the Castle's battled verge.

With siirhs resign'd his honour'd charge.

800

805

810

XXX.

The offended Monarch rode apart.
With l)itter thought and swelling heart,
And would not imw v(»uchsafe again
Through Stirling streets to lead his train.
" O Lennox, v.ho would wish to rule

815

i !

134 SCOTT. [C.

\NTO

This changeling crowd, this common fool 1

•

Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim,

820

With which they shout the Douglas name ?

With like acclaim, the vulgar throat

StrainM for King James their morning note ;

With like acclaim they hail'd the day.

AVhen first I broke the Douglas' sway ;

825

■■( '

And like acclaira would Douglas greet

If he could hurl me from my seat.

AVho o'er the herd would wish to reign,

Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain !

Vain as the leaf upon the strjam,

830

And fickle as a changeful dream ;

Fantastic as a woman's mood,

And fierce as Fi-enzv's fever'd blood.

Thou many-headed mons-^er-tliing.

who woul<l wish to be thy king !

836

X\M.

'* But soft ! what messenger of speed

Spurs hitherward his panting steed 1

T guess his cognizance afar —

What fnjni our cousin, John of Mar? " —

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound

840

Within the safe and guar-ded gi'ound :

For some foul purpose yet unknown, —

IVIost sure for evil to the throne, —

The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,

Has summon'd his rebellious crew ;

845

'Tis said, in James of Botli well's aid

These loose l^anditti stand array'd.

The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,

To bi'eak their muster march'tl, and sof>n

V<»ur gi'ace will h«'ar of batthi fought ;

850

NTO

820

^•]

825

830

836

810

8-45

850

THE LADY OF THK LAKE.

But earnestly the E.irl l)esought,
Till for such dan^or he provide,
With scanty train you will not ride."

XXXII.

" Thou warn'st nie T have doni^ amiss, —
I should have earlier look'd to this :
I lost it in this })ustling day.
— Retrace with speed thy former way ;
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
The best of mine shall he 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 )jy 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 Chiefs crimes, avenging steel.
Bear ^lar our message, Ih-aco ; fly ! " —
He turn'd his steed. — " INly liege, I hie,-
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,
T fear the broadswords will ])e drawih"
The turf the living cours(>r spurn'd,
And t<> ill t(»\vt'i's th(! i\ing returned.

AXXKI.

Ill with King .lam(\s' mood tliat- da}'.
Suited gay feast nnd liiinsti'cl lay ;
Soon were dismis^M the couitly ihnmg,
.Vnd scMtu cut short the festal song.
Nor less u|)(»!i lilt' sadden d town

135

Hr>5

860

865

870

875

880

I I

! i

136

SCOTT. [Canto

The evening sunk in sorrow down.

The Inn'ghers spoke of civil jar,

Of riunour'd feuds and mountain war,

Of JVForay, IMar, and lloderick Dhu,

All up in aims : —the Douglas too, 885

They mourn'd him pent within tlie hold,

" Where stout Earl William was of old."

And there his word tlie speaker staid,

And finger on his lip he laid,

Or pointed to his dagger blade. 890

But jaded horsemen, from the west,

At e\ening to the Castle pi-ess'd ;

And husy talkei'S said they bore

Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore ;

At noon the deadly fray begun, 895

And lasted till the set of sun.

Thus giddy rumour shook the town,

Till closed the Night her pennons bi-own.

VI.

VI.]

TirE LADY OF THE LAKE.

137

CANTO SIXTH.

%\\c ©iiarb-iloom.

The sun, awakening, through the vsnioky air

(jf the dark city casts a sullen glance,
Housing each caitiff to his task of care,

Of sinful man the sad inhcn-itance ;
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 5

Scaring the pi'owling robber to his den ;
Gilding on battled tower the wai-der's lance,

And warning student pale to leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
What various scenes, and, O I what scenes of woe, 10

Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam !
The fever'd patient, from his pallet low,

Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;
The ruin'd maiden trem])les at its gleam.

The debtor waki's 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.

II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang

With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 20

While drums, with rolling note, foretell

Relief to weary sentinel.

Through naj'i'ow loop and casement barr'd.

The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,

And, struggling with tlie smoky ;iir, 25

Deaden 'd the torches' yellow glare.

1 ;;

'■- ! M

^ i

.!
i'

3I'

138

SCOTT.

[Canto

Tn comfortless alliance .shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone,

And .show'd wild shapes in g.'irb of war,

Faces deform cl with beaid and scar, .30

All haggard from the midnight watch,

And fevci'M with the stern de])auch ;

K(»r the (ial: table's massive board,

Flooded w^bh wine, with fragme'* < • ..red.

And beakei's di-aiu'd, and cups o*cr! !)!*•.. n, 35

Show'd in what sport the night had rlowij,

Some, werry, snored on floor and IkmicIi ;

Some labouv'd still tlunr thir.st to (juench ;

Some, chiird \vith watching, spread tlnnr hands

O'er the huge chimney's dying lirands, 40

While round *hem, or beside them Hung,

At every st-ep iJieir harness rung.

III.

'J'hese drew not for their fields (lie sword,

Like tenants of a feudal IoitI,

Nor own'd the patriarchal claim

Of Chieftain in their leadoi-'s nam(^ ;

Adventurers they, from far who i-oxccl,

To live by battle which they loxcd.

There the Italian's clouded face.

The swarthy Spaniard's thei-e y<»u trace ;

The mountain-lo\ ing Switzer there

Moi'e freely breathed in mountain-air ;

The Fleming there despised tlu; soil.

That 2)aid so ill the labour(!r's toil ;

Their rolls show'd Frencli and (Jei'man name ;

And merrv Fnu'iand's exiles c;iine,

To share, wilh ill coiKCiTd disdjiin,

(Jf Scotland's pav the scautv "'aiu.

VI.]

THE LADY OP THE LAKE.

All brave in arms, well trniii'd to wield
The heavy lialberd, ))rand, and shi«»l(l ;
In camps licentious, wild and hold ;
In pillage fierce and unconti-oUd ;
And now, by holy tide and f(^ast,
From rules of discipline released.

139

IV.

They hold debate of bloody fray, 05

Fought 'twixt Jjoch Katrine and Achray.

Fierce; was their speech, and, 'mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords ;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear

Of wounded comrades groaning near, 7M

Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored.

Bore token of the mountain swoi-d,

Though, neighbouring to the Coui't of (Uiard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ;

Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 75

And savage oath by fury spoke ! —

At length up-started John of Brent,

A yeoman from the banks 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 marr'd the dicer's brawling sport, 85

And shouted loud, " llenew the bowl !

And, while a merry catch I troll.

Let each the buxom cliorus bear,

Like bi'ethren of the bi-and and spear."

:V&j

liO

SCOTT.

[Canto

Our vicar still proju-hes tlwit I'otei' and Poule 90

Laid 11 swingiiJi,^ loni;; curse on the bonny lirown bowl,

That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,

And the stn-en deadly sins in a flagon of sack ;

Vet Avhoop, Barnaby ! oil' with thy liquor,

Drink upsees out, aiid a iig for the vicar ! 95

Our vicar he calls it damn;'.tion to sip
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's deai- lip,
Says, that IJeel/ebub hii'ks in her kerchief so sly,
And Apollyon shoots darts fi-oni her merry black eye;
Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss (lillian the quicker, 100

Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicai- thus preaches — and why should he not (
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ;
And 'tis right of his otlice poor laymen to luich,
Who infringe tiie domains of our good Mother Church.
Yet whoo]), bully-boys ! off with your li(|uor, 106

Sweet Marjories the woi-d, and a lig for the vicar !

VI.

The warder's cliallenge, heard without,
Staid in mid-roar the merry shout.
A soldier to the portal went, —
*' Hen; is old Bertram, sirs, of (Jhent ;
And, — beat for jubilee the di-um I —
A maid iu\\\ minstrel with him come."
Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scjii-r'd,
Was entej'ing now the Coui't of ( Juai-d,
A harper with him, and in plaid

110

115

vr.j

TIIK LADY OF THK LAKK.

141

All imif!lo(l clo»<e, a niouiitain maid,

Whf) hacksvanl sljnmk to 'scajx! tli(3 vi(,'w

Of tho loose scone and hoistei'ous crew.

"What news?" tliey roar'd :— " T only know, 120

From noon till eve we fought with foe

As wild and as nntanieahle

As the nide mountains where they dwell ;

On both sides store of Ijlood is lost,

Nor much success can either boast." —

" But whence thy captives, friend 'I such spoil

As theirs must needs reward thy toil.

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow shai-p ;

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp !

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land,

The leader of a juggler band." —

•Jo

i;m

VII.

" 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, 135

Mar Ijade I should purvey them steed,

And bring them hitherward with speed.

For])ear your mirth and rude alarm,

For none shall do them shame or harm." —

" Hear ye his boast T' cried John of Brent, 140

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 ?

ril have my share howe'er it be, 145

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee."

Bertram his forward step withstood ;

And, burning in his vengeful mood,

142

acoTT.

[Canto

o|,l All.'iii, ihoimli imfiti forstrlt'f.

liaid IijumI iipnn liis d.-i.jjijfcr-knif*' ;

\U\\ h'illcil l)(»|(lly s(«'|)j)'<l Ix'twrcii,

AimI <lr(>})|)'{l at oiict! lln; turtuii sciren ;-

S(», tVoiii his nioriiini^ cloud, uppoars

Tlu! sun of iVIfiy, tlirou<,di suinmcf tears.

TIk^ savago soldiery, amazod,

As oil descended angel gazed ;

Kv<>»i liardy Jirent, al)asird and tamed,

Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

150

155

VIH.

n()ldly she spoke, — "Soldiers, attend !
My father was tlu; soldier's friend ;
Chcer'd him in t-amps, in marches led.
And with him in tin; ])attle bled.
Not from the valiant, or the strong.
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." —
Answer'd De Bi'ent, most forward still
In every feat or good or ill, —
" 1 shame me of the part I play'd :
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid !
An oatlaw I l)y forest hiws,
And merry Needvvood knows the caiise.
Poor Hose, — if l^ose be living now," —
Tie wiped his iron eye and brow, —
" Must bear such age, I think, as thou.
Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call
The Captain of our ^\iltch to hall :
Thei'e lies my liall)ei-d on the floor ;
And he that steps my halberd o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,

My shaft shall cpiiver in his heart ! —
Beware loose sp(;('cli, or jesting rough :

Ve all know John de Brent. Enough."

IGO

105

170

175

180

VI.J

TIIK l-AUY OK THK I.AKK.

I4;i

I.\.

inn

luo

195

Their ('fi|>tJiiii ••aiiK', ;i ;,';i,ll;ui( y<>uii^% —

(Of 'J'ulliliiiidiiic's liouso h<i spruii;,',)

Nor \v()f(5 he y(!t tht? spurs of knight ;

CJny wns his mien, liis liiuuoiu- li^lit,

Aiul, though by coui'tcsy (.•uiitn>ird,

Forward his speech, his l)eaiiii<^ hold.

The liii^di i)or!i maiden ill could brook

The scaiuung of'his curious look

And dauntless eye ;— and yet, in sooth,

Young Lewis was a geneious youth ;

r>ut Ellen's lovely fuc(! and mien,

111 suited to the garl) and scene.

Might lightly bear construction strange.

And give loose fancy scope to range.

" Welcome to Stirling toners, fair maid I

Come ve to seek a cham))ion's aid,

On palfrey white, with hai'per lioar,

Like errant damosel of yore i

Does thy high quest a knight re(piire,

Oi' may the ventui-e suit a squii-e i " —

tier dark eye ilasli'd ;— slie paused and sigh'd, —

"O what have 1 to do with pi'ide ! —

— Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,

A suppliant for a father's life, 205

T crave an audience *.r' the King.

IJehold, to back my suit, a ring,

The royal pledge of grateful claims,

(riven l)y thii Monarch to Fitz-James."

'JOG

Tlie signet-ring young Lewis took.
With deep respect and alter'd look

210

SCOTT.

[Canto

And s;ii(l, — " This I'ing our duties own ;

And pardon, if to worth unknown,

In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,

Lady, in aught my folly fail'd. 215

Soon as the day flings wide his gates,

The King shall know "what suitor waits,

i^lease you, meanwhile, in fitting bower

Jiepose you till his waking hour ;

Female attendance shall ol)ey 220

Your best, for service or array.

Permit 1 marshal you the way."

But, ere she follow'd, with the grace

And opci liounty of her race,

She bade lier slender ])urse be shai-ed 225

Among the soldiers of the £(uard.

The rest with thanks their guerdon took ;

But Brent, with shy and awkward look,

On the reluctant maiden's hold

Forced bluntly Imck the i)rofler'd gold ; — 230

"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,

P<n'clian('e, in jeopardy of war, 235

Where gayer crests may keep afar."

^\'ith thanks, — 'twas all she could — the maid

His rugged courtesy repaid.

xr.

Wher; Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent : —
" My lady safe, O ]ot your grace
Give mo to see Liy master's face !
His minstrel I, — to share his doom

240

INTO

VI.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

145

215

220

225

230

235

Bound fi'oin tlie cradle to tlie tomb.
Tenth in descent, since lii-st mv sires
VV^aked iov his noble house tliei- lyres,
Nor one of ah the race was known
But prized its weal above their ow^n.
With the Chief's birth be<j:iiis our care ;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fi<dit, and irrace
His earliest feat of field or chase ;
In peace, in war, our rank we keep,
AVe cheer his V)oard, we soothe his sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our verse, —
A doleful triljute I — o'er his hearse.
Then let me shai-e his captive lot ;
It is my right — deny it not ! " —
" Little we reck," said John of Brent,
" We Southern men, of long descent ;
Nor wo^. we how a name — a word —
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord :
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, —
God bless the lunise of Beaudesert !
And; but 1 loved to drive the deer,
]\[ore than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old ]\[instrel, follow me ;
Thy Lord an<l Chieftain shalt thou see."

245

250

255

2(50

265

240

XIL

Then, from a rusted iron hook,

A Ijunch of ponderous kej^s he took.

Lighted a toi'ch, and Allan led

Through gi-ated arch and })assage dread.

Portals tluy pass'd, where, deep within,

Spoke prisoners moan, and fetters' din ;
10

270

275

146

SCOTT.

[Canto

'nir(>iii;li niyiird \;iiil<s, w luTc, loosely s< orcd,

Lay wIkm'I, and ax(i, and headsman s sword,

And h'lany an .hideous engine grim,

hoi; ^vl•enching joint, and crushing liml),

\\y artist form'd \vlio deom'd it shame L'80

And sin to yivo their woi'k a name.

'I'hey halted 'it a lo\v-])ro\\"d porch,

And lirent to Allan gave the torch,

While holt and chain he backward I'ollM,

And made the Ijar luihasp its hold. 285

They enterd : -'twas ii pi'ison-i'oom

Of stern secu)"ity and gloom,

Yet not a dunii(M)n ; for the tlav

Thi'oiigh lofty g!'atings found its way,

Ai:d rude and aiiliciut."! garr.itui'(i 290

1 >eck'd the sad walls and oaken tlooi- ;

Such as (he rugged days of old

i)eem"d tit for capLi^■o iioUles hold.

" Mere," said Do Brent, ""thou may'st remain

Till the Leech visit him again. 295

Strict is his charge, the warders tell.

To tend the nohh; prisoner well."

Ketiring then th(! holi he drew.

And the locks nniiiiiui's gi'owl'd anew.

Roused at the sound from Jowl}' hed 300

A ca[)ti\e teehly raised his head ;

The Wondering Minsti'cl look'd, and knew —

Not his dear lord, hut Roderick ])hu !

I^'or, -ome from mIk.'I'c Claii-Alpine fought,

Thev, ei'rinu', deem'd tlu; Chief he sought. 305

Ml I.

As the tall ship, whose lot't \' pi'ore
Shall lu'vcr stem dx! hillows more.

YL]

i85

.'90

295

300

305

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 147

Deserted ])y lier ^'allant baud,

Amid ilio ))r(>ak(U',s lies astrand, —

So, on liis couch lay lloderick j)liu ! 310

And oft lii.s fever'd limbs he threw

In toss abrupt, as when her sides

Lie rocking in the advancing tides,

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat.

Yet cannot heave her from her seat ; 315

O ! how unlike her course at sea !

Or his free step on hill and lea ! —

Soon as the INIinstrel he could scan,

— '' What of thy lady ?— of my clan ?—

My mother ^ — Douglas 1— tell me all ! 320

Hav^e they been ruin'd in my fall ?

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ?

Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." —

( For Allan, who his mood well knew,

Was choked with grief and terror too.) 325

" Who f<night— who tied ?— Old man, be brief ;—

Some might — for they had lost their Chief.

A\'ho basely live I — who bravely died ]"

"O calm thee, Chief ! " the ^Minstrel cried,

*' Ellen is safe ; "— " For that thank Heaven : "

*' And hopes are for the Douglas given : — 331

The liady Margaret too is well ;

And, for thv clan, — on field or fell,

Has never harp of minstrel told.

Of combat fought so true and bold. 335

'I'hy stately Pine is yet unbent.

Though many a goodly bough is rent."

XIV.

The Chieftain rear'd his form on high.
And fevei's Ih-e was ifi his eye ;

iltl

148

SOOTT,

[Canto

:vto

But gliastly, ]),'i1(', ,•111(1 livid streaks

CliO(Hi('f (1 his swartliv Urow and clioeks.

— " Hark, oMiiistrcl ! I have heard tliee play,

With measure hold, on festal day,

In you lone isle, . . . again where ne'er

Sliall harper play, or warrior hear ' . . . 345

That stirring air that peals on high,

O'er ])ermid's race our victorv. —

Strike it ! — and then, (for well thou canst,)

Free from thy jninstrel-spirit glanced.

Fling me the picture of the fight, 350

When met my clan the Saxon jnight.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears I

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,

Vov the fair field of fighting men, 355

And m\' fi-eo spirit hurst away,

As if it soard fi'om hat tie fray."

The ti'emhling IJard with awe ohey'd, —

Sl(jw on the harp his hand lu ^aid ;

l)ut soon remembi-aiice of the sight 30'-

He witness'd from the mountain's height,

With what old Bertram told at night,

Awaken'd the full pow«n' of song.

And bore him in ca.eer along; —

As shallop launcl rd on river's tide, 3G5

Thnt slow and fearful leaves the side.

Bui, wh(Mi it feels tin; middle stream,

l)ri\<>s down^.rd swift as lightning's beam.

XV.

ij.ittlc m ^rui iix puii^r.

" TIk' Minsrrel caiue i>nco more to \ iew

The east(;rn ridge oi BtriM lue, 370

VI.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

110

For ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray —
Where shall he find, in foreign, land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! —

There is no breeze upon the fern, 375

Nor ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyry nods the erne.

The deer has sought the brake ;
The small l)inls will not sing aloud,

The springing trout lies still, 380

8o darkly glooms j^on thunder-cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,

Benledi's distant hill.
Is it the thunder's solonni sound

That muttei's deep and dread, 385

Or echoes from the groaning irround

The warrior's measured tread ?
Is it the lightning's quivei-ing glance

Tliat on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance 390

The sun's retiring beams ?
— T see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the jNIoray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon wai-
That up the lake conies v/inding far ! 305

To hero bouno for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lav,
'Twere worth ten years of })eaceful life.
One glance at their nrray !

XV L

"Theii' light ai-md ;iicli('rs fur and neat-
Survey 'd iIk! tangled ground,
Their ceuti'c ranks, with pike and spear,

400

150

SCOTT.

[Canto

A twilight forest fntwuM,
'I'licir l)fM-(le(l horsemen, in tlie i-ear,

The stem l)att;ilia crow nd. 405

No c'ynil)al clush'd, no clarion rang,

Still were the pipe and drum ; =^
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

The sullen mai-ch ^vas dumb.
There ])reathed no wind their crests to shake,

Or wa\e their iiags abroad ; 411

Scarce the frail aspen seemM to ([uake,

That shadow'd o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,

Can rouse no lurking foe, -115

Nor spy a ti'ace of living thmg,

Save when they .stirr'd the roe ;
The host moves like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no locks its pride to bi-ave.

High-swelling, dark, and slow, 420

The lake is passM, and now they gain
A narrow and a l)i'okcn plain.
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ;
And here the horse and spearmen pause,
While, to explore the dangerous glen, 425

Dive through the pass the archev-men.

XV IF.

"At once there rose so vihi i, yell
Within that dark and nan-o, rleli,
As I'l the fiends, from heaven 'rrvt fell.
Had peal'd the hanner-rry of he,' !

Forth f?'o)a *he pass iii tumult :ri\<'n,
liikt! chail' before t.l .; wind of licascn.

The arch cm: appear :
i'^or Jife ! fo:' life 1 Uieir tlight they ply —

430

VT.]

TIIK LAI'V <»l" '1(1 K I.VKK

151

And slirick, and shout., and hattlo-cry, 435

AikI i)lai(ls iiiul ])()iuiots waving high,
Arid ])roads\\()rds ilasliiiig to the sky,

Aro inaddcniing in the I'cai".
OiiNvai-d they drive, in dreadful r;ice,

Pursuers and pui'sued ; 410

liefore that tide of llight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood ? —
' Down, down,' cried JNlar, 'your lances down !

Bear back both friend and foe ! ' — 445

Like retnls before the tempest's frown,
That seri'ied gi'ove of lances brown

At once lay le\(!ird low ;
And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 450

* We'll quell the savage mountaineer,

As their Tinchel cows the game !
They come as fleet as forest (h'er,

We'll drive them back as tame' —

XVIII.

" KeariniT before them, in their course, 455

The relics of the arclier foi'ce,

like wave with crest of sparkling foam,

Kight onward did CIan-Al})ine come.

Above the tide, each l)roadsword l)right

Was brandishing like beam of light, 4G0

Each tai-ge was dar-l-: l)elow ;
And with the ocean's niiglity swing,
When h(>aving to the tempest's wing,
They InuTd them on the foe.
r heard the lance's shivering crash, 465

As when the whii'lwiiid lends the ash ;

162

SCOTT.

ANTO

VI.

I heai-d the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if a hundred anvils rang !
But Moray wlieel'd his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's Hank, 470

— ' My l)anner-inan, advance !
I see,' he cried, ' their column shake. —
Now, gallants 1 for your ladies' sake,

Upon them with the lance ! ' —
The horsemen diodi'd among the rout, 475

As deer break through the bj'oom ;
Their steeds are slout, their swords are out.

They soon make lightsome room.
Clan- Alpine's best are backward borne —

Where, where was Kodei-ick then ! 480

One blast upon his ])Ugle-horn

AVere worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear

Th(^ battle's tide was pou r"d ;
Yanish'd the 8axon's struggling spear, 485

Vanish'd the mountarx-sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so Ijlack and steep,

Keceives her roaring linn,
As the dark caverns of the deep

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 490

So did the deep and darlcsome pass
Devour the battle's miniiled mass :
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

XIX.

" Now westward rolls the l^attle's din.
That deep and doubling pass within,
— Minstrel, away ! the work of fate

495

VI.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

153

Is bearing on : its issue wait,

Where the rude Tt'osachs' (h-cad dofile

Opens on Katrine's, lake and isle. — 500

Grey Benvenue I soon repass'd,

Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.

The sun is set ; — the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven

An inky hue of livid blue 505

To the deep lake has given •
Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again.
I heeded not the eddying sui-gc,
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge, 510

Mine ear but heard that sullen sound.
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And .'-poke tlie stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to +oll 515

The dirge of many a passing soul.

Keart ;■ it comes — the dim-wood glen

The martial ilood disgorged again.
But not in mingled tide ;

The plaided warriors of the North 520

High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side ;

While by the lake below appears

The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.

At weary bay each shatter'd band, 525

Eyeing their foemen, stei'nly stand ;

Their banners stream like tatter'd sail.

That flings its fragments to the gale.

And broken arms and disarray

Mark'd the fell havoc of the day. 530

154

sroTT.

[Canto

VI.]

XX.

" Viewing the niountains riclge askance,
Tlic Saxon stood in siilleii trance,
Till Moray jM»into(l witli liis lance,

And cried — ' Behold yon isle I- -
See ! none are left to guard its sli-and, f)35

But women weak, that wring tlic hand :
Tis there of yore the robber ))a)id

Their l)ooty wont to pile ; —
My purse, with boniK^t-pieces store,
To liini will swiin a bow-slu>t oVi-, 540

And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
J.ords of his mate, and brood, and den.'
Forth from the raidcs a sjx^ai'man sprung.
On earth his cas<pie and corslet rung, 545

He plunged him in the wave : —
All saw the deed — the purpose knew,
And to their clamours ]>envenue

A mingled echo gave ;
The 8axons shout their mate to cheer, 650

The helpless f<Mnales sci-eam for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
'Twas then, as by the outcry I'iven,
Pour'd down at once the lowering hea\en ;
A whirlwind swept Loch Kati-ine's breast, 555

Her })illows rear\l t^heir snowy crest.
Well for the swinnner swell'd they high,
To mar the Hi'diland mai-ksman's eve ;
For round him showei'd, 'mid i-ain and hail,
Tlu! Ncni^eful ari'ows of the (iacl. — • 500

Tn vain — He nears the isle— and lo !
His hand is on a shallop's bow.

VI.]

THK I,\I>Y OF THE LAKE.

155

— Just then a llusli of lightning cjijnc,

It tinged the waves and strand with Hanie ; —

T mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame, r)65

r>ehind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleam'd in her liand : —

Tt darken'd, — ))ut amid the moan

Of waves, I heard a dying gi'oan ; —

Another Hash ! — the spearman floats r>7()

A w'cdtering corse beside the boats,

And the stern matron o'er him stood.

Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

XXI.

" 'Revenge ! revenge I ' the Saxons eried.
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental I'age,
Again they huri'ied to engage ;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
lUoody with spurring came a knight,
Bprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-\vhit(^ Hag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in tlui iMoiiarch's name, afar
An herald's voicj^ forbade the war.
For Bothwells lord, and Roderick bold,
AVere both, he said, in captive hold."
— But here the lay made sudden stand.
The harp escaped the jMinstrel's hand ! —
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
lb)\v Roderick })rook'd Ids minstrelsy :
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With liftcnl hand, kc})t feebh^ time ;
That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong

575

580

585

590

,.<i^,.

>r*'^^

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156

SCOTT.

[Canto

Yariod liis look as clianged the song ; 595

At length, no more his deafen'd ear

The minstrel melody can hear ;

His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench'd,

As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd ;

Set are his teeth, his fading eye GOO

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ;

Thus, motionless and moanless, drew

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dim ! —

( )ld xillan bane look'd on aghast,

While grim and still his spirit pass'd ; 605

But when he saw that life was tied,

He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead.

XXII.

l-'.imcnt.

" And art thou cold and lowly laid.

Thy foemen's dread, thy people's aid,

Breadalbane's boast. Clan- Alpine's shade ! 610

For thee sliall none a re(raiem say 1 —

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, 615

I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd Pine !

" What groans shall yonder valleys till !

What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill I

What tears of bui'uing rage shall thrill.

When mourns thy tiibe thy battles done, 620

Thy fall liefore the race was won.

Thy swoi-d uii'di't ere set of sun !

There breathes not clansman of thy line, -

But would have givt^i his life for thine. —

U woe for Alpine's honour'd Fine ! - 625

VT.]

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

15:

GOO

" Sad was tliy lot oji mortal staije ! —
The captive thrush in.-iy ])i'o()k tlw ^'age,
The prison VI caglo dios for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my sti-aiii !
And, when its notes awake again.
Even she, so long beloved in vain.
Shall with my liarp her voice comhine,
And mix her woe and tears with mine,
To wail Clan- Alpine's honoured Pine." —

G30

605

610

615

620

625

xxin.

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 035

Remained in lordly bower apart,

Where play'd, with many-colour'd gleams.

Through storied pane the rising beams.

Tn vain on gilded roof they fall,

And lightend up a tapestried wall, 640

And for her use a menial train

A rich collation spread in vain.

The banquet proud, the cli amber gay,

Scarce drew one curious glance astray ;

Or if she look'd, 'twas but to say, 645

With l)etter omen dawnVl the dav

Tn 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, 650

While Lufra, crouching by her side,

Her station claim'd with jealous pride.

And Douglas, bent on woodland game,

Spoke of the chase to IMalcolm Giwme,

Whose answer, oft at random made, 655

The wanderitig of his tlioughts betray'd. —

Those who such simple joys have known.

158

SCOTT.

[Canto

An; tausjlit to pri/*' ihcni wlioii tlipy're /^oiie,

iJut su(l(i(M», scr, sho lilts luT head !

The Avitulow seeks with cautious tread. 660

What distant music has the power

To win her in this woeful hour !

'Twas from a turret tliat o'erhuu*,^

Her latticed hower, the strain was sung.

XXIV.

|):ii) of the Emprieoncb ^luutsmnu.

"My hawk is tired of })erch and hood, 665

IMy 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, 670

With l)ended bow and bloodhound free.

For that's the life is meet for me.

I hate to learn the ebb of time

From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime.

Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 075

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. 680

No more at dawning nioi-n T rise,

And sun myself in FiUen's e3'es.

Drive the fleet deer the forest through,

And homeward wend with evening dew ;

A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 685

And lay my trophies at her feet.

While fled the eve on wini; of i^lee, —

That life is lost to love and me I "

VT.]

TIIK LADY OP TIM-: LAKK.

159

660

665

670

675

680

xxv.

The lienrt-sick lay was hardly said,

The list'ner had not turii'd her head, 690

rt trickled still, the starting tear,

When light a footstep struck her ear,

And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.

She tui-n'd the hastier, iest again

The prisoner should renew his strain. 695

*' O welcome, brave Fit/.- James ! " she said ;

*' How may an almost orphan maid

Pay the deep debt" " O say not so !

To me n<:> gratitude you owe.

Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 700

And bid thy noble father live ;

I can but he 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. 705

Come, Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time,

He holds his court at morning prime."

With beating heart, and bosom wrung.

As to a brother's arm she clung.

Gently he dried the falling tear, 710

And gently whisper'd hoj)e and cheer ;

Her faltering steps half led, half stayeil,

Through gallery fair and high arcade,

Till, at his touch, its wings of pride

A portal arch unfolded wide. 715

685

XXVI.

Withui 'twas brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright ;
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight,

IGO

SCOTT.

[Canto

As wlioii llio setting sun lias given

T«'n tlumsand hues to .summer even,

And from their tissue, fancv frames

Aerial kniglits and fairy dames.

Still hy Fitz-James her footing staid;

A few faint steps she forward made,

Then slow her drooping head she raised,

And fearful round the presence gazed ;

Kor him she sought, who own'd this ;itate,

The dreaded Prince whose will was fate ! —

She gazed on many a princely port,

Might well have ruled a royal court ;

On many a splendid garb she gazed, —

Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed,

For all stood bare ; and, in the room,

Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.

To him each lady's look was lent ;

On him each courtier's eye was bent ;

Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen.

He stood, in simple Lincoln green,

The centre of the glittering ring, —

And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King !

'7(

720

'•J5

730

'35

740

XXVII.

As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast,

Slides from the rock that gave it rest,

Poor Ellen glided from her stay,

And at the Monarch's feet she lay ;

No word her choking voice commands, — 745

She sliow'd the ring — she clasp'd her hands.

O ! not a moment could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look !

Gently he raised her, — and, the while,

Check'd with a glance the circle's smile ; 750

^'I]

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKK

161

720

'25

730

'35

Grafcful, l)ut gmvo, her brow Ik; kiss'd.

And bade lier terrors be disiniss'd : -

" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-Janirs

The fealty of Scotland claims.

To hiiH thy woes, thy wishes, l)ring ; 75.^

He will redeem his si<j:net rin<'.

A^k nought for ]>)uglas ; — yester even,

His prince and he have much foririven :

Wrong hath he had from slandei'ous tongu*',

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. ~{\{)

We would not, to the vulgar crowd,

Yield what they craved with clamour loud ;

Calmly we heard and judged his cause.

Our c(juncil aided, and our laws.

T stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern, Ti),")

With stout ])e Yaux and (Jrey (Jlencairn ;

And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own

The friend and bulwark of our Throne.

But, lovely infidel, how now 1

What clouds thy misbelieving bro\\ ? 770

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ;

Thou must confirm this doubtini; maid."

XXVIII.

■45

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,

And on his neck his dauijhter liunir.

The monarch drank, that happy hour.

The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, —

When it can say, with g(xllike voice.

Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice 1

Yet would not James the general eye

On Nature's raptures long should pry ;

He stepp'd between—" Nay, Douglas, nay,
11

/ I •)

780

162

SCOTT. [Canto

Steal iiol my |>rose;lyte away !

The riddle 'tis my ri<;:lit to i-ead,

That l)r<»uglit this hapj)y chance to speed.

— Yes, Ellen, when dis<,aiis«'d I stray 7<^.~)

In lif(?'s more low hut hai)i)ier way,

'Tis undcu' 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-James. 700

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,

Thus learn to right the injured cause." —

Then, in a tone apart and low, —

"Ah, little traitress ! none must know

What idle dream, what lighter thought, 795

What vanity full dearly bought,

Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew

]My spell-bound steps to Benvenue,

In dangerous hour, and all l)ut gave

Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive I '' — SOO

Aloud he spoke — "Thou still dost hold

That little talisman of g<^ld,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring —

What seeks fair Ellen of the King t "

XXIX.

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd 805

He probed the weakness of her breast ;

But, with that consciousness, there came

A lightening of her fears for Gramme,

And more she decnn'd the monarch's ire

Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire 810

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ;

And, to her generous feeling true.

She craved the grace of Roderick Dim,

Canto

vt.i

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

163

785

700

795

son

805

" Forlxjur thy suit :~tli(' Ku\<r of kiii<rs

Alone can stay life's i)jutin<; wings. 815

I know Ills heart, I know his hand,

Have sliai-ed his cheer, and proved liis })rand : -

JNIy fairest earldom ^vould I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live !—

Hast thou no other boon to crave? 820

No other caj)tive friend to save 1 "

Blushing, she turn'd her from the Kini:,

And to the Douglas gave the rin<'

As if she wish'd her sire to speak

The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek. — 825

" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,

And stubl)orn justice holds her course. —

Malcolm, come forth ! "—and, at the Mord,

Down kneel'd the Gneme to Scotland's Lord.

" For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 830

From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,

Who, nurtured underneath our smile,

Hast paid our care by treacherous wile.

And sought, amid thy faithful clan,

A refuge for an outlaw'd man, 835

Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. —

Fetters and wai-der for the Gneme 1 " —

His chain of gold the King unstrung,

The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flunjr.

Then gently drew the glittering band,^- 840

And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

810

Harp of the North, farewell ! l^he hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ;

In twilight copse the glow-Nvorm lights her spark,
The deer, half -seen, are to the covert wending. 845

1«U

K(;()TT.

[Canto VI.

I':

liosmno tliv wiz!U(l rim .' I lie fountain li'iulin^.
And tlio ^^il(l Idcczo, lliy wilder minstrelsy ;

Tliy iiunilx'i's swcot with natunrs vespers hlendini;,
With distant eelio innn the fold nnd lea,

Ami herd-boy's evening pipe?, and hum of liousing lu-e.

Yet, oneo again, farowell, thou Minstrel haip ! Sol

Yet, oneo again, forgi'o my feehle sway,
And littlo reek I of the censure sharp

J\la,y idly cavil at an idle lay.
Much hav(! ! owed thy strains on life's long way, 855

Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawn'd w(;arier tlay,

And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone.
That I (/erlived such woes, Enchantress ! is tliirK; own.

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy sti'ing !
'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of lire,

'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing,
lleceding now, the dying numbei's ring

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 865

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring

A wandering witch-note of the distant sj)ell -
And now, 'tis jsilent all ! — Enchantress, fare thee well !

[Canto VI.]

Mlinj,',

v\s\ ;
l)l«'ii(lir»]L^,

II,

lioljsiiii; !)(•(;.

i;u-p

S;") I

ij; Nvay, 855
'!• known,
day,
lie.
is tliiri(! own.

ti'ing !

8()()

■11,

■ing

865

^pell -

,i't thee well !

!l|l

a -

,i«H

mmm

\v()in)s\v<)irri[.

:4l '~

■A,

To .MV SISTKIi.

WIUTTKN' AT A SMALL DfSTANCK I'WOM MV HOl'SK, A\l> SKNT

ItV MV F.ITTLK HOV.

It, is llio lirst mild <liiy of Murcli :
K;ich niiriuU^ sweeter tliuii Ix't'orc,

'I'lu! I'edhicasl siiiufs from tli(3 tall l.ir<;li
That st.iiids beside our door.

There is a l)h'ssiiig in tlie air, 5

W'iiich seems a sense; of joy to yield

To the hare tretjs, and m<»uiitaiiis hare,
And grass in the grecMi field.

]\ly Sister I ('tis a wish of mine)

Now (hat our moi-ning meal is done, 10

Make has((», youi' mo!'ning task resign ;

Conu; forth and feel the sun.

Edward will eome with you ; and, pray,
Put on with sj)eed your woodland <lress ;

And hi'ing no Ijook : for this oiu; day 15

We'll give to idleness.

No iovless 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 lieart is stealing ;

From earth to man, from man to earth :

— It is the hour of feeling.
I(j5

VfT

166

WOKPSWORTIf.

One moment, now nuiy givo us more 25

Than fifty years of reason :
Ouv minds shall drink ;>fc every pore

Tlie spii'it of the season.

Some silent laws v)ur hearts will make,

Which they shall long obey : 30

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 : 35

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 clay

We'll «ave to idleness. 40

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.

" Why, William, on that old gray stone,
Thus for the length of half a day —

Why, William, sit you thus alcme
And dream your time av ay I

" Where are your books, that light becjueathed 5

To beings else forlorn and blind l
U[), up ! and drink the spirit breathed

From dead men to their kind.

" You look round on your mother Earth
/ s if she for no purpose bore you ;

As if you were her tirst-born birth,
And none had lived before you."

THE TABLES TUHNED.

One nioT'nini; tlius, })v Estliwaite lake.
When life was sweet, I knew not why,

To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply :

" The eye, it cannot clioose Vjut see ;

We cannot bid the ear be still ;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be.

Against or with our will.

" No: less I deem that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress ;

Tha J we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.

" Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum

Of things forever speaking.
That nothina: of itself will come,

But we must still be seeking ]

—" Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,

Conversing as I may,
I sit upon this old gray stone.

And dream mv tin'ie away.'

167

thp: tables turned;

AN EVENING SCENE ON THE FAME SUBJECT.

Up, up ! my Friend, and quit your ])ookK,

Or surely you'll grow double ;
Up, up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ;

Why all this toil and trouble 1

The sun, above the mountain's head,

A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has sprtvul,

His first sweet evening yellow.

168

I ;

WORDSWORTH.

i3o< Ks 1 'tis a (lull and ontlless strife ;

(\)ine, hoar the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music ! on my life,

There's nioi-e of wisdom in it.

And hark ! liow blithe the throstle sings !

He, too, is no mean preacher ;
Come foi'tli into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless —

Spontaneous wisdom breathed l)y health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse fi'om 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 ))rings ;

Our meddling intellect
AFisshapes the beauteous fcn'ms of things :

We nnuder to dissect.

Enou^i^h of science and of art ;

Close up these barren leaves :
Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watchtis and receives.

, ^

TNFr.UENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS

IN (\\LI,1N(; FORTH AND STHENGTHENINO TIFE IMAGINATION OF
ROVHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH.

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe '
Thou Soul that art the Eternity of thouglit,
And givest to forms and imagers a breath
And eveilasting motioti ! not in vain,

INFLUENCK OF NATURAL OHJKCTS.

169

By (lay or starlight, thus from my first davvn
Of chiidli(jod didst thou iiitei'twiiie for me
The passhms 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
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying by such discipline
Both pain and fear, until we recognize
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

?^ OF

Nor w^as this fellowship vouchsafed to me 15

With stinted kindness. In November days,
When vapours rolling down the valleys nuide
A lonely scene more lonesome ; among wootls
At noon, and 'mid the calm of su inner nighis,
AV^hen, by the margin of the treuibling lake, 20

Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went
In solitude, such intercourse was mine :
'Twas mine among the fields both day and night.
And by the waters, all the summer long.
And in the frosty season, when the sun 25

Was set, and, visil)le for many a mile.
The cottage windows throuirh the twilijxht Ijlazed,
I heeded not the summons : happy time
It was indeed for all of us ; for me

It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 30

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 chase 35

And woodland pleasures — the resounding horn.
The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare.

170

WORDS wo iri'H.

So throu(;h the darkness nm] tlit> cold we flew,

And not a voice was idle. AVith tlie din

Mcansvhile tlie precipices rang aloud ; 40

The leafless trees and eveiy icy crag

Tinkled like iron ; while the distant hills

Into the tuumlt sent an. alien sound

( )f inelanch(»ly, not uiuioticed, while the stars

Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west 45

The orange sky of eveiung died awa}-.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sporti\ely
(danced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng
To cut across the retlex of a star ; 50

Imj'.gft that, flying still hefoi-e me, gleamed
Upon the grassy plain ; and oftentimes.
When Ave had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 55
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining l)ack upon my heels.
Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round ! 60

liehind me did they sti-etch in solemn train,
Keebler and feebler, and T stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a sunnner sea.

NUTTING.

-It seems a day

{I speak of one fi'om many siiiglod out) —
C)ne of those heavenly days w'lich cannot die ;
When, i!i the eagerness of boyish hopi;,

NUTTING.

171

till 55

I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth

With a huge wallet o'er inv shoulders slull<^

A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps

Towards the distant woods, a iigure quaint.

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service liad been huslmnded,

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 ! Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way

Until, at length, I came to one dear nook

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign

Of devastation, but the hazels i ose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,

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

Among the flowers, and with the flowers T })layed ;

A temper known to those -ho, after long

And weary ex})ectation, have been blest

With sudden happiness beyond all hope.

Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves

The violets of five seasons reappear

And fade, unseen by any human eye ;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

Forever : and I saw the sparkling foam.

And —with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep —

1 heard the munnur and the nun'muring sound.

172

WORDSWORTH.

nil!

Tn that sweet mood wlieii pleasure litves to pay

Tn])ute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, 40

The heart hixuriates witli indifferent things,

WastiniT its kindliness on stocks and stones,

And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And draufijfed to earth both branch and ))oii<di with erasli

"oo"

And merciless ravage ; and the sliady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being. And, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past,
Even then, when from the l)ower I turned away
Exidting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I ftilt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart ; with gentle hand
Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods.

MICHAEL.

A PASTORAL POEM.

If from the public way j'^ou turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Chyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle ; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
J3ut, 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 hither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.

ly 50

kites

' ■!

.afiaH

i wawn ii mi ll I' lM I II

MiniAEL.

173

It is, ill tnitli, Jill uttor solitude ;

Nor sliould r li.'ive iiuulc. iiioritioii of Uiis dell

But for one ol)ject which you inii,dib })ass \)y, 15

Might see and notice not. Beside tlie l)l■ooi^

Api)eai*s a straggling heap of unh(3wn stones ;

And to that place a story appertains

Which, though it he ungarnished witli events.

Is not unfit, I deem, for the iireside 20

Or for the .summer shade. It was tin; first

Of those domestic tales tliat spake to me

Of shep)ierds, dwellers in the valleys, men

Whom I already loved; — not, verily, "

For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 25

Where was their occupation and abode.

And hence this tale, while I was yet a boy

Careless of books, yet having felt the power

Of Nature, by the gentle agency

Of natui-al objects led me on to feel 30

For passions that were not my own, and third<

(xVt random and imperfectly indeed)

On man, the heart of man, and human life.

Therefore, although it be a history

Homely and rude, 1 will relate the same 35

For the delight of a few natural hearts ;

And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake

Of youthful poets, who among these hills

Will be my second self when I am gone.

Upon the foi-est-side in Grasmere Vale 40

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, 45

]

174 WORDSWORTJI.

And ill liis .shepherd's ('allin<^ he was prompt

And watchful more than oi-dinary men.

Hence liad he learned the meaning of all winds,

Of blasts of every tone ; and oftentimes,

When others heeded not, lie heard the 8outh 50

IVIake 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 ! " 55

And, truly, at all times, the storm — that drives

The traveller to a shelter — summoned him

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. 60

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 he so oft

Had climbed with vigorous steps, 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 honoura})le gain —

Those fields, those hills (what could they less?), had laid

Strong hold on his affections ; were to him

A pleasurable feeling of blind love,

The pleasure which there is in life itself.

His d.ays had not been passed in singleness.
His helpmate was a comely matron, old — ■

liSiiFulirr'J

MICUAKL.

175

Though younger ilum liijnself full twenty years. 80

She was a woman of a stirring life,

Whose lieart was in her house. Two wheels she had

Of antique form — tliis large for spinning wool,

That small for llax ; and if one wheel had rest,

It was Ix'causo the other was at work. 85

The Pair had but one inmate in their house,

An only Child, wlio had been born to them

When jNIichael, telling o'er his years, began

To deem that he was old — in shepherd's i)hrase,

With one foot in the grave. This only Son, 90

With two brave sheep-dijgs tried in many a storm,

The one of an inestimable woi'th,

Made all thcii* household. I may truly sa-"^.

That they were as a proverb in the vale

For 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 their cleanly supper-board, and there.

Each with a mess of pottage and skinnned milk, 100

Sat round their basket piled with oaten cakes,

And tlieir plain home-made cheese. Yet when their meal

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 fireside : perhaps to card

Wool for the Housewife's s})indle, 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.
That in our ancient uncouth country style
Did with a huge projection overbrow

110

176 woKDswortTii.

liHri,'(^ spucc Ix'ticutii, us duly as tlio li^'lit
Ot" (lay gi«'\v dill) {\\r lloiisrwifo liuii<,' a lamp —
All a^cd utensil, which had pcrfoiiiuid lir>

Sei\ ict) hcytdid all others of its kind.
Karly at evening did it Ijuni, and late,
Surviving comrade of uncounte<l hours,
Which, going ])y from year to year, liad found,
And left the couple neither gay, perha])s, 120

Xor ciieerful, yet with objects and with hopes,
Li\ ing a life of eager industry.

\nd now. when Jjuko had reached his (?ighteentli 3'ear,
There hy the light of this old hiinp they sat.
Father and Son, while late into the night 125

The }fous(nvifo plied her own peculiar work.
Making the cottayo through the silent h(»urs
Murmur as with the sound ,*f sunnner Hies.
This li'dit was famous in its TUM-'hljourhood,
And was a public symliol of the life 130

That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced,
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground
Stood single, with larg<; prospect, north and south.
High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Kai.se,
And westward to the village near the lake ; 135

And from this constant light, so regular
And so far seen, the house itself, by all
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale,
l>oth old and young, was named The Evening Star.

Thus living on through such a length of years, I-IO
The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs
I[ave loved his Helpmate ; but to IMichael's heart
This son of his old age was yet more dear —
Less from instinctive tenderness, the same
Blind spirit which is in the blood of all — 145

MM'HAKL.

177

115

120

130

135

140

145

'Ilwui tluit u cliild more llum all other ''ifts

iii'irigs hopo with it, ami t'orwanl-iookin;,' th()iJi,'htH,

And stirrinijs of irKiuicludr, when they

By toridf^ncy of natun^ iiowls must fail.

Kxceodiiij^ was <ho lovn h(5 ham to him, 150

His h(!art and his heart's joy. Foi* oftciitimes

Old i\ri('ha('l, whil<^ ho was a h.aho in ai'ms.

Had doiio him femalo service, not alono

F'or pastime and delight, as is the use

Of fathers, bub with patient mind enforced l.");')

To acts of tenderness ; and he had rock(»d

His cradle with a woman's gentle hand.

And, in a later time, ere yet the Hoy
}[ad put on boy's attire, did jVIichael love —
Albeit of a stern, unbending mind — 160

To have the Young-one in his sight, when he
Had work by his own door, or when he sat
With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool,
Beneath that large old oak which near their door
Stood, and from its enormous breadth of shade 165

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
With others round them, earnest all and blithe, 170
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
Of fond correction and reproof bestoNxed
Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts
Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. 1 75

And when, by Heaven's good grace, the l)oy gr, \v up

A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek

Two steady roses that were five years old,
12

1
1

i!:^i

178 WORDSWORTH.

Then Michael from a winter coppice cut

With his own hand a sapHng, ^vhicll he liooped 180

AVith iron, making it throughout in all

Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff,

And gave it to the Boy ; wherewith etjuipt

He as a watchman oftentimes was phiced

At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock ; 185

And, to his office prematurely called,

There stood the urchin, as you will divine.

Something hetweeji a hindrance and a help ;

xVnd for this cause noL always, I l)elieve,

Receiving from his Father hire of i)raise ; 190

Thou'di naucdit was left undone which staff, or voice,

Or looks, or threatening gestures could perform.

But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand
Against tlie mountain blasts, and to the heights,
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways, 1 95

He with his Father daily went, and they
AVere as companions, why should I relate
That objects which the Shepherd loved before
Were dearer now 1 that from the Boy there came

-things ^•.■hich were

Feelings and emanations -

Light to the sun and music to the wund ;

And that the old man's heart seemed born a<:ain

200

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

AVhile in this sort the simple household lived
From day to da}^, to Michael's ear there came
Distressful tidings. Long before the time
Of which I speak, the Shepherd had Ijeen boun<l
In surety for his brother's son, a man 210

MICHAEL.

179

180

185

190

voice,

tund

j:,,

195

200

ear

205

1(1

210

Of an industrious life and ample means ;

But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly

Had prest upon him ; and old Michael now

Was summoned to discharge the forfeitui'e —

A grievous penalty, but little less 215

Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim

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.

As soon as he had gathered so much strength 220

That he could look his trouble in the face,

It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell

A portion of his patrimonial fields.

Such was his first resolve ; he thought aefain.

And his heart failed him. " Isabel," said he, 225

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 lived ; yet if these fields of ours

Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think 230

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

To my own family. An evil man 235

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 him ; — but

'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 240

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 ;

v?f

■

]

l«-l

180 WORDSWORTH.

He shjill })osse.ss it, free as is the wind 245

That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,

Another kinsman ; lie will be our friend

In this distress. He is a prosperous man,

Thriving in trade ; and Luke to him shall go.

And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift 250

}[e quickly will repair this loss, and then

May come again to us. If here he stay,

AVhat can be done ] Where every one is poor,

AVliat can be gained ?" At this the old man paused.

And I.sibel sat silent, for her mind 255

Was busy looking back into past times.

There's Richarc^ Bateman, thought she to herself.

He was a parish-boy ; at tlie church-door

They made a gathering for him — shillings, pence.

And half-pennies— whei'(nvi til the neighbours bought

A basket, which they filled with peddler's wares ; 2()1

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

To go and overlook his mei'chandise 265

Beyond the seas ; where he grew" wondrous rich,

And left estates and moiK^ys to the poor.

And, at his birthplace, built a chapel floored

With marble, which he sent from foreign lands,

Tliese tiioughts, and many others of like sort 270

Passed quickly tiirough the mind of Isabel,

And her face bi-ightened. The old man was glad,

And thus resumed : " Well, Isabel ! this scheme.

These two days, has been meat and drink to me.

Far more than we have lost is left us yet, 275

We liave enough — I wish, indeed, that I

Were younger, — but this hope is a good hope.

— Make ready laike's best garments, of the best

MICHAEL.

181

245

250

265

Bu}^ for liini more, and let us send liim forth

To-morrow, or the iioxt day, or to-night : '2S0

~ If he could go, tlie Boy should go to-niglit."

Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth

With a light heart. The housewife for five davs

Was restless morn and night, and all day long

Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare i'sr>

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 IMichael's side, she through the two last nights

Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep ; 290

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 nmst not go :

We have no other child but thee to lose, 295

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,

Recovered heart. That evening her best fare 300

Did she bring forth, and all together sat

Jiike happy people round a Christmas fire.

270

275

With daylight Isa])el resumed her work ;
And all the ensuing week the house appeared
As cheerful as a grove in spring : at h^igth 305

The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfju'e of the Boy ;
To which requests wei'e added that forthwith
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more 310

The letter was read over ; Isabel

lin^N

182 WORDSWORTH.

Went foi'tli to sliow it to the iieiglibours round ;

Nor was there at tliat time on English land

A prouder heart tlian Luke's. When Isabel

Had to her liouse returned, the old man said, 315

" He shall depart to-morrow." To this w^ord

The housewife answered, talking much of things

Which, if at such short notice he should go,

Would surely be forgotten. But at length

She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. 320

Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head (ihyll
In that deep valley, Michael had designed
To build a sheepfold ; and, betore he heard
The tidings of his melancholy loss.
For this same purpose he had gathered up 325

A heap of stones, wdiieh by the sti'eamlet's edge
Lay thrown together, ready for the wurk.
With Luke thnt evening thitherward ho walked ;
And soon as they had reached the place he stopped.
And thus the old man spake to him : " My son, 330
To-morrow thou wilt leave me : with full heart
I look upon thee, for thou art the same
That wert a promise t(j me ere thy birth,
And all thy life hast been my daily joy.
I will relate to thee some little part 335

Of our two histories ; 'twill do thee good
When thou art from me, even if I should speak
Of things thou canst not know of. After thou
First camest into the world — as oft befalls
To new-l)orn infants — thou didst sleep away , 340

Two days, and l)]essings from thy father's tongue
Then fell upon thee. I^ay by day passed on,
And still T loved thee with increasing love.
Never to living ear came sweeter sounds

315

320

325

330

335

340

MICIIAKL.

183

345

350

355

300

Than when I heard thee hy our own fireside

First uttering, without words, a natural tune ;

Wlien 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 lauH^s.

But we were playmates, Luke : among those hills,

As well thou knowest, in us the old and young

Have played together, nor with me didst thou

Lack any pleasure which a boy can know."

Luke had a manly heart ; but at these woi'ds

He sobbed aloud. The old man grasped his liatid,

And said, " Nay, do not take it so — T see

That these are things of which 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 wdiich I myself

Received at others' hands ; for, though now old

Beyond the common life of man, 1 still

Jlemember theui who loved me in my youth.

Both of them sleep together. Hei'e they lived.

As all their forefathers had done, and when

At length their time was come, they were not loath

To Lave their bodies to the family mould.

I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived. 370

But 'tis a long time to look back, my son.

And see so little gain from threescore years.

These fields were })urdened when they came U: me.

Till T was forty years of age, not more

Than half of my inheritance was mine.

I toiled and toiled. God blessed me in my woi-k.

And till these three weeks past the land was free.

It looks as if it never could endure

365

375

ffjf

1 ■ '

m>.

mi .

Ill '

' M !

1 84 WORDSWORTH.

Another inastoi-. Heaven forgive me, Luke,

If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good 380

That thou shouldst go." At this the old man paused.

Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood.

Thus, after a short sileiiee, he resumed :

" This was a work for us ; and now, my son,

it is a work for me. But lay one st(me — .'i85

1 [ere, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

Nay, boy, be of good hope ; w^e both may live

To see a better day. At eighty-four

I still am strong and hale ; — do thou thy part ;

I will do mine. — I will begin again 390

With many tasks that were resigned to thee.

Up to the heights and in among the storms

AVill I without thee go again, and do

All works which I was wont to do alone

Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee, boy ! 395

Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast

With many hopes. It should l)e so — Yes — yes —

T knew that thou couldst never have a wish

To leave me, Luke ; thou hast been bound to me

Only by links of l:)ve. When thou art gone, 400

What will be left to us ! — But I forget

My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone

As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke,

When thou art gone away, should evil men

Be thy companions, think of me, my son, 405

And of this moment ; hither turn thy thoughts,

And Clod will strengthen thee. Amid all fear

And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou

^Nlayst bear in mind the life thy fathers lived.

Who, being iimocent, did for that cause 410

Bestir them in go(jd deeds. Now, fare thee w^ell —

When thou returnest, thou in this place wilt see

MICHAEL.

185

380
used.

A work wliicli is not liero — a covenant
'Twill be between us. ]'>iit whatever fate
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory v/ith me to the grave."

415

;i85

390

! 395

The Shepherd ended here; and Luk(^ stooped down
And, as his father had recjuested, laid
The first stone of the sheepfold. At the sight
The old man's grief broke from him ; to his heart 4L'U
He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept ;
And to the house together they returned.
— Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming })eace.
Ere the night fell : — with morrow's dawn the Boy
Began his journey ; and when he had reached 425

Tlie 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.

400

405

410

A good report did from their kinsman come, 430

Of Luke and his Avell-doing ; and the Boy
Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news,
AVhich, as the Housewife phrased it, wore thnjughout
" The prettiest letters that were ever seen."
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. 435

So, many months passed on ; and once again
The Shepherd went about his daily work
With confident and cheerful thoughts ; and now
Sometimes, when he could find a leisure hour.
He to that valley took his way, and thei-e 440

Wrought at the sheepfold. Meantime Luke ])egan
To slacken in his duty ; and, at length
He in the dissolute city gave himself

iil

l! : vi

■i
n

186 woiiDswoHTir.

To evil courses : iicnoniiny aiul shame

Fell on liiin, so tlwit lie was driven at last 445

To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

TluM'e is a comfort in tin' strength of love ;
'Twill make a thing en(lur;d)le which else
AVould overset the brain or break the heart.
I have conversed with more than one who well 150

liemem])er the old man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to ago
Of an unusual streni;th. Anionic the rocks
He went, and still looked up towards the sun, 455

And listened to the wind ; and, as before,
P<M'formed all kinds of lal)our for his sheep,
And for the land his small inheritance.
And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair to build the fold of which 460

His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet
The pity which was then in every hearo
For the old man ; and 'tis believed by all
That many and many a day he thither went
And never lifted up a single stone. 465

There, by the sheepfold, sometimes was he seen,
Sitting alone, with that his faithful dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years, from time to time,
He at the buikling of tliis sheepfold wrought, 470

And left the work unfinished when he died.
Three years, or little more, did Isabel
Survive her husband. At her death the estate
AVas sold, and went into a stranger's hand.
The cottage which was named The Evening Star 475
Is gone ; the ploughshare has been through the ground

AT TIIK ORAVE OF BURNS.

187

445

On which it stood ; grout chuiigcs liave becMi wi-ouj;lit

In all the neighbourhood ; }'et the oak is left

Tiiat grew beside their door ; and the remains

Of tlie unfinished sheepfold ni.-iy be seen 480

Beside tlie l)oisterous l)rook of (Jreen-head Clhyll.

•150

455

460

465

470

475
>und

TO THE DAISY.

Biiylit tlowei', whose home is everywhere !

A Pilijrrim bold in Nature's care,

And oft, the long year through, the lieir

Of joy or sorrow,
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity.
Given to no other flower I see

The forest thorough !

And wherefore 1 Man is soon deprest ;
A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest,
Does little on his memory rest.

Or on his reason ;
But Thou wouldst teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind

And every season.

AT THE (iUAVE OF BURNS, 1803.

SEVEN YEARS AFTER ilS DEATH.

I shiver. Spirit fierce and bold.

At thought of what I now behold :

As vapours breathed from dungeons cold

C'-trike pleasure dead.
So sadness comes from out the mould

Whei-e Burns is laid.

188

I'; i

IJhi

WORDSWORTH.

And have T, then, thy bones so near,
And tlioii forbidden to {ipjx'jir "?
As if it wore tliyself tlu'it's liere

I slirink with pain ; 10

And l)oth my wislies and my fear

Alike ai'e vain.

Off, weight — nor press on wei<;ht ! —Away,
Dai'k thoughts ! — they came, })ut not to stay.
AV'ith chastened feeUngs wouki 1 pay 15

The tribute (hie
To him, and auglit that hides his clay

From mortal view.

Fresh as tlie flower wliose modest worth

He sang, liis genius " glinted " forth, 20

Rose like a : aiv that touching earth,

For so it seems,
l)oth glorify its liumble birth

AVith matchless Ijeams.

I i

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow, 25

The struggling heart, where be they now 1 —
Full soon the Aspirant of the plough.

The pi'ompt, the brave.
Slept, with the o])scurest, in the low

And silent ''rave. 30

Well might T mourn that He w^as gone,
Whose light I hailed when first it shone.
When breaking foi'th as Nature's own.

It showed my youth
How Yefse may Imild a princely throne

On huml)le truth.

.".5

AT THE GRAVK OK I5UUNS.

189

Alas ! where'er the current tends,
lie^'ret pursues and witli it })len(ls —
Huge Criflel's houry top ascends

By Skiddaw seen : 40

Neighbours wo were, and loving friends

We miglit have been !

True friends tliough diversely inclined ;
But heart with heart and mind with mind.
Where the main fibres are entwined, 45

Through Nature's skill,
May even by contraries be joined

More closely still.

The tear will start, and let it flow ;

Thou "poor Inhabitant Inflow, " 50

At this dread moment — even so —

Might we together
Have sate and talked where gowjins IjIow,

Or oil wild heather.

AVhat treasures would have then been placed 55
Within my reach ; of knowledge graced
By fancy what a rich repast !

But why go on ? —
Oh 1 spare to sweep, thou mournful blast,

His grave grass-grown. 60

There, too, a Son, his joy and pride
(Not three weeks past the Stripling dii^d).
Lies gathered to his Father's side,

Soul-moving sight !
Yet one to which is not denied 65

Some sad delight.

190

I <■:

WOUDHWOMTH.

For Art is safe, a cjuict })e(l

ll.'ith «';ii'ly found among tho (load,

H;u-l)ourod wlioro none can Ix; misled,

Wronged, or distrest ;
And surely hero it may be said

That such are })lest.

And oh for 1'heo, by pitying grace
Checked ofttimes in a d(?vious race,
JNIay I To wlio lialloweth the place

Where Man is hiid
Receive thy Spirit in the embrace

For which it prayed !

Sighing, I turned away ; ])nt ere
Night fell, I heard, or seemed to hear.
Music that sorrow comes not near,

A ritual hymn,
Chaunted in love that casts out fear

By Seraphim.

THOUGHTS.

SUGGESTED ON THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS OF THE
NITH, NEAR THE POET's RESIDENCE.

Too trail to keep the lofty vow

That must have followed when his brow

AVas wreathed — "The Vision" tells us how —

With holly spray.
He faltered, drifted to and fro, 6

And passed away.

Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng
Our minds when, lingering all too long,
Over the grave of Burns we hung

3F THE

V-

'ong

THOUGHTS.

Tn soci.'il grief —
Indulged Jis if it Nvcro u wrong
To seek roliof.

liut, leaving each uiuniiet thenio
Where gentlest judgments may niistieenr
And prompt to wel(X)mo every gleam

()f good and fair,
Let us beside tliis limpid stream

Breathe lujpeful air.

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight :
Think rather of those moments bright
When to the consciousness of right

Ilis course was true,
When wisdom prospered in his sight

And virtue grew.

Yes, freely let our hearts expand,
Freely as in youth's season })land,
When side by side, his Book in hand,

We wont to stray.
Our pleasure varying .at command

Of each sweet Lay.

How oft inspired must he have trode
These path-ways, yon far-stretching road !
There lurks his home ; in that Abode,

With mirth elate,
Or in his nobly pensive mood,

The Rustic sate.

Proud thoughts that image overawes,

Before it huml)ly let us pause,

iind ask of Nature from what cause

191

ill

192

! I'

I! :;l:i

WDKDSWOUTH.

And by wliat rules 40

She trained her Burns to win applause
That shames the Schools.

Through busiest street and loneliest glen

Are felt the flashes of his pen :

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 45

Bees fill their hives.
I)eep in the general heart of men

His power survives.

"What need of fields in c^ome far clime

Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sul)lime, 60

And all that fetched the flowing rhyme

From genuine springs,
Shall dwell together till old Time

Folds up his wings 1

Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven 55

This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven ;
The rueful conflict, the heart riven

AVith vaia endeavour,
And memory of Earth's bitter leaven

Effaced forever. 60

But why to Him confine the prayer,
Wlu'ii kindred thoughts and 3'cariiings bear
(/;i the frail heart the purest share

AVith all that live?
The ])est of what we do and are, 65

Just God, forgive !

■^'

mttimiiti M nt ifS i ' W ii

THE SOLITARY RKAI'EK.

193

THE SOLITARY 1IEAPP:R.

Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass,
Heaping and singing by herself ;

Stop here, or gently pass !
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5

And sings a melancholy strain ;
Oh, listen ! for the Yale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant

So sweetly to reposing bands 10

Of travellers in some shady haunt

Among Arabian sands :
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In springtime from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas 15

Among the farthest Hebrides.

\Yill no one tell me what she sings ? —
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago : 20

Or is it some more Inmible lay

Fannliar matter of to-day 1

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again 1

\Yhate'er the theme, the Maiden sang 25

As if her song C(juld have no ending ;

I saw her simri'\,^ at her work.
And o'er the sickle bending ;

I listened till I had my fill ;

And when I mounted up the hill, 30

The nuisic in my heai*t I bore

Lonu after it was heard no more.

ii'^ll

11 nl,

!' ii

l!-h:

194

WORDSWORTH.

ODE TO DUTY.

Jam noil coiisilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, lit iion tantum recte facere po8sim,
sed nisi recte facere non possim.

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God !

O Duty ! if that name thou love
Who art a h'ght to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law 6

When empty terrors overawe ;
From vain temptations dost set free,
And cahn'st the weary strife of frail humanity !

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them ; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth :
Ghid Hearts, without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work and know it not :
Long may the kindly impulse last ! 15

But Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,
AVhen love is an unerring light,

And 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.

I, loving freedom, and untried ;

No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide.

Too blindly have reposed my trust ;

ODE TO DUTY.

195

And oft, \vlioii ill my heart was heard

'V\\v liiiu'lv iMaiidatc, I. dcforrcd 30

Th(! task, ill yinoolher walks to stray ;

But thee I now would servo more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul.

Or strong compunction in me wrought.
I supplicate for thy control ; 35

But in the quietness of thought.
Me 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. ' 40

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost ^^■ear

The Godhead's most benignant grace ;
Nor know we anything so fair

As is the smile upon thy face.
Flow »'s laugh before thee on their l)eds, 46

And fragrance in thy footing treads ;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ;
And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are
fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power !

I call thee : I myself commend 50

Unto thy guidance from this hour ;

Oh, let my v/eakness have an end !
Give unto 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 !

'lil

196

WORDHWOKTII.

Ill'

I I <

ELEGIAC Sn^AXZAS.

SUGfJKSTKD 15Y A TICTURK Oi' I'KKLE CASTLK, IN A STOKM,
PAINTED Ijy SrU (iEOIUJE IJEAUMONT.

I was thy neighbour onco, thou rugged Pile !

Four summer weeks I dwelt in si'^'ht of thee :
I s<aw thee every day, and all the while

Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 6

So like, so very like, was day to day !
AVhene'er I looked, thy Image still was there ;

It trembled, but it never passed away.

How perfect was the calm ! it seemed no sleep ;

No mood which season takes away or })rings : 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 m^t cease to smile.

On tran(|uil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20

A Picture had it been of lasting ease,

Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ;
Iso motion, but the moving tide, a breeze,

Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 25

Such Pictui'e would I at that time have made ;

And seen the soul of truth in eveiy part,

A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed.

ELKGIAO STANZAS. ]',)7

So once it would liave heeii, — 'tis so no inoi-i* ;

I have submitted to a new conti'ol ; 30

A power is gone wliicli nothing can restorer ;

A deep distress hath humanized my Soul.

Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea aiul be what I have been.

The feeling of my lo.'-s will ne'er be old ; 35

This, which I know, I speak with mind s(!n'ii(\

Then, Beaumont, Friend who would have been the
Friend,

If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, •
This work of thine I blame not, but commend ;

This sea in anger and that dismal shore. 40

Oh, 'tis a passionate Work — yet wise and well,

Well chosen is the spirit that is here ;
That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell.

This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear !

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 45

I love to see the look with which it braves,

Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time,

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone.
Housed, in a dream, at distance from the Kind

Such happiness, wherever it be known.
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 hei'c. —
Not without hope we suffer and we mouru.

I'
I ;

,i-

'■J,.

198 WORDSVVOIlTIi.

CllAJiACTEU OF TJIP] HAI'I'Y AVAJllllOll.

^Mlo is tlio liiippy AVarriof '? AVlio is lio

That every man in {inns should \visli to bo ?

— It is the generous Spirit who, when brou<^ht,

Among the tasks of real life, liatli wrought

Upon the plan that pleased his childish tliouglit ;

AVliose high endeavours aro an inward light

That makes the path before him always bright ;

AVlio, witli a natural instinct to discern

AYhat knowledge can perfoi-m, 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, miseral)le train !

Turns 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, l)(n'(\aves

Of their bad influence, and their good receives ;

By objects wdiich might force the soul to abate

Her feeling rendered more compassionate ;

Is placable — because occasions rise

So often that demand such sacrifice ;

More skillful in self-knowledge, exen more pun^,

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

Upon that law as on tlie best of friends ;

Whencci, in a st;ito whci-o men arct tempted still

To evil for a guard against worse ill,

And what in quality or act is best

Doth seldom on a riij^ht foundation rest,

CnAKACTKU OF Till'] IlAi'PY AVAKltlOR.

199

L'5

He fixes good on good alone, and owes

To virtue every triumph that he knows :

. — Who, if he rise to station of coninijind, .'55

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, if he be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

Great issues, good or bad for humankind, 50

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 w itli a sense

And faculty for storm and turbulence,

Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans

To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes ;

Sweet images ! which, wheresoe'er he be,

Are at his heart, and such fidelity

It is his darling passion to approve ;

More brave for this, that he hath much to love :—

'Tis, finally, the Man who, lifted high, 05

Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,

rsp

fl V

lil ^ii

iiii'

.11

<\> i

200 WORDSWORTH.

Or left unthought of in o}).scuritv, —

Who, witli a toward or untoward lot,

Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,

Plays, in the many games of life, that one 70

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, 75

From well to better, daily self-surpast ;

Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth

Forever, and to noble deeds give birth,

Or he must go to dust without his fame,

And leave a dead, unprofitable name, 80

Finds comfort in himself and in his cause ;

And, while the mortal mist is gathei'ing, draws

His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause :

This is the happy Warrior; this is He

Whom every man in arms should wish to l)e. 85

I :' t

•«0 NIGHTINGALE, THOU SUKELY ART."

O Nightingale, thou surely art

A creature of a fieiy heart ;- —

These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce ;

Tumultuous harmony and fierce !

Thou sing'st as if the God of wini;

Had helped thee to 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.

TO THK KEV. I)K. WOHDSWOUTII.

201

ti)

T heard a 8tock-dove sing or say

ITis honioly ialo this very day ;

]Iis voice was buricjd among trees,

Yet to he come at hy the l)reoze :

He did not cease, hut cooed— and cooed,

And somewhat pensively he wooed.

He sang of h)ve, with quiet hlen<Hng,

Slow to begin, and never ending ;

Of serious faith and inward gle(^ :

That was the song— tlie song iov me !

TO THE llEV. DR. WORDSWORTH.
(with the sonnets to the river duddon, and

OTHER poems).

The minstrels played their Christmas t\:ne
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,

That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings ;

Keen was the air, ])ut could not freeze
Nor check the music of the strings ;

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 :
1. the nnisic

The 'H-eeting gi

Inl

lonou
onounct

played,
f each household name,
id with lusty call,

Duly I

And " Merry Christmas" w

ished to all !

202

AvouDswoirrii.

O Broilioi* ! I rovoi-c ilio choioo

That took th(H^ fi-oiii tliy n.•lti^(' liills ;

And it i^ given \.\ioo to rejoice :
Thougli pnl)lic cure full often (ills

(HeuNt'ii only Nvitness of tlio toil)

A barren and nnt^rateful soil.

'li-

Yet wonld that Thou, with me and mine, 25

Hadst hoard this never-failing rite ;

And seen on other faces shine
A true revival of the liicht

Which Nature and these; rustic P(»\vers,

Jn simple childhood, spread thr(»u<j,h ours ! 30

l*^)r pleasure hath not ceased to wait
On these expected annual rounds ;

Whf*"her the rich man's sumptuous gate
Call forth the unelaborate sounds,

Or they are offered at the door

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.

By blazing fire, the still suspense

Of self-complacent innocence ;

The mutual nod — the ijrave dis^ruise

Of hearts with gladness l>rinnnini; o'er ;

And some unbidden tears that rise 45

For names once heard, and heard no morej

Tears brightened by the serenade

For infant in the cradle laid !

TO TIIK IJEV. DR. WOUDSWORTU.

203

Ah ! itot for emerald fields ;d(>ii(%

With ainhiciit streams moro piuv and bright 50
Than fahlcd Cytlien'a's z<mo

(Jlitteriiig before the Thunderer's sii^ht,
Is to my heart of hearts endeared
'V\ir c'round where we were born and ivaivd '.

0!a

Hail, ancient :\ranners ! sure defence,
Where th<'y survive, of wholesome laws ;

llenmants of love whoso modest sense
Thus into narrow room withdraws ;

Hail, Usages of pristine mould,

And ye that guard them, INIountains old !

Bear with me, Brother; 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,

:\b)ments to cast a look behind,
And profit by those kindly rays

That through the clouds do S(i.netimes steal.

And all the far-off" past reveal.

Hence, while the imperial City's din
Breaks frequent on thy satiate ear,

A pleased attention I may win
To agitations Irss .severe.

That neither overwhclni n-.r cloy,

But fill the hollow vale with joy !

;>;)

( .-)

201

woKDswoirni.

iif

i ii^

'!! !-i U

TIIK PKIMIIOSK OF TlIK KoCK.

A Kock thcro is whose? liomoly front

Tlie p.'issiiig ti'av(!ll('i' sliiclils;
Yet tliero tlio ^flow-worms lian^' tlioir lamps,

Jiike staj's, at various heights ;
And ono coy Primrose to that llock

'J'Ik! vernal breeze invites.

What hideous warfare hath ])ovn waj^^ed,

Wliat kingdoms overthrown,
Sinc(; fust I s})ied that Vi'imrose-tuft

And maiked it for my own ;
A lasting link in Nature's chain

From highest heaven let down !

The flowers, still faithful to the stems,

Their fellowship renew ;
Th(5 stems are faithful to the root,

That worketh out of view ;
And to the rock the root adheres

In every fibre true.

Close clings t(j 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 Plnnt, nor dreads

Her annual funeral.
^ * -^ * ^

Here closed the meditative strain ;

Ihit air bn-athed soft that day,
The hoaiy m(»untain-heights were cheered.

The sunny vale looked gay ;
And Ut t ifc Primrose of tlie llock

I gave this after-lay.

F/.iu s'lAU OF i;vi:nin(j.

I siiii;,' lift myri.uls of brii^lil Mowers,

Like '^lMM^ in lichl tind -^lovo
|{»>viv(^ ui»«'iivi«(l : — uiii^'litifM" far

Tliaii tr(!iul)llM^'s that, roprovn
Oui" vcn-nal teinhMicuvs to hopt',

Is (lod's r(3(l(MMnin^ lovo ;

Thnt lovo which changed -for wan disease,

For sorrow that Iwid Ijent
O'er hopeless dust, for wither(>d age—

Their moral element,
And turned t\w thistles of a curso

To types beneficeiit.

Sin-l)liglited though we are, we too.

The reasoning Sons of Men,
From one oblivious winter cahed

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 lieaven,
A court for Deity.

\>i)')

"FAIR STAR OF EVENING."

COMPOSED liY THE SEA-SIDE NEAR CALAIS. AUOUST 1802.

Fair Star of Evening, Splendour of the West,
Star of my country !— on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom ; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and 1)0 to her a gloricnis crest

li ^l,

206

WORDSWOHTH.

1 Hji

i 1

Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, T tliiuk,
Sli(»ul(lst 1)0 my C^)uuti'y's (Miiblcin ; Jiiid shouldst, wink,
J)i*iglit Star ! witli Liu<^lil<'i' on licr l)a!inors, drest
In thy fresh beauty. Tiicre ! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, it is England ; tliere it lies. 10

Blessings be on you both ! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory ! I, with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heart-felt sighs,
Among men who do not love her, linger here.

"IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF."

It is not to be thought of that the Flood

Of British freedom, wdiich to the open sea

Of the world's pi-aise from dark antiquity

Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"

Roused though it be full often to a mood

AVhich spurns the check of salutary bands.

That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands

Should perish ; and to evil and to good

Be lost forever. In our halls is hung

Armory of the invincible knights of old ;

We must be free or die who speak the, tongue

That Shakespeare spake ; the faith and morals hold

Which JVrilton held — In everything we arc sprung

< )f Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

"IT IS A BEAUTEOITS EVENING."

COMPOSED UPON THE UEACII NEAR CALAIS, 1802.

It is a l)eauteous Evening, calm and free ;
The holy time is (juiet as a Nun
Jh-eathless with adoration ; the l)road sun
Is sinking down in its ti-anijuillity ;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea.

PERSONAL TALK.

20:

U. wink,

1st

Listen! tho miglity licing is awjiko,

Aiul doth witii his eternal motion make

A sound like tlmnder— everlastingly.

Dear Child ! dear Girl ! that walkest with me here,

If thou appear'st untouched by .solemn thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine.

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ;

And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,

God being with thee when we know it not.

>d,"

hold

ung

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 sight ;
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, l)arren 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.

CONTINUED.

Wings have we,— and as far as we can go

We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood,

r.lank ocean and mere sky, support that mood

Which with the lofty sanctities the low.

Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know.

Are a substantial woild, both pure and good :

!;?'

^i;^[;

I 3

''I'i-i :

'i!ll

111-^

208 WORDSWORTH.

Rou!id these, with tendrils stroni,' as llcsli mul lilood,

Our pastime and our lia^jpiness will grow.

There find I personal themes, a plenteous storey

Matter wherein right voluble I am, 10

To which I listen with a ready ear ;

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear —

The gentle Lady married to the Moor ;

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Land).

CONCLUDED.

Nor can I not believe but that here])y

Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote

From evil-speaking ; rancour, never sought,

Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie.

Henc3 have I genial seasons, hence have I 5

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought.

And thus from day to day my little boat

Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.

Blessings be wnth them — and eternal praise.

Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — 10

The Poets who on earth have made us heirs

Of truth and pure delight by hea veidy lays !

Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs.

Then gladly would I end my mortal days.

AFTER-THOUGHT,-

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide.

As being passed 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 not cease to glide ; 5

The Form remains, the Function never dies ;

While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise.

,11(1 ])1<)()(I,
tore,

,n\b.

ous thouLjht.

theirs,

ide,

B to i^lide ; 5

I'S

wise,

!■ ,

■?3

SONNET.

209

We Men, who in our morn of 3'ontli defied

The elements, must vanisli ; he it so 1

Enough, if something from our ]i;uids liave power 10

To live and act and serve the futures liour ;

And if, as toward the silent toml) we go,

Tlirough love, througli liope, and faith's transcendent

dower.
We feel that we are greater tlian we know.

-s:

-O

CIS

.>^

"SCORN NOT THE SONNET."

Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you liave frowned,

Mindless of its just honours ; wdth this key

Shakspeare unlocked his heart ; the melody

Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound ;

A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound ;

(•amoens soothed with it an exile's grief;

The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf

Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned

His visionary brow ; a glowworm lamp,

It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land

To struggle through dark ways ; and wIumi a damp

Fell round the path of jMilt(m, in his hand

The Thing l)ecame a trumpet, whence he blew

Soul-animating strains — alas, too few !

SONN-ET

ON Till. ">KPARTIJHK OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FHOM AUnOTSFORD,

FOR NAPLES.

A trouble, not of clouds or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height.
14

210

VVOIlDSWORTBt,

Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain

For kindred Power departing from their sight ; 5

While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,

Saddens his voice again and yet again.

Lift up your liearts, ye Mourners ! for the might

Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ;

Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue 10

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 ')

"vl POKTI-

HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO
SCHOOL."

A Poet ! — He hath put his heart to school,

Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff

Which Art hath lodged within his hand — must laugh

By precept only, and shed tears by rule.

Thy Art ])e Nature ; the live current quafif, 5

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 10

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.

; 5

le strain,

fht

as ;

iWS,

;t laugh

NOTES.

N o T e: s .

SCOTT.

Wai.Tku Sf'oTT was nil almost exact cont('iiii)ur;iiy of Wordswoith,
and like liiiu wiis a j:;reiit force in tlie [xxtic luovcnienl. wliicli covers the
later part of the iStli and the (;arlier part of the ll>Lh ccntnry. 'riuse
two men, liowever, nnlike in character and nianner of life, developed
different elements of that movement.

The thought of the 18th century hnd l)een marked by a prffereuce
for general principles as compared with concrete facts, and hy a
proneuesa to neglect all that cannot be clearly and rationally accounted
for ; the province of the half knowu and vaguel}' surmised was over-
looked. This tendency in thought was accompanied by a parallel
tendency in form ; what was chietly aimed at in the style both of pioso
and poetry, was clearness, elegance, and polish. The eonse(iuenee of
the prevalent bent Avas the predominance of dry intellect, the expres-
sion of feeling Avas checked, and imagination was neglected ; while in
the matter of style, that vague suggestiveness and sensuous beauty
so characteristic of poetry was considered of minor importance as
compared with clea'rness and rhetorical eCfectiveness. P>usy as these
generations were iu getting their ideas clarilied and arranged, breadth,
and the study of the literature of other times were neglected. An
exception was made iu the case of classical, more especially of Latin,
literature, which exhibited a kindred spirit and form. On the
other hand, the middle ages were regarded with contempt, and the
later writers of Elizabethan times treated with an air of patronizing
superiority. The love of mysticism in mediaeval literature, — of the super-
naiural and inexplicable, its fondness for mere adventure and pictur-
esque detail, its lack of form, alienated the interest of this less simple
age ; whilst the rationality, the worldliness, and liuished style of the
Jjatin literature of the Augustan period were sources of attraction.
Against the narrow rationalism which we have described, there set in
an inevitable reaction ; thought and art began to broaden in various
directions. We may see, iu the case of Wordswortli, how po.try
became more comprehensive, and gathered into its sphere the persons
and incidents of connnonjihuie, and, what the 18th century would have
called, low and vulgar, life. There was a Ijroadcning in other direc-
tions, for example, an awakening of interest iu the past ; the lirst great
historians appeared in English literature, Gil)bou, Hume, and liobertson.
The jiiiddle ages, especially, attracted by those very qualities iji virtuQ

213

L'l I

NOTKW ON .SCOT'I'.

of •\v]ii( li tlioy had forinorly r(;[)olK'(l, Tho quickenc^tl (UOi^'lit in tlie
I)lay of imagination ami fancy, found endltiss food in iiUMlia-val liU-ra-
tuio and (lotliii; ait; and, in its cxaggonitrd manifestations, took a
childish intert'st in ghost stories, in tlie horrihh-, in all that stinudatod
Jie fcflings. ]ii iiochy, tho new tcnduncy turned fioni tho ah.slract
intellectual, or umomantic themes of tlu; IStli century— from the J'Jssa/f
on Man, and tho Essai/ on Crlfleism, from ^J'/ic, Jvi/k of t/ic I. nek, and
from satire— to what appealed to the cyo and imagination, to tho
]»ictures(iue, to records of action and adventure. Tho now sjiirit sig-
nalized itself ill many ways, — iu the i)uhlication of Percy's J'clirjio/i
of Aw'irnt Porfri/ (17()o), and of tho Poems of Osstan, in the develop-
ment of the historic novel, l)eginning with Horace \Val[)ole's C(is//r of'
Otranto (17t).'}), iu tho taste for (iothic ar(;lii(ecture, and for natural
landscape-gardening as opposed to tho formal ])utch stylo. This
tendency, as far as imaginative literature goes, culminated iu the work
of Scott ; and as we study the man and his eircumstanees, we see liow
temperament, antecedents, and surroundings all contril)uted to nuiko
him the great exponent of the historic, romantic, ami pictures([ue.

In the first place, Scott himself grevv up when this tendency was in
tho air, and when writers of inferior genius were making experiments iu
the direction which he was to follow. In the next i)lace, ho was a
Scotchman ; and Scotland liad preserved remnants of eailier social con-
ilitions longer than any ether jiart of the United Kingdom. This was
especially true of the ilighlantls and tho r)or(h!rs: with the former,
circumstances and tastes made Scott early faniiliai' ; with the latter, ho
was connected by the closest ties. Again, tho scenej-y of Scotland was
fitted to nourish the romantic sentiment, for even nature kas her
romantic and her classic aspects. The linished and orderly ap])earance of
a fertile and cidtivated country in a bright southern atmosi)here is
likely to charm tho taste that appreciates the deliniteness and j)er-
fection of classic art. Whereas the wild an.l rugged aspect of a bleak,
mountainous country like Scotland, tlie dark glens, the desolate moors,
half perceived through the veil of mist, have the mystery and suggcs-
tiveness of romantic art. Even Edinljurgh, with which, next to tho
Borders, Scott's life was most associated, is not only most romantic iu
its natural features, but even iu its artificial characteristics preserved,
iu Scott's youth, (lothic and feiidal elements ])eyond any other city iu
the island. I'y family liistor}', too, Scott was linked with the historic
past. He was descended fiom a promine.it F>or(h'r family, the Scotts
of llardeu. Auld Watt, of Hardeu, of wiiom Border story had much

ill tlie
il li U' ra-
ti lok .1
imilatcd
;il).str;i,ct

'>'•/•, iiiul
to tliu

(ii'it, Hig-
J'(/!(/iir.'i
Icvt'lop-
'as//c of'

' natural

;. Thi.s

ho work
SO'! liow

to inuko

uc.

was in

incuts in
lie was a
ooial con-
This was
3 former,
latter, ho
land was
has her
'arancG of
s[)here is
and per-
f a bleak,
:q moors,
I sugges-
t to tho
inantic in
reserved,
^r city in
! historic
he Seotts
,ad much

LIFK

2 IT)

'I
v!

•i

to tell, was an ancestor of his. "I am therefore lineally descended,"
he says, in his autobiograpliic sketch, '• from that ancient chieftain, whose
name I have made ring in many a ditty, and from his fair dame, tlie
Flower of Yarrow, — no bad geniialogy for a I)order minstrel."

Walter Scott was ])orn in Edinburgh, Aug. IHth, 1771. In early life
he was somewhat delicate, and contracted a slight but jiermanent
lameness. For tho sake of health he was sent to live with his paternal
grandfather, who held the farm of Sandy Knowe, in the very midst of
scenes memorable in Border story. Here tho child awakened into
consciousness, and here, before he could read, the lirst literary inii»res-
sion was made on his mind thnmgh learning by heart the old ballad «)f
Jlardicnnnte. After passing through tho Edinburgh High School, his
liealth again failed, and he was sent to recruit at Kelso, tho most
beautiful village in Sculiand (as he himself tells ns) surrounded by
"objects not only grand in themselves, but venerable from their
association." "The romantic feelings," ho continues, "which I have
described as predominating in my mind, naturally rested iipcm and
associated themselves with these grand features of the landscape around
jne ; and the historical incidents, or traditional legends connected with
many of them, gave to my admiration a sort of intense impression of
reverence, which at times made my heart feel too big for its bosom.
From this time the love of natural beauty, more especially when
combined with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety or
splendour, became with mo an insatiable jtassion." At this date his
ajtpetite for reading was great, and his favourite ])ooks show his
natural taste and served to develop it. Among these were the romantic;
poems of Spenser and Tasso ; but iirst in his atlections was Percy's
colleetirm of old ballads, "nor do I believe," ho says, "that 1 ever read
a book half so frequently, or with half the enthusiasm. "

He now entered classes in the university, and when about fifteen
years old became an apprentice to his father, who was a Writer to the
Signet, a profession which corresponds nearly to that of solicitor.
But it was not on legal pursuits that his interests were centred.
He and a friend would spend wh(de holidays wandering in the most
solitary spots about Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, composing
romances in which the martial and miraculous always predominated.
When op[)ortunity permitted he delighted to make Ionise, pedestrian
excursions, for "the pleasure of seizing romantic scenery, or what
afforded me at least equal pleasure, the places which had been distin-
guished by remarkable historic events," Some business led him to

f^^^sw--

2H\

NOTKH ON JSCOTT,

penetrate even the lli^'ljlands— a raie thin.; in those «lays, — and repeated
visits inatlo him familiar not mci'ily with tin; lioautiful Hoonery, hut
M ith the r«!mnant8 of piitturesqiiu ami primitive manners and oiiHtoms.
As ho grew to maturity, ho miuglod freely with the worhl and hecanio
intimate with a hrilliant eirelo of young nun of Win own age. In
1792 he was ealled to the har ; and -an event, ]>erlia[>s, of not mueh
leas import in hi.s life —in tin; same yi-ar made his liist exiuMlition into
Jiiddesilale, one of the nu)st inaeeessihlo ])arts of the HordcT country.
" During seven auceessivo years Seott made a raid, as he called it, into
Liddesdale, with Mr. Shortreed for his guide, exploi'ing every rivulet
to its source, and every ruined /nd fi-om foundation to battlement.
At this time no wheeled carriage had ever been s(!en in the district —
the first, indeed, that ever ajipeared there was a gig, driven by Scott
himself for a part of his way, when on the last of these seven excursions.
There was no inn nor pul)[i(-h(»use of any kind in the whole valley ;
the travellers passed from the shepherd's hut to the minister's manse,
and again from the cheerful hos[)itality of the manso to the rough and
jolly welcome of the honu^stead, gathering wherever they went songs

and tunes, and occasionally some taiiL,Ml)le relics of anti(piity

To these rambles Scott owed nuich of the materials of his * Minstrelsy
of the Seottish Border,' ami not less of that intimate accpiaintanco with
the living manners of these unsophisticated regions, which constitutes
the chief charm of one of the most charming of his prose works." (Ijock-
hart's Li/'r.) He Ijcgan to study Cerman ; the results are shown in the
translation from th;>,t laugu;ige of some romantic ballads, and of Goethe's
Gocfz vo)i B< rl:<:hhiij(')i, a dramatic picture of mtidiieval baronial life on
the lUiine. These were his lirst published ventures in literature.

In 1707 Scott married, and this made the successful prosecution of
his profession a matter of greater importance than before ; but his
heart Avas not in his barrister work, raid liis income from it was neither
laige nor likely to increase greatly. At the close of 1799, he ghully
accepted the office of shcrilF-depute of Selkirkshire, which was obtained
for him l)y the iniluence of the head of his cl;\:i, the Duke of Buccleuch.
This post not oidy bro-'ght a small but assured incotne of f.300 with
very light duties, but also, what Scott prized greatly, gave him another
connection with the Borders. He now threw himself enthusiastically
into the preparation of a collecticm of border ballads. Two volumes
appeared in 180*2, and were wt 11 received. While engaged upon the
third volume, he began an imitation of an old ballad romance — a work
which proved so congenial to him that it developed into a long poem,

Ml r.

L'l

I repeated
iiery, l)ut

cuHtonis.
Ill liccaino

ago. Ill
not nnicli
litioii into
• country,
cd it, into
y rivulet
ittlenient.
district —
I })y Scott
xcursions.
lo valley ;
•'s jnaiiHc,
ough and
cut songs

• • • •

linstrelsy
ance with
onstitutes
." (Lock-
w'u in the
f Goethe's
lial life on
ire.

ecution of
; but liis
18 neither
he gladly

obtained
luccleuch.
CJOO with
n another
jiastically
3 volumes

upon the
! — a work
ng poem,

i-l

Till Liii/u/'fhi I. lint M'niHtri'l. It was published ill danuary, 1SI».", and
li.id a succt'Hs wliicli had never been eciualled in the hiMtnry of I'.ni^lisli
jMieti-y. It w;is a jjoeni at oneo of a most novel, attractive, anti
popular character. Its re(;eption decided that literature w;«8 to bo the
iii.iin ImsiiicsH of itn wiiter'.s life. AtalxMit i\v. same timc! Sciott entered
into p;utnt r.ship vith the l>allantyne.s in the printing business, but this
paitnt isiiip was kept a profound seeiet. iMiring the ten years whiih
foll(»wed tJH! publication of tlu! Afry, Scott wrote his longer poeiiis ; the
most important of tlii!su wi ic Mnrm'um. (IMKS) and The Liulii of tin'
/.ak(, ISIO. 'i'he large rcduriis which his works lirouglit him as author
and as [jublisher, encouraged liim to become a lamlcd [;roprictor. In
ISll he made tli(! (list purchase of what by gradual additions came to
be the considerable estate of Abbotsfoni, situated in the midst of his
favourite border country. lie found tlm keenest ]ii(asure in realizing
lutre a "romance in brick and nuirtar," in planting trees, and in all the
iluties and pleasures of a country genth^man. It was his dream to found
a family, and to haml do\vn an entailed estate to remote posterity. In
ISl.'J the Uallantync firm were greatly embarrasncd, but weathered tlu;
storm by the assistance of the publisher Constable. Meantime, when
the need of money was becioming more pressnig, Scott's populaiity as a
])oet was on tiie decline; his later M'orks were not ecual to the three
larliest, already mentionctl, and JJyron was surpassing liim in popular
estimation in the very species of poetry which he had introduced.
Scott, whose estimate of his own power and woiks was always modest
to excess, acknowledged I'yron's supiu'iority, and began to look about
for some new licdd for the exercise of his literary skill. Jle had already
in ISO.") begun writing a prose ronuince which he had laid aside in defer-
ence to the unfavourable opinions of some friends to m horn he had sub-
mitted it. This he now resumed ; it was completed and published
anonymously in 1814 under the title of Wavcrlij. Its success was no
less extraordinary than that of the Lay. Scott as a poet ranked high in
a generation of great poets, but in romance he is beyond comparison.
"All is great in tlie Waverley novels," said (loethc, "material, eflfect,
characters, executi(m." "What inlinite diligence in the prcj^aratory
studies," he exclaimed, "what truth of detail in execution."

The rapidity of Scott's production, especially when we consider the
high level of excellence, is astonishing. In less than three years he
produced four masterpieces: Warirhij, iiiii/ Jfaniii riinj, The. Anti-
quary, ixmX Old Mortality. From 1814 to '8l'9 he wrote twenty-three
novels besides shorter tales, and a large amount of literary work of a

Iill

218

NOTES o\ .s(<orr.

different character. Scott, like Byron, is one of the few English
authors who was speedily and widely popular throughout Euroi)e.
Abbotsford became a centre for pilgrims from many lands, apart from
being the resort of numerous visitors drawn thithei jy closer and more
personal ties. Scott amidst all his work, literary and legal (for he held
a permanent position as clerk of Session), found time to play the hospitable
host, to attend to his plantations and the other affairs of his estate, to
indulge in country sports, to mingle freely in society when in Edinburgh,
where he spent a portion of each year, and <■ t;ike a prominent ])art as a
citizen in many matters of public interest. No man worked harder or
accom^dished more, and no man in his leisure hours threw himself Avith
more hearty zest into his amusements.

A visitor to Abbotsford in 1823 thus records his imi)ressions ; "I had
seen Sir Walter Scott, but never met him in society before this visit.
He received me with all his well-known cordiality and simplicity of
manner. , , , I have since been present at his lirst reception of many
visitors, and iipou siieh occasions, as indeed u})un every other, I never
saw a man who, in his intercourse with all persons, v,iis so i:)erfect a
master of courtesy. His manners were so jjlain and natural, and liis
kindness took such immediate jjossessiou of the feelings, that this
excellence in him might for a while pass unobserved. . . . His air
and aspect, at the moment of a lirst intioduction, were placid, modest,
and for his time of life, venerable. Occasional!}', when he stood
a little on ceremony, he threw into his address a deferential tone,
which had in it something of old-fashioned politeness, and became
him extremely well. A point of hospitality in which Sir Walter
Scott never failed, whatever might be the pretentions of the guests,
was to do the honours of conversation. When a stranger arrived, he
seemed to consider it as much a duty to oiler him t'le resources of his
mind as those of his table ; taking care, howevp*" by his choice of sub-
jects, to give the visitor an opportunity of making his own stores, if he
had them, available. ... It would l)e extremely dillicult to give a
just idea of his general conversation to any one who had not Icnown
him. Considering his great personal and literary popularity, and the
wide circle iu which he had lived, it is perha])S remarkable that so few
of his sayirgs, real or imputed, are in circulation. ]jut he did not
allect sayings ; the points and sententious turns, which a'"e so easily
caught u[) and transmitted, were n(»t natural to him; though he oeca-
sionally (expressed a thought very picttily and neatly. . . . But the
great charm of his ' table-talk ' was ia the sweetness and ahmuioti with

LIFE.

21'

Rnglish

rt from
d more
he hold
spitable
itate, to
tibiirgh,
lart as a
urder or
jlf with

" I had
lis visit,
licity of
of many

I never
perfect a

and his

hat this

His air

modest,
10 stood
ial tone,
. hecame
■ Walter
lj guests,
rived, he
jes of his
e of suh-
res, if he

to give a
)t known
, and tlie
I at so few
3 did not
I so easily
I he ocea-
But the
luloii with

which it flowed, — always, however, guided hy good sense and good
taste ; the warm and nnstndied eloquence with which he expressed
rather sentiments than opinions ; and the hveliness and force with
which he narrated and described ; and all he spoke derived so much of
its efTect from indefinable felicities of manner, look, and tone— and
sometimes from the choice of apparently insignificant words — that a
moderately faithful transcript of his sentences would be but a faint
imago of his conversation. . . . Not only was he inexhaustible in
anecdote, but he loved to exert the talent of dramatizing, and in some
measure representing in his own perscm the incidents he tolil of, or the
situations he imagined. . . . Ko one wlio has seen him can forget the
surprising power of change which his countenance showed wlien awak-
ened from a state of composure. In 18*J.3, when 1 lirst knew him, the
hair on his ft)rehead was quite grey, but his face, which was healthy
and sanguine, and the hair about it, wliich had still a strong reddish
tinge, contrasted, rather than harmoni/ed with the sleek, silvery locks
above ; a contrast which might seem rather suited to a jovial and hum-
orous, than to a pathetic expressi(m. But his features were equally
capable of both. I'he form and hue of his eyes wore wonderfully cal-
cul.ited for showing great varieties of emotion. 'J'heir mournful aspect
was extremely earnest and afl'ecting ; and, when he told some dismal
and mysterious story, they had a doubtful, melancholy, exploring look,
Avliich appealed irresistibly to the hearer's imaginaticm. Occasionally,
wlien he spoke of something very audacious or eccentric, they would
dilate and light up with a tragic-comic, harebrained expression, quite
peculiar to himself. Never, pci-haps, did a man go through all the
gradations of laughter with such ci)iiipU;te enjoyment, and a coun-
tenance so r; diant. The lirst dawn of a luminous thought would
show itself son etimes, as he sat silent, by an involuntary lengthening of
the u[)}.er lip, followed by a shy side-long glance at his neighl)ours,
indcscri'hably vrhimsical, and seeming to ask from their looks whether
the spark of drollery should be suppressed or allowed to bla/.e out. In
the full tide of mirth, he did indeed 'laugh the heart's laugh,' like
Walpole, but it was not boisterous and overpowering, nor did it check
the course of his wonls. " To these notes we may add some of Lock-
hart's in regard to a little expedition which Sir ^Valter and he maile in
tlie same year (182,S) to the ujjper regions of the Tweed and Clyde.
"Notliiiiir C(tuld iiidiH^e him to remain in tlio carriage when we
ajiproaehed any celelnated I'dilire. Jf h(! had never se(;n it ])ef()re, his
curiusity was like that of an eager stripling ; if he had examined it
fifty times, he must renew his familiarity, and gratify the tenderness of

220

NOTKS OX .sCOTi'

grateful reminiscences. While on thn road his conversation never
flagged — story suggested story, and ballad ciiiie upon ballad in endless
succession. But M'hat striuk me most was the ai)parently omnivorous
grasp of his memory. That ho should recollect every stanza of any
ancient ditty of chivalry or romances that had once excited his imagin-
ation, could no longer surprise me ; but it seemed as if he remembered
everything "without exception, so it were in anything like the shape of a
verse, that he had ever read. " y

Scott's relations with his fellow-men were of the most genial character
— indeed, we may say, with his fellow-creatures ; for dumb animals had
an instinctive fondness for him, and he lived almost on terms of friend-
ship with his dogs. In the company of chihlren he delighted. He won
the attachment of his own servants and of the peasantry of his district.
He gave even too much of his time and of his money to lielp his
friends. There was no pettiness, no grudging jealousy in his relations
with his literary contemporaries. No man was more sincerely modest ff

about his own ability and works, or more generous in his praise of others.
With Wordsworth, with Byron his successful rival in poetry, he was on
the most friendly terms. "He had an open nature," says Palgrave,
"which is the most cliarniiiig of all charms ; was wholly free from the
folly of iastidiousncss ; Ixul real dignity, and hence never stood upon it ;
talked to all he met, and livetl as friend with friend among his servants ,

and followers. ' Sir Walter speaks to every man,' one of tlu-m said, 'as [ ^

if they were blood- relations. ' " " Few men," he himself writes, "have f-

enjoyed society more, or been hor<d, as it is called, less, by the company
of tiresome pe(>ple. I have rarely, if ever, found anyone out of whom I | i'

could not extract amusement and edilieation. Still, however, from the |

earliest time 1 can remenibor, I preferred the pleasure of being alone to
wishing for visitors." " (iod bless thee, Walter, my man !" said his old
uncle, "thou hast risen to be great, Init thou wast always good."

Scott's character w%as submitted, witliout aj)parent deterioi ation, to M

what is considered the most severe of all tt'sts— tlu; test of long and extra-
oidinarily brilliant ))rosj.>enty. It was now to be tiied l)y adverse fortune,
which only served to l)ring to the surface some of the finer and more heroic
(pialities that lay in his sound and wholesome nature. In 182G, at a
time of widespread connnercial disaster, the house of P»allantyne failed,
with obligations amounting to £II7,<>0(), i\\\Q. ])artly to Scott's lavish
expenditiiri', l)ut mainly b) the lack <»!" business ability in the avowed
niend)ers of the firm, Inst 'ad of taking advantage of bankruptcy, Scott
set himself resolutely to work to pay off this imijiense sum. His lavish

n never
1 endless
nivorous
a of any
i imagin-
eml)ered
liape of a

character
nials had
jf friend-
He won
i district,
lielp his
relations
ly modest
of others,
he was on
Palgrave,
from the
I npon it ;
s servants
a said, 'as
ea, "have
) company
of whom I
, from the
g alone to
aid his old
)d."

oiation, to
and extra-
se fortune,
riore heroic
1820, at a
yne failed,
itt's lavish
he avowed
ptcy, Scotfe
His lavish

( ; KN Kl{ A I, ( H A IJA( TKIUSTK S.

i>'21

style of living was reduced to the most modest expenditure ; his habits
of life wtre changed tlint he might devote himself unremittingly to his
great task. In two years, between January IS'JO and January IS'JS, he
earned nearly £40,000 for his crt'ditors, \\y the close of 18.S0 he had
lessened the indul^tedness of Ballantyue & Co. by £03,000, and had his
health been continued a few years longer, he would doubtless have
accomplished his undertaking. But before he was fifty, his constitu-
tion had already given signs of being seriously imjjaired, doubtless
the result of too continuous application ; in 1S19 his life had been
for a time in danger, and from this date he was physically an
old man. It was inevitable that the prodigious exertions which
he put forth after the bankruptcy should tell upon his strength. There
were besides worry and nervous tension of various kinds. His
wife died ; sadness and sorrow in various forms gathered about him.
Symptoms of paralysis became apparent ; his mind, as he himself felt,
no longer worked in the old fashion. "I have suffered terribly, that
is the truth," he writes in his diary. May 1831, "rather in body than
in mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking.
But I will fight it out if I can." As the disease of the brain made
progress he was seized with the happy illusion that he had paid all his
debts. After an unsuccessful attempt to improve his health by a
voyage to Italy, he returned, to die, Sept. 2lst, 1832, in his own
Abljotsford, amidst the scenes which he knew and loved so well. In
1847, the object he so manfully struggled for was attained. From the
proceeds of his works, his life insurance, and the copyright of his Life
which his biographer and son-in-law, Lockhart, generously devoted to
this purpose, the debts were paid in full, and the estate of Abbotsford
left free of incumbrance ; but his ambition to found a family was not
realized ; the male line l)ecame extinct not many years after Sir
Walter's death, and the estate of Al)])otsford fell to a great grand-
daughter — his only surviving descendant.

It is Impossible within the limits of this brief sketch to give any
ade(piate idea of Scott's varied and active life, and of the many ways
in which he came into contact with men and things. But it is
sufficiently evident that he was no recluse like Wordsworth, that his
temjierament was not one which led him to tliink profoundly, to search
out the inner meanings and less obvious aspects of things, or to brood
over his own moods and feelings. He found happiness in activity and
in social life. Though a literary man, and, from childhood, a great
reader, he was not prone, as bookish people often are, to over-estimate

00-)

NOTES ON SCOTT.

the importance of literature. lie [)ri(lo(l himself Arst of all on l)eing a
man, — a citizen and a g(.'ntleinan. Scott mingled with tlie world,
looked upon it and was interested in it nm';h as the ordinary man ; only
his horizon was broader, liia interest keener, and his sympathy wider.
He cared no more than the average man for abstract generalizaticms or
for scientific analysis. Ho liked what the multitude like, what appeals
to eye and ear, — incidents, persons, the striking and unusual. We
have all a natural interest in men and their doings, an interest which
is the basis of the universal taste for gossip. And it is this panor-
ama of human life — men and women and the movement of events
with which Homer and the ballad .singers delighted their unsophisti-
cated audiences. This is also the theme of Scott's works. They do
not chietly represent the writer's retiections, his feelings, or his moods ;
but they picture the spi^clarJe of life as seen from the outside with
a breadth and vivacity unsurpassed in our literature except by
Shakespeare alone.

The particular hind of life and character which Scott presents, is
determined by his tastes an^l temperament. The interest in the past
was extraordinarily strong in Scott. He was an antiipiarian before
he thought of being a poet. But he was not a pure anticpiarian.
He was not stimulated to the study of anticpiity merely by the desire
of truth. His interest was based on fe<;ling, — on the feeling for kin,
for example, so strongly developed in tlie typical Scotch character, and
on tlie love of country. From the anti([uarian he dillered in anotlier
way, — in a way which showed that he was really first of all a poet.
He desired his anci(iuarian facts, not for their own sake, but as elements
out of which his imagination miglit pictures(|uely reconstruct the life of
past generations. In Warcric}/, Scott himself clearly indicates tlie
distinction here emphasized. Comparing Waverley's interest in the past
with the Karon of F.radwardine's, he writes: "The Baron, indeed,
only cundjered his memory with matters of fact ; the cold, hard, dry
outlines which history didineates. Edward, on the contrary, loved to
fill up and round the sketch with the colouring of a warm and vivid
imagination, which gives light and life to the actors and speakers in the
drama of past ages." It was with the past, and more particularly Avith
the past of his own country, that Scott's imagination delighted to busy
itself. Since this sort of theme had been neglected in the classical
18th century period, and had been but feebly treated by such rec;ent
writers as Mrs. Kadclille, Scott had, — a very important nuitter for a
writer — a fresh and novel field. To this domain his novels and poema
mainly bel'Mig.

(JENKItAli CllAUACTEUISTICS.

223

)eiiig a

world,
; only

wilier,
tions or
appeals
.1. We
b which
I pauor-
events
riophisti-
rhey do

moods ;
de with
cept by

sents, is
the past
,11 before
i([uarian.
he desire

for kin,
cter, and
I another
1 a poet,
elements
ihe life of
cates the
1 the past
, indeed,
hard, dry

loved to
md vivid
ers in the
[arly with
id to busy
! classical
ch recent
tter for a
nd poems

When we speak of an hi.sloric! novel or poem, wc naturally think,
first of all, of one which treats of a period remote from the writer. Jt
will be noted, however, that some of Scott's very b'st novels treat of
periods scarcely more remote than, for example, certain of (leorge
Eliot's, to which we would not think of applying the epithet his-
toric. But to these novels of Scott, and to most of his novels, the
epithet historic is applicable for a profounder reason than that th(;y
present the life of a remote time. History deals not merely with the
past, but with the present ; but whether treating of present or past, it
deals with wide movements, with what aflfectsmen in mai^ses, — not with
the life of individuals except in as far as they inlluence the larger body.
In this sense Scott's novels are historic. Th^ • treat, doubtless, the
fortunes of individuals, but nearly always as connected with some great
movement of which the historian of the period would have to give an
account — as, for example, Waverleijy Old Mortality, Bob Hoy. In this
respect he differs from the majority of novelists, — from his own great
eon temporary, Jane Austen, from Fielding, and from Thackeray, "The
most striking feature of Scott's romances," says Mr, Hutton, "is that,
for the most part, they are pivoted on public rather than mere private
interests or passions. With but few exceptions — {The Antiquary, St.
lionans Well, and Guy ManneriiKj are the most important) — Scott's
novels give us an imaginative view, not of mere individuals, but of
individuals as they are atFected by the public strifes and S) ial divisions
of the age. And this it is which gives his books so largf; an interest
for old and young, soldiers and statesmen, the world of society and the
recluse, alike. You can hardly read any novel of Scott's and not

become better awai'e what public life and political issues mean

The domestic novel when really of the liighest kind, is no doubt a per-
fect work of art, and an unfailing source of amusement ; but it has
nothing of the tonic inlluence, the large instructiveness, the stinndating
intellectual air, of Scott's historic tales. Even when Scott is farthest
from reality— as in Ivnuhoe or The Monastery ~ho makes you open your
e^es to all sorts of historic conditions to which you would otherwise
l)e blind."

Scott's imagination was stimulated by the picturesque past, and from
childhood onwards, his main interests and favourite pursuits were such
as stored his inventive mind with facts, scenes, legends, anecdotes which
he might use in endxxlying this past in artistic forms. He wrote his
novels with extraordinary ra[);(lity, yet (ioethe's exclamation, "What
iD-fmite diligeuce iu preparatory studies," is amply justilied. All this

',111 I

224

\OTKS ON' scorr.

I'll

fund of antiquarian knowledge afforded, liowever, oidy tlio outside garli
which, if lii.s work was to have real wortli, must olotho real human
natun^, wliich is the same now as it Avas in the past. It is this jjowerof
representing human nature that makes his works truly great ; and
this human nature he learned from lit'o about him. His l)est char-
acters, his Dandie Diumonts, and Edio Ooliil trees, his Jiailie Niehol
Jarvis, his James I., and Elizaheth, are great in virtue of their
presenting types of character which belong to all time. It must
follow, then, that Scott could depict men and women of his own
day, as well as of the past ; and this is true, only they must ])e men
and women of a striking and picturesque kind, such as are apt to vanish
amidst uniformity and conventi<ms of modern society, hut such as Scott
found in his rambles in isolated districts. "Scott needed a certain
largeness of type, a strongly-marked class-life, and, where it was pos-
sible, a free, out-of-doors life, for his delineations. No one could paint
beggars and gypsies, and wandering tiddlers, and mercenary soldiers,
and peasants and farmers, and lawyers, and magistrat(!S, and preachers,
and courtiers, and statesmen, and best of all i)erliaps, queens and kings,
with anytliing like his ability. But when it came to describing the
small dilFerendes of manner, dilfercncea not due to external habits, so
much as to internal sentiment or education, or mere domestic circum-
stance, he was beyond his proper lield." (Hutton'a Scoit.) Scott's
genius was broad and vigorous, not intense, subtle and profound. If
the common-place in life or character is to interest, it must be by the
new light which profound insight, or subtle discrimination throws upon
them.

When we i)ass to the examination of Scott's style, we naturally find
analogous peculiarities to those presented l)y his matter. The general
etFects produced by his workmanship are excellent; but when we
examine minutely, when we dw(dl upon i)articular passages or lines, we
lind it somewhat rough and ready. This defect is a much more serious
one in poetry than in prose. The ela]>orate form of poetry leads us to
expect some special felicity or concentration of thought, a nicety in
selection of words and imagery that would l)e superlluous in prose ; and
these things we do lind in the greatest poets. But it is only occasion-
ally in Scott that we stop to dwell on somt; line or phrase which seems
absolutely the best for the purpose. We do not lind in him "the magic
use of words as distinguished frojn the mere general clFect of vigour,
purity, and concentration of purpose." He atlords extraordinarily few
popular quotations, especially considering the vogue that his poems

(JKNKUAL CIIAIIAC'I'I'.IMSIICS.

lIlT)

have had. In this respect ho differs markedly from Wordsworth. "I
am sensible," he himself says, "tliat if thei-e is anything good about my
])oetry or ])rose either, it is a liurried frankness of ct)iiiposition, which
pleases soldiers, sailors, and young peojile of bold and active disposi-
tions." Besides this peculiarity, which is so injurious to his poetry, and
scarcely affects his novels, Scott is inferidr in his poems Ixjcause they
do not exhibit the full breadth of his genius. Many of his best scenes
and characters are of a homely character which is not iitted for jjoetic
expression. Shakespeare could not have adequately represented Fal-
staif or Dogberry in a narrative ])oem.

But if Scott's poetry has limitations and defects when compared with
the work of his great contenipoi'aries, or even with his own work in the
.«})here of prose, it possesses rare and conspicuous merits. These are set
forth bj' Palgrave in a i>assage which may be quoted : "Scott's incom-
pleteness of style, which is more injurious to poetry than to prose, his
'careless glance and reckless rhyme,' has ])eeu alleged ])y a great writer
of our time as one reason why he is now less popular as a poet than he
was in his own day, when from two to three thousand copies of his
metrical romances were freely sold. Beside these faults, which are visible
almost everywhere, the charge that he wants depth and penetrative
insight has been often brought. lie does not ' wrestle Avitli the mystery
of existence,' it is said ; he does not try to solve the proldcms of human
life. Scott, could he have foreseen this criticism, would probably not
have been very careful to answer it. lie might have allowed its cor-
rectness, and said that one man niiglit have this work to do, but his wa8
another. High and enduring pleasure, however conveyed, is the end of
poetry. 'Othello' gives this by its profound dis^jlay of tragic passion ;
'Paradise T^ost' gives it by its religious sublimity ; 'Childe Harold' by
its meditative pictures(picness ; the ' Lay ' by its brilliant delineation of
ancient life and manners. These are but scanty samples of the vast
range of poetry. lu that house are many mansions. All poets may be
seers and teachei's ; but some teach directly, others by a less ostensible
ami larger process. Scott never lays bare the workings of his mind,
like (ioethe or Shelley ; he does not draw out the moral of the landscape,
like "\Vord?worth ; rather after the fashion of Homer and the writers of
the ages before criticism, he presents a scene, and leaves it to work its
own elFect upon the reader. His most perfect and lovely poems, the
sliort songs whicii occur scattered through the metrical or the prose
narratives, are excellent instances. He is the most unselfconscious of
our modern poets, perhaps of all our poets ; the difference in this respect

226

NOTES ON SCOTT.

})(tween him and his friends I'.yron and Wordsworth is liko a dillerenco
of centuries. If they give us tlie inner spirit of modern life, or of
nature, enter into our [)erplexities, or j)robo our deeper passiiMiH, Scott
has a dramatic faculty not \vsh delightful .ind precious. Jle heiiee
attained ennnent success in one of the rarest and most diilieult aims of
I'oetry, — sustained vigour, clearness and interest in narr.ition. If we
reckon up the poits of (he M'oi'ld, w may ))■ swprised to liiid how very
few (drama sts not included) have . ■ nv o.ied this, and may ht; hence
led to estimate Scott's rank in his a; ! i; i nistly. One looks thi-ough
the English poetry of the first half o: : <,. ntury in vain, unless it he
here and tliere indicated in Kt'ats, for such a ^r 'V of vixidly throwing
himself into others as that of Scott. His contem[)oiaiiis, (,'ralil)c
excepted, paint emotions. He paints men wlien strongly moved. Tluy
draw the moral, hut he can invent the fal)le. It avouKI he rash to try
to strike a balance ])etw('( n men, i-aeh so great in liis own Avay ; the
picture of one coidd not )»e painted Avith the otiier's palette ; all are first
rate in tlicir kind ; and evc^ry reader can choose the style v.iiich gives
him the highest, healthiest and juost lasting i)leasure."

I>liu,i(>(;i;.vJMi\'. — Life hy I.ocl-.hart, slioi't sketch hy Ilutton ( Emj.
Mdi of Lcfters). Toetieal Moiks a\ ith various ri'adings, etc., ed. hy
Loekhart, published in various forms by Blackwood ; a one vol. ed. l)y
Palgrave ((Jlohe Lihrarij). Critical essays by I'algrave (Iiitrocl. to (Ihiln
Edition), JedVey ( K'^sai/sJ, Leslie Stejihen (^//o»r,s' in a L(!/r((ri/), Carlyle
( MiKcell. £'.s'6V/?/.s',- interesting but in-.ippreeiative), Bagehot (Liltniri/
Studies). A bibliography is appended to SnAt mOrait Writers S( ries.

THE LADY OE THE LAKE.

Publication. — 'i"o this poem Scott prefixed the following :

^' Ar(/in)ie)it. — The scene of the following ])oem is laid chiefly in the
vicinity of Loch Katrine, in tlie AVestern Highlands of rerthshire. The
time of Action includes Six Hays, and the transactions of each Day
occupy a Canto ''

77*'' Lddi/ of the Luke was begun in 1801) ; in the summer of
that year Scott visited the scene of his story, with which his juvenile
rambles had hmg ago made him familial', and there the first c;uito
was com})leted. In the following May the poem Avas publislifxl.
"I do not recollect," says a contemporary, Mv. llobert Cadell, '"that
any of all the author's Avorks Avas ever looked for Avith more intense

lin'erencfi

fl!, Ol' (if

IIS, Scott
le liciicc!
t aims cif
I. If wo
low very
1)(! hence

H tlll'OUii'll

ilcss it l)(j
tlirowing
(,"i"iil)l)e
.1. They
ash to try
May ; the
11 are lirst
liich <i;iv(S

ton ( Eiiij.
c, vd. by
vol. c»l. by
(.]. to ( I loin'
I/), Carlyle
( L'lii ritrij
to s S( r'lcs.

iofly ill the

hire. ^J'he

each Day

iuiniiier of
is juvenile
lirst canto

])Ul)lisll(Hl.

THK LADV OF THE LAKE.

907

WW I

ell,

tliat

)rc intenise

anxiety, or that any one of them excited a more extraordinary sensation
when it did appear. 'l"he whole country ranj^ with the praises of the
poet — crowds set olTto view the aceiieiy of Loch Katrine, till then com-
paratively unknown ; and as the hook canio out just before the season
for excursions, every house and ii.n in that neighbourliood was crannned
with a constant succession of visitors. It is a well ascertained fact, that
from the date of the publication of the Tiady of the Lake, the post-horse
duty in Scotland rose in an extraordinary degree, and iiulecd it con-
tinued to do so regularly for a number of years, the author's succeeding
works keeping up the enthusiasm for our scenery which he had thus
originally created."* Lockliart .states that "in the space of a few
months the extraordinary number of 20,000 copies were disposed o*" "
Long after, to the edition of iS.'iO, Scott prefixed the following introcu ;■
tion, which gives the history of the composition of the poem :

Scott's Introduction. — " After the success of Marmion, I felt ii 'it 1
to exclaim with Ulysses in the Oui/^idti/ : -

05x09 fJLti' &r) af0\o<; (xdaTO<; t'/cTertAtcrTai'
Nf^' avTS aKonbi/ uAAoi'. Oih/S. \. f>.

One venturous },'anio my hand has won to(la\- -
Another, j^allants, yet roniahis to i)lay.

The ancient manners, the habits ami customs of the aboriginal race by
wlnmi the Highlands of Scotland wei'c inhal)ited, had always ajjpearcd
to mo peculiarly adapted to poetiy. The change in their manners, too,
had taken place almost within my own time, or at least I had learned
many partitudars concerning the ancient state of the Highlands from the
old men of the last generation. 1 had always thought the old Scottish
( iael highly a(hipted for jxietica! composition. The feuds and political
dissensions which, half a ecniui'v earlier, would have rendered the richer
and wealthier part of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem,
the scene of which was laid in the Highlands, were now sunk in the
generous eomj)assion which the I'inglish, more than any other nation,
feel for the misfortunes of an honourable foe. The Toems of Ossian haii
])y their popularity sulficientlj'' shown tliat, if writings on Highland sul)-
jects were qualified to interest tlie realer, mere national pi-ejudices
were, in the present day, very unlikely to interfere with tlnir success.

* " And yet the very commoti ini]ircssi<ii\ that in ! his poem .nnd his snhsccment novels
the 'Oroat' Mairician 'ori^'-inally ci-cntcd the roniuiuic interest in Seoiiinid is notfjiiite
a^'eurrite. He did not so niueli create tliis interest as ]io|inhuize it. It had !J:ro\\ n up
slowly anioni; literarv ]>eople in the eourse of the century, and Seolt j,'ave it a sudden
and wide exjnuision. Even Loch Katrine had h<en discovered hy the tourist in search
of tlie picturesque nianv vears hefore Scott n\ade one of its beautiful islands the
retreat of his heroine aji'd her exiled father." (Minto's Introduction, p. Hi.)

■■■■I v^

228

NOTKH o\ HCOTT.

I liad also read a great ileal, hccii iiiufh, aiul hoard more, of that
romantie country whole I was in Hk; lialiit of Hpoudiiig hoiiu; time every
aiituiuji ; and the scenoiy of I-ooli Katrine was eonneeted with tlie recol-
lection of mail}' a dear friend and merry expedition of former days.
This poem, the action of wliieli l;iy among scenes so beautiful and so
deeply iinprintetl on my n collections, Avas a labour of love, and it was
no less so to recall the maimers and ineiilents introduced. The freciuent
custom of James IV., and particularly of .lames V., to walk through
their kingdom iu disguise, ailorded mo the hint of an incident which
never fails to l)e interesting if managed with the slightest adilress or
dexterity.

I may now confess, h()\,ever, that the ein[)loyinent, though attended
Avith great pleasure, was not witliout its doubts and anxieties. A lady,
to whom I was nearl}'^ related, and with whom 1 lived, during her whole
life, on the most brotherly terms of aflfection, was residing with me at
the time when the work Avas in i)rogress, and used to ask me, what I
could possil)ly do to rise so early in the morning (that h;ij)peniiig to be
the most convenient to me for eomi)osition). At last I told her the sub-
ject of my meditation.s ; an<l ] eaii never forget the anxiety and aireetion
exi)ressed in her re])ly. 'Do not be so rash,' she said, 'my dearest
cousin. You are already populai-, -more so, iterhaps, than you yourself
will })olieve, 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 of a fall ; for, depend upon it, a favourite will not be
l)ermitted even to stumble with inii)unity.' I replied to this afFeetionate
expostulation in the words of Montrose, —

Ilf f'itlicr fofirs his fato too much,

< »r his (lescrts are small,
Who dares nol put it to the touch

To gain or luse il all.

* If I fall,' I said, for the dialogue is strong in my recollection, 'it is

a sign that I ought never to have succeeded, and I will write jjrose for

life : you shall see no change in my temper, nor will I eat a single meal

tlie worse, liut if I succeed.

Up with the lioiuiit; liliic bonru't,
The (Ih'k, and (he feather, and a' I'

Afterwards 1 showed my affectionate and anxious critic the lirst canto
of till' [xieiu, wliich reconciled her to my imprudence, Neverthidess,
altliough 1 answered thus confidently, with the obstinacy often said to
be pro[)er to tliose who bear my surname, [ acknowledge that my eon-
tidence was considerably shaken by the warning of her excellent taste

'I'llH LADY OF TIIK I.AKK.

229

, of that
iiu! ovcry

till' I'fCol-

u'V days.
Ill iitul so
11(1 it was
! fricimnt
t through
lit wliich
uUlresH or

attended
A lady,
111!!' whole
'ith nic at
[10, what I.
iiiiiig to he
3r the suh-
d airection
iiy dearest
-)U yourself
ly allow to
inb higher,
will not be
ifFeotionate

^tioii, ' it iH
te prose for
single meal

; first canto
3verth(dess,
ften said to
lat my con-
!ellent taste

and unbiased friendship. Nor was I much comforted by her retracta-
tinii (if the uiif ivoiirablc judgment, when I reiioUected how likely a
natural [)artiality was to afVect that chani^e of opinion. In such cases,
all'eotion rises like a light (»n .e canvas, improvi-s any favouralile tints
whicli it formerly exhibited, and throws its defects into the shade.

I remember that about the saiiu^ tiiiu! a friend starteil into 'heeze
U[i my hope,' lik(! tlic 'sjjortsman with his cutty gun,' in the old song,
lie was bred a farmer, but a man of p(.werful understanding, natural
good taste, and warm poetical feeling, perfectly competent to supply
the wants of an imperfect or irnjguiar education. He was a passionate
admirer of iield-sports, which wo often pursued together.

As this friend liappened to dine with nio at Ashestiel one day, I took
the opportunity of reading to him the first canto of The Lady of the.
Ldh , in order to asceitain the efl'ect the poem wa? likely to produce
U[)(»n a person who was but too favoural)le a representative of readers
at large, jtis of course to be supposed that I determined rather to
guide my oiiinion by what my friend might api)ear to feel, than by what
he might think lit to say. His reception of my recitation, or prelection,
was rather singular. He placed 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 em-
barks with Ellen Douglas. He then started up with a sudden exclama-
tion, struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a voice t)f censure
caU'ulateil for the occasion, that the dogs must have been totally ruined
l»y being j)ermitted to take the water after such a severe chase. 1 oMii
I was much encouraged by the species of revery which had po;-!sessed so
zealous a follower of the sports of the ancient Ninirod, who had been
C(im[)letely surprised 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 wandciing knight, Fitz-.Tames, when he winds his Inigle
to suinnion his attendants. He was prol)al)ly thinking of the lively, but
somewhat licentious, old ballad, in A\hich the dawueinent of a royal
intrigue takes place as follows :

lie look a l)U;4lc frae his side,

lie blew both loud and .shrill,
And four and twenty bfltcd kiiif;hts

Cuiae skijipiiij;- o\m r tiir hill ;
Tht'ii lie t'iok out a littlu knife,

Let a' his duddie's fa',
And h'j was tlio hrawcst .irentlenian

That was ainaiiy: tlicin a".

And we'll '^o no more a ro\ing, etc.

230

NOTKH ON HCOTT.

Tliia discovery, as Mr. IN'pys say^ of tlui unit in liis camlet cloak, was
l)ut a tiillf, y't it troiil»l('»l mt; ; ami i was uL a ;;o(»(l deal of pains to
tllace any niarU.s liy wlii* li I tlioii/.'h* my Keent coiiM ]>o triicod Ix'foru
tl.o (.'onclnHioii, ^^ lu ii I relicil on it with tli*; !;ami! iiopt; of ])ro(lii('iii^
< ilt'C't, with which the iiish post -hoy is said to rcscivc a * trot f<>i' tlu!
avenue. '

I took nneoninioM pains to vtfrify tlu? aeeinaey (»f the local eircnin-
staneis of tliis story. I r<'<'olleet, in particular, that t.) ascertain Avhether
r ■was telliii'.,' a prohahle tale, 1 went into l\rth.shirc, to Bi'O ■\vhether
Kin<^' .Tallies could actually have I'idden fr:im the hanks of l.o(!h NCiiiia-
char to Stirliii;^ ( 'astle within the time siipiiosed in the poem, and had
the jdeasure to .sati.sfy my.self that it was ([uite practicahlc.

After a considerable delay, Tin' hitdij of flic I.nh' apjieare.l in Juno,
ISIO i and its success was ecilaiidy so extraordinary as to iniluec me for
tiie moment to conclude that I had at last fixed a nail in the p'-overhially
inconstant Avheid of iMirtiiiie, whose stability in behalf of an individual
who had so boldly courted hrr faNours for three sueceasivo times had
not as yet been shaken. 1 had attained, iierhaps, that degree of reputa-
tion at which jirudence, or certainly timidity, would have made a halt,
and discontinued I'tlbrts by which I was far more likely to diminish my
fame than to increase it, l^.ut, as the celebrated John Wilkes is said to
have explain* d to his late Majesty, that he himself, amid his full tide of
popularity, Mas never a Wilkite, so I can, "with honest truth, exculpate
myself from havin;,' been at any time a ])aitisan of my own poetry, even
when it was in the highest fashion w itli the million. It must not be
supposed that ] was either so ungrateful, or so superabundantly candid,
as to despise or scorn the vahie of those "whose voice had elevated me so
much higher tlian my own opinion told me I deserved. 1 felt, on the
contrary, the more grateful to the pid>lic, as receiving that from partiality
tome, which I (;ouId not have cla'ined from merit; and I endeavoured
to deserve the ]);iitiality, l)y continuing such exii tions as I w as capable
<if for their amusement.

It may be that I did not, in this c(Mitinue<l course of scribbling, con-
sult either the interest of the pulilic or my own. lUit the former had
eflectual means of defending tluinselves, and could, by their coldness,
sufficiently check any approach to intrusion ; ami for myself, 1 had now
for Several years dedicated my hours so much to literary labour that I
should have felt ditliculty in employing my.s<. If otherwise ; and so, like
Dogberry, I geTieroiisly bestowed all my tediousness on the public,
comfortuig myself with the rcllectiou that, if posterity should think me

TIIK LADV or THK r,.VKK.

2ni

oak, waa

j);uiiH t«)

(I Itcforo

x-txlilriii^

)t tor the

il cinnun-

I \\lmtlicr
Avlictliur

II N'ciiiiii-
, :uiil luiil

,1 in .June,

ice mo for

)V'('rltially

uitlividuiil

tillH'3 ll!l(l

of rcputa-
ado a halt,
iiiinisli my
s Ih Haiti to
full tide of
, exculpate
)etry, oven
lUst not be
tly candid,
ated me so
felt, on the
II partiality
ideavoured
las capable

)blinf.% con-
lOrnicr had
r coldness,
T had now
Ixiur that I
uiil so, like
the public,
id think lue

uufleservinj,' of tlie favour with which I was regarded by iny contenipo-
raries, 'they eoidd not but Hay I luul tho crown,' and had enjoyed for
a tinie tjjat popularity which is so much coveted.

1 (onceived, howevt'r. that I held the diHtinyui.shcd situation [ had
ol)tained, however unwoithily, ralhei- like the champion of jjugilisni,
on the condition of bcin^ always ready to show proofs (»f my skill, than
in the manner of the cliam[tion of ehiv.ihy, who performs his diitits
only on rare and .s(»lemn f)ccasi()ns. I was in any case c<ins(;ious that I
could not l(»n),' hold a situation w hich tho <'ai)rice, rather than the judg-
ment, of the I Mblic, had bestowed upon nit;, and preferrcMl beinj^ deprived
of my precedence by sonic inore worthy rival, to sinking into oonti'mpt
f(U' my indolence, and losing my re[tutation by wliat Scottish lawyers
call the uctidtin: pre script ion. Accordingly, those who choose to look at
the Introduction to liokdnj, will be abitj to trace the steps liy which
I dccliiie(l as a poet to iigure as a novelist ; as the ballad says, (.hucn
lllcaiior sunk at Chai'ing Cross to rise again at (^)ueenhithe.

It only remains for me to say that, during my short pre-eminence of
jio'jiularity, T faithfully observed the rules of moderation which 1 had
!■ solved to follow before I began my course jus a man of letters. Jf a
man is dcitcrmined to make a noise in the world, he is as sure to en-
counter abuse and ridicule, as he who galloi»s furiously through a village
mu.-t reckon on being followed by the curs in full cry. Exfierienced
pc'soiis know that in stretching to tlog the latter, the ride!" is very ajjt
to catch a bad fall ; nor is an attempt to chastist; a malignant critic
atteiide<l with less danger to the author. On tliis pi'inciple, I let parody,
burlescpie, aiul sc^uibs lind their own levtd ; aiid while the latter iiissed
most fiercely, I was cautious never to catch them up, as school boys (hi,
to tlirow them back against the naughty boy who tired them off, wisely
remembering that they re in such cases aiit to explode in tlu; Irind-
iiiig. Let me add, that Jny reign* (since liyron has so ca,llcd il) was
marked by some instances of good-nature as well as patience. 1 never
refused a literary person of merit such sei'vices in smoothing his way to
tlie i)ul)lic as were in my power; and I ha<l t he advantage, rather an
uncommon one with our irritable race, to enjoy general favour without
incurring permanent ill-Mill, so far as is known to \ne, among any of ny
contemporaries.

" ABHoisKtuiO, April, IS.'W."

W. S.'

' Sir Walter ri*ij,'iio(l before ine,' etc. {Don Juan, xi, ;")?).

232

NOTKS ON SCOTT.

Prominent Characteristics of the Poem. -The Lady of the Lake very
fully illustrates tht; characteristics and limitations of Scott's poetry,
as sketched on pp. 224-22() of the ])receding introduction. We have,
as its substantial basis, — tlu^ most universally felt source of literary
interest, a s^o?'//— that Avhicli in literature appeals to the cliildish mind
as to the mature, to the unlearned as to the critical. The stoiy possesses
the primitive and fundamental attractions of mystery (in regard to Fitz-
James and Douglas), of tangled love episodes (Ellen Douglas and her
three ouitors), and of marvellous and varied incidents. " 'J"he romantic
interest never Hags from the motueiit that the adventurous Huntsman
enters the; dark defile of the Trosachs and sounds his horn on the strand
of Loch Kiiti'ine to the mortal combat at ('oilantogle Ford. From that
point it be ines less intense ; ])ut still it holds us till the king's quarrel
with the hauglity Douglas is a])p(ased, and reasons of state give way
before the happiness of two lovers." (Minto. ) While, howevei', there
is suilicient of plot to awaken and mainta-n the reader's curiosity, this
factor is not th."^ chief one in the story. It is the romance, the variety,
and the brilliancy of the incidents themselves that charm the reader,
rather than their function in develojjing the plot. A\'e t'eel t'tiat each, in
itself, : 1 a sulHcient reason for its own existence, although some of them
— such as the sending of the Fiery Cross, or tin; account of the ^ ittle of
Jieal' an Duine — are developed be^'ond what the itMjuirements of plot-
unity justify. lUit this is not a serious criticism, jjrovided that these
less necessary portions neither break the thread of interest nor seem
tedious in themselves. < )ne reason for the fullness with which these sul)-
ordinate d'-tails are given, is the fact that both poet and reader have a
natural delight in the pictures of scenes and social conditions so unlike
those of tht'ir own life, — romantic, yet, in a measure at least, represent-
ing things as they once actually existed. This is the historic element
which ])ulks so largely in Scott's mental an^i imaginative life, and is so
universally pitjsent in his works.

History in the Poem. — '"cott, as every tiim artist must, ti-eats his
history with great freedom. He gives heri-, as in the /.a//, a general
picture (highly idealized to be sure) of society as existing at one time in
certain localities ; but the personages and details arc in the main the
creations of his own fancy, though modelled after oi' based u[)on some of
those actual tradi\ions witii which the poet's nnnd was so amply stored.
Many of these triditions Scott cites in his notes ~ for the most jiart
reprochux-d in this edition, —and the reader may compare, for himself,
the poet's developed sketch with the oi'igina' material. '' Jle left him-

he xevY
poetry,

have,
literary
li niiiul

ossesscs

to Fitz-

ind her

oiiuuitic

iitsniaii

e strand

•oni that

i quarrel

ive way

er, there

ity, this

variety,

e reader,

:; each, in

[} of them

1 vttle of
i of plot-
bat theae
nor seem
,he.sc silli-
er have a
so unlike
■eprescnt-
; element
an<l is so

breats his
a ff'neral
le time in

main the
n some of
ly stored,
nost part
r himself,

left him-

TlIK J.ADY OF TlIK LAKK.

2'6'S

self great freedom in the invention of persons and inci<lents true in kind
or species to the period chosen. 'I'he Lowland kings all along had ;.'reat
diiliculties with their Hii/lihuid neiL'hhours. This loni'-standin'r histoi-ical
enmity is emhodied in Roderick Ohu and Clan Al[)ine. But the chief
is an imaginary chief, and even the elan is an imaginary clan. (.'Ian
Alpine has a certain verisimilitiule to the Clan (Jregor, and is placed I)}-
the poet in Macgregor territoiy, hut there was not in the time of
James V. a real united clan within the district traversed l)y Roderick's
fiery cross. The am])ition of the powerful family of Douglas, and its
rivalry with the royal authority, is also a matter of history. But J.uius
of Bothwell is an imaginary personage. !So with Malcolm (irrome,
IkOderick's neighhour. He is placed in veritable («raham territory ; he
is heir to lands in Menteith and Strathendrik, of which (irahams were
long the lords ; but there was no such royal ward in the reign of
James V. It is enough for the poet's purpose that there might have
been " (Minto). It is characteristic of Scott that the epithet historic is
not a})])licable to this poem merely because its scene is laid in past times,
and because it introduces us to historic personages, but also because not
coulining itself to the incidents and feelings of private life, it depicts
those broader passions, sentiments and customs Avhicl). belong to men
as citizens, as members of great communities — in this poem, especially,
tile sentiments and habits developed by the clan system, and by the
natural peculiarities of the land in whicli the Highlanders dwelt. With
tliese things the poet was familiar not merely through history ; he lived
near enough to the year 1745, to know something, by direct contact, of
the characteristics developed by the special conditions of Highland life.
Doubtless, this first-hand ac([uaintance with his theme, and in a still
greater degree, the poet's in1)orn passion for all that pertained to the
history of his countjy, especially in its more romantic as[)ects, lend
some of that vivacity and vigour to the poem, which are its most potent
charm.

Nature in the Poem.- -As a background to these romantic incidents
and pietures([ue eustonis of the past, tlie poet was fortunate in linding a
district not less charming and romantic and in perfect keeping with
tlie figures and events of the foreground. Tiie scene has more care
and attention devoted to it tlian is tlie ease either in the Lai/ or
Marmioit. In the older Bomance poetry, upon Mhich Scott's longer
jKiems are based, " supin-natural agencies play a large [jart, and hel]) to
awaken and sustain interest. Tiie background of the stage is crowded
with gnomes and giants, spectres and goblins. But Scott wrote for an

234

NOTKS ON SCOTT.

age ■\vlieii men's iiiuiginations were stirred more ])y the beauty of the
raturul worlil tlian l>y the -wonder of the su]»eiiiaturid. And so, Avliile
the (Jernuui lioinance writers, and their English foUoAvers liiie Lewis,
'harked hack' to tlie supernatural niaehiner}- of eai'lier Ilomances,
Scott, in the L<ulii of (he L(tke, Aveaves into his stoiy the world of
nature instead " (Masterman). l^ut the poet did not, mere ly for
tiie nonee and for the artistic purpttses of his ])oein, assume an
interest in tlio landscape ; the love of roinaiiti<^ n.iture and the
scenery of his native country was as much a ji.ut of his personality
as his historic l)ent ; and with tlie localities of tlie poem he had
l)een fatniliari/.ed by many an expi'dition since the day when, stiil
a clerk in his father's olHcc, in order to enforce a writ he had, " lirst
entered," as he himself tells us, " j^oeli Katrine, riding in ail the dignity
of danger, with a front and rear guard, and loaded arms.'' Knowledge
such as this, acquii'(!d sjvmtaneously and foi'niing an integral part of the
writer's ]iast, is the proper ])asis for artistic Avork, -not information
ol)tained for a particular pur])()se, as Scott himself, in later years,
made a study of tlu; district of liohhij, note-book in hand. But hi;re
again, as in the case of his historic material, the ai'tist works fn ely.
Minto says, after remarki:}g on Scott's ti'catment of history as (piotcd
above, "Scott took at least e(pud pains to be ti'ue to nature in
!iis (lrseri})tions of scenery, and yet he did not liind himself haiul
and font. The real scenery of the Trosachs and lakes is depicted
witli careful fidelity. The truth of th(! description of lak( s and
liills and glens is so striking that as wo recognize feature after
feature we iind ourselves trying to identify the precise locality of ever}'
incident. l)ut the romancer did not tie himself down to tin; limitations
of Nature (juite so closely as that. (Juides sometimes insist upon
slu)wing the very spot where the Avretched kern Avas slain, the turn in
tlie patlnvay where Fit/.-dames came upon tlu' bivouac of Itoilerick I)hu,
the very luck to Mliich l''it/-Janies set his back when lie was startled
l)y the ap[)eai'ai!re of Jvoder'ick's ambusii ; but the story is not articu-
lated to the scenery in such minor details. Scott aimed oidy at the
send)laiiee of prol)abiiiiy ; ^vith tliis he was satistii'(l. 'J'lie fact that
many travellers try tf) veiify every spot is a proof that he attained his
ol^ject."' The mai.i peculiarities of Scott's treatment of nature have
been noted by lluskin (see Mo<l<r)i Puiitdrs, III, iv, chap, xvi), (1) the
prominence of eohmr in his pictures, and the coini»arativt! ineU'ect-
iveness of liis details of form when he dot-s insert them,* ("_') the

* ?'>l)Sfrvc, for (.'xauiiilf, tlio jiowcr of the eoiour picture j,nvori in the single line, I, '1G2,
with tlic CKiiiiiaraf i\ (■ inefi'eetis tiu'ss of the (l(t;xi]« in 11. lltOliO.').

(.1 (

y of the
<>, -vvliile
e Lewis,
HTuiiices,
world of
r<ly for
line aji
ami the
sonality
lie ha,l
11, stiil
, "lirst
lii:;iiity
nowledge
\vt of the
orniatiou
til' years,
Ihit lie re
is fi'i ely.
IS (quoted
lature in
K'lf haud
depicted
dies and
lire after
of cvvry
nutations
ist upon
! tnrji in
ick I)hu,
i stai'thd
>t artieu-
ly nt the
faet that
lined lii.s
lie have
, (l)the
inellt'et-
Jl2) the

itip, F, '2G2,

TIIK LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

235

i)resenting of the world as seen by the eye, vvithout any attem{>t, sueh
as we lind in Wordsworth and Shelley, to interpret it or see in it the
manifestation of anything deeper.

Characterization. - ,\s to his representation of human nature, Scott's
power of characterization doi. s not fully appear in his metrical romances.
The personages of tlu; /.(k/// <•/ the Lake, are sutlieiently vivid to serve
their ])ur[tose in the story ; hut do not possess such novelty and reality
as to make the characterization an independent source of interest. The
types rei)resented are somewhat conventional, such as we have often
('iicountei'ed in literature, and do luit possess that freshness and veri-
similitude which Iteloiig to his best work in })rose Komance. There is,
indeed, not in the characters alone, but in the whole substance of this
poem, something of artitlcial prettiness, which is unfavourable to realistic
force ; so that sympathy and inti'rest are less kceidy aroused than is
the ease even with the Liiy and Mariaion,

Merits and Limitations. — Of course, this lack of intensity, of power
to touch the feelings very profoundly, is a part of the scmewhat
superlicial character of Scott's view of the world, already spoken of
in the general introduction. It need scarcely be pointed out that
tlie Ladij of (lid Lake is ;i representation of the external spectacle
of life, — that it excels by the brilliancy and variety of its pictures,
not by the profundity and sul)tlety of its delineation of feeling,
or of nature v.hether human or material. It presents life as seen
from the outside; it attempts nothing more. On the other hand,
the vigour and dash with mIucIi this is done, is extraordinary.
'' 'J'here were g<jod reasons,'' says Minto in his Introduction, "why
the ]»oeia should have Ijeeu po])ular, and more so even than its
pre<lecessors : good reasons why it should remain popular. It is full of
eontident joy in the I'cauty and grandeur of nature, and in all that is
generous, lovable, anil admirable in num : full of happy faitli, an
optimism, a buoyancy, an energy that s^^ring fi'om the poet's own genial
tem]iei-, s[iecially encouraged at tlie moment by hapi^y eircumslanees.
He was in a mood to give the worM of his best. Seott was in the Very
jtrime of his powers win ii he wrote the Ladij of tlif. Laic, and exhilarated
by the su'.cess that those powus had won for him. These were the
golden months of his life, bright with various enterprises. Idled M'ith a

sense of triumiih ami an energy that nothing could daunt

The exhilaration of this [irosp'Tous activity pervades the scenery and
the characters of the ]ioein. As \V(! read we b.'.'the with tlie breatli of
a st rong and happy spirit ; our blood beats wii !■ jc jtulse of a strong

i>:56

NOTKS 0\ SCOT!'.

and healtlty heart. Tliure are no such sunrises in literature as the six
sunrises with which tlio succct^sive cantos open : the sky Hi,ditens, th(;
birds sing, the dew-drops glisten as with the freshness of actual sound
and sight. The energy of the narrative is superb."

Style. — With this vigoui" and freshness, with this lack of subtlety and
profound thought, the style of the joem haiiiionizes. The metre has
swing and animation, a ca[)acity for diil\'rent etlects suited to a swift a»id
vai ied narrative. The diction and in.igery are rich and pictures(pie.
The ease with which the poet's thought clothes itself in fairly appro-
priate language anil vhytlini aie felt by the reader, and give attraction
to the poem. I'.ut rarely are thought and form so aptly litteil as to
caiise the reader to })ause, to lead him to lingcu* fondly over a line or
cadence, z\nd, if he resists the tendency to be cairied ah)ng l)y the
vigorous style, and stoi)S to examine, he finds lepeatedly the evidence
of sli[)shod and careless M'orkmanship : imi»erfcct rhymes, sometimes
loose gramnuir, inapjjropriato diction, av.kward combinations of sound.*

Relation to Earlier Poetry. — The metrical romance as written by
Scott is a (liiect result of his antiquarian studies, a free reproduc-
tion of tlie Itallads and metrical ion laces of the middle ages. The
prevalent interest in inetli;eval things and the study of media-vaj
litei-ature had already led many to attempt a revival of earlier
literary forms; and one poet before Scott, Coleridge. ^ ■; ! with the
insiglit and skill of genius shoM-ed, in the A s.-i-'iit Mannc)'
and ChrisUihel, how these forms might be adapted to the more
cultivated and fastidious taste of a later age. Helped by his
example, Scott's L-iii, intended originally as a close ami unam-
bitious imitation of t;'e eixrlier ]»oj)ular ballad, grew into a new form
of poetry which, while preserving many oi the ])eculiarities of its
jnodel, was no slavish imitation, but a new creation to suit an
audience and conditions very tliflerent from those which had given
shape to the oldei- poetic narratives. When the Laij was completed,
Scott felt that ' ■- work was, in some degree, a new species, that it was
aimed at something tMiicront from the accepted ])oetry of the day, ;uul

^For oxainple : 'iim ')•'■' •' )7/;. /,')<',>•- (oxtrcmely fr<.'(i' fiif)!!, lOl-ii, .')!);!-4, rirt.")-C, (;7.'{-4,
857-8, etc., (^oiiic ot thf 1 i(.orfe -t rliym.'s may he ( vjilicablc, as Rolfc suji'^res-ts, from
the poet's Sc'(ntis)^ )»•■. Ill ,..iaM ,1 ' 7., H, rio-l ; III, ;•)^l-li ; IV, ;}«7-8; Blf)-!*'), t-te.);
lotur iinnniiKd-- " w ■ ,)ii,'' il, 170; V, ;i-J, ri</;;-4 ; V, litvOl ; in(ii>j>roj>ria(t> (liction-
"hn«ok,'I, r.Wl; "hurl.t,' in, HV . " Hiyl."<l," 7:',1 ; "avouch," IV, I'i.S, ISH ; "spy,"
.Sin; ".show." V, Inj : '• hort " \:i.\ efc ; iMharinoiiious effects— III, IDS, tliu rhymes
in the couplets, •24U-1 anl 2> J, " -ofn " and "room" iu VI, 478.

TIIK LADY OF TMH LAKK.

237

t(j ]>e ju(lgt;(.l by other .standards. 'l"o prepare his readers for tliis, ho, as
ail afteithought, liit upon the happy device of putting the jKteiu ii-.to
the mouth of an ohl minstrel, who, however, is supposed to have lived
in comparatively recent and cultivated times. Jle thus indicates the
tone and intention of his poetry — poetry l)ased upon early popular
l)allads and aiming in general at their elTeets, })ut adding to these some-
thing of a later spirit and manner, and adapting them to more nuxlern
and fastidious taste. Even in the poem before us, tlie third of .Scott's
metrical loniances, he still feels it appropriate to hint in introductory
stanzas that his poem is an echo of ancient song, a ])elated strain upon
the amnt'iit Caledonian llar[). In harmony with this fact, there is, in
the })()(ly of the poem, an iiitentional borrowing of Avords and phrases
from liallad poetrj^ a suggestion of antiquity in forms and phras'nlogy
to nuu'k its afliliation to ancient models. J>ufc the resenddance goes
(li.'Cper than any such .superficial and occasional imitation ; tnutatls
innffindis, the su})jects, the methods, the aims of Scott and Ids nameless
[tredecessors are the same. The old liallad dealt in story and in.cident,
addressed itself to a Avide and popular audience, was accordingly rapid
in its movement, confined itself to broad and oljvious ettects, was
careless and naive in its style, km w nothing of the subtle and recon-
dite, which would have been thrown a"\vay upon an unlettered audience
and wouhl have been lost in the rapidity of oi-al recitation. A close
following of these ballads would have been nu re pedantic anti(juarianism
in the case of a poet liviiig at the beginning of the present century and
addressing a ruuUiuj pul)liG long familiarized with the most develoj)ed
poetry. So there are great difl'erences between Scott and the old
liallad writers ; the very moderate admission of supernatural eleni' :s,
the frequent suggestion of a natural explanation, the rejection < the
horrible and grisly, tlie fre(juent iuul minute descriptions of scenery
over whicli the hearers of a ballad singer would liave yawnt 1, the
greater relinement, the greater detail, tlie greater length of the a\ hole —
all these are permissi)>le and desirable for an audience that i < .uls at
leisure the jirinted [lage, as compared with an audience that listens at
a sitting to a reciting minstrel.*

Jeffrey's Criticism. —In conclusion may be (juoted. upon Scotc's
pf.'ti'v in general as well as ujion tlu! Lo'hj of thu Laki in jiarticular,
the judgment of his great ciitic-al conteiiqiorary, dellVe_\'. the editor of

' It will be i>rontalik' for the studiTit lo make a eoniparisoti for liimst If i. lueeri
Scott's poi'iii and tho Ballad of Sir Patrick Spfnn, which may he foiiiitl in the Appen-
dix lo ihia volume.

238

NOTKS ON SCO'J'T.

tlio Edin})Hriih R'r'inr, ^\ ho w;is certainly not predisposed to Ije unduly
f;iv()ur;il)le to Scott : —

" Tlie ;;rcat f-iccret (^f lus ]>o|>u]:irity, aiuJ the Ifiuliii^' oliaractcristic of his jioctry,
ajjpcar to us to cmisisi (■\ iiloiifly in this, 1 iiat lie iias iiuulc more use of coininon toi>ics,
iiiiauc's and cxi>i't>s>i<)iis, liiiin aii\ oriuinal )uit I, of l.ili r tiiiu'S. . . In tlic choice of
liis subjects, for exanmlc, lie does not att.enijtt to interest merely by fhic observation
or iiatlielic sentimcMt, but takes tiie assistance of a story, ami enli-^ts the reader's
curiosily auion,-C his motives for attention. Then his chai'aeters ai'u all selected from
the most cnnunon dranuit i^ pcnidiiiv of jioei ry ; liin^s, warriors, knii,''hts, outlaws,
nuns, minstrels, seehided damsels, wizards, and true lovers. . . In the manaj;'<'ment
of the iiassions, attain. Mi'. Scott ajijiears to lia\ e ]iursucd the same itopular and (;om
jiaratively easy course. . . Ih* has da/./.lcd the reader with tlie splendour, and e\i'ii
warmed him witli the transient heat of various affections; Imt lie lias nowhere fairly
kindled him with rntlnisiasm, or melted him into tenderness. Writini^ for the world
at lar,i,'e, he has visely absl allied from attcmiiMnii" to raise any ]iassion to a height to
wbi( li worldly jMople could not be transported ; and contented himself with irisinu' his
reader the cliance of f( iiin:_' as a bra\e, liind, and alTcctionatc nentlenian must often
feel in the ordinary course of his existence, v, ilhout ti,\ini;' to breathe into him eitlier
that lofty enthusiasm which disdains the ordi;iarv bu-iness and amusements of life, or
that (|uiet and deeji sensibility v.iiich niifits for most of its jiursuits. With regard to
diction and iina^ciy, too, it is (piite obvious tliat Mr. .Si.'olt has not aimed at writing
either in a very ]inre or a very consistent style. lie seenn; to have been anxious only
to strike, and to be easily and uni\c'f-ally understood. . . Indil..;ent whether he
coins or borrows, and drawing with eipial frcedi)m on his memory and his imagination,
he gof- : boldly forward, in full reliance on a never-failing abundance ; andda/./les, with
Ills richness and variety, e^eii ttiosc who arc most a]it to lie olTcnded with his glare and
irregularity . . tiicic is a medley of bri-ht inia;;es and glow ing words, set carelessly
and loosely togetlu'r— a diction tinged snccessisely with the ciireless richness of
Shakespeare, tlie harsjiness and aiilii;ae sinplicit y of the old roniances, the homeliness
of vulgar ballads and anecdotes, and the sentimeiiial glitter of the most modern jioelry
— jiassing from the borders of the ludicrous to those of the sublime alternately
minutf and energetic some'tinies artificial, and fre(piently negligent — but always full
of spirit and vivacity,- abounding h\ images that are sti'ikiiig, at first sight, to minds
of e\'e,y cont'jxture — and nt'\er "\]ii'es-iiiu' a, sentiment which it can cost the most,
f)r(linar\ reader any exertifwi .oc</'. ijin ^' iid."

Again,

'Tl

I ere

nothinu

•reepin;:. or feebl(\ in all Mr. Scott's ])oetry ; . .
<■ ilieo .o tills inlu'reiit vigour and {iniinalion,
•T, iS t! -it iii • of facilit V and freedom which adds so

he always attempts \'igorous y
and in a great ileu'i'ee eleri\t'(l fit
'>eculiar a grace to most of .Mr. Scfilt-

" rjion the whole, we are inclined
than of either of its author's forniei-

more sure, iie .fscr, that ' lias fewer f;, 'is than that ii has greater beauties; and as
its beaut ie>

'Uposrious.

think K.ore higlily of Tlw I.cid)/ nf the Lain'
iblicaii >iis (the /.((// and Maniiimi). We are

ir a st roil.' resemblance to iliosi' w iih w bicli the jiiiblic has been already

mac

ie I;

(lilllla!

in til

Ie ii:iled Works, we should not be surprised ii its liojiularity

ivere less splendid and r'niail^able. For our own parts, however, we are of opii

lion

(bat it w ill be ofleiu r r>'ad bereatter I !i .11 elt lier ot then

d that, if it had aiijieared

first in the series, their reception would ha\e beec less favourable than that which it

has

experience

t IS nu)re

ilishvd ill its diction, and more regular in its versilica

)u unduly

his poetry,
mon tojiu'S,
lie clioico of
otiMji'valion
he reader's
.'lected from
ts, outlaws,
iiaiia^^eineiil
iar and ('(iiu-
ir, and eviii
ivlnre fairly
or the world
) a heif;ht to
th ^nviii;/ his
11 THiist often

him either
lit s of life, or
ith regard t o
ed at writinj,'

anxious only
it whether he

1 imagination,
Ida'./.les, with
I his '^lareand

set carelessly
IS riehness of
lie homeliness
uodeiii ]U)etry
e- -alternately
lilt always full
•iiiht, to minds
cost the most

< ]>oetry ; . .
nd animation,
1 which adds so

:/)/ of ihe Lnki'
n it'll). We are
L'auties ; and as
as heeii already
i its popularity
are of opinion
it had appeared
in (hat which it
I in its versifica-

och Tay

Braes oi
Balq. ' 'ddi

L.DoinCf

. ■• ."■- 'iiu -.(M'-i ■''11'*

Ben Voifi'ich ■ */■',„„

I ■ . ' f^S^BRlDEi/ '"' ^ .1,-'"

1 V DRUMMOND'V^OLDp ,

jfARDROSS O^HTERTYReV;

' CAMT.'

Stirling*'-^ /\

/^'

\DuMBARTON

bCENli OF THIi LADY UF THIi LAKE.

TC3 FAC6 P.VQE 239

yf)

[

THK LADV OF I'lli; I,AK'K.

23U

lion; tlicre is a prcator jirnportion of jilt .'siii!,^ and tender j^assa'^'OH, with nuich less
aiiti(i,iariiui detail ; and, uiion tia- whole, a larger variety of characters, more artfully
and jiKliciouhly coiitnisted. There is iiolhin;,' so line, iierhajis, as (ho liatilein Mm-
7/m'()/(, or so iiic'turesqnL' as sonio of Ihi' scattered sketi'las in the /.'(//,• hnl there i-,a
rielincsH and a sjiirit in the w iiole ))i( ce w hicii dnes nol jurNade eiilu r f>f the.. jiorMi^,
a iirnfusioii of incident and a shifiinu' I'lilliaiicy of colnurinir that remind^ us of the
witclK ry of Ario^!o, .and a con-taut elasticity and occasional enfr;,^y which seem to
hcloiie- inoro pecuiiarly to tlio author iio\. before us."

Texts. —Mfiiiy iUiiiotiUijd filitioii.s of the Linh/ of '/w Lal-r liavo ])(.'eii
pul)lishtHl ; iiiiioiig these may Ixi iiiciilidiicd '\V\\\ti)'A ( Claronlon I'riss),
IJolfe's (Moughtoii, Mitllin tt Co.), Stuart (Maeiiiillan's I'JiKj/is/i f'Va.ws'f ••>■),
Mastoriiiairs (Pitt Press Serti's) ; to these editions the f()Ih>\viii!j; Notes
aie largely in(lel)t(!(l.

Canto I.

1-27. These opening stanzas are apart from and furnish an intro-
duetion to the narrative -which follows. They serve like the Introduc-
tions to the Cantos of the La;/, though in a less elaborate fashion, to
explain the character of the ])oeni : that the -writer is here attempting
something iu the manner of the ancient minstrels of his native land,
'i'he slow movement of the Spenserian stanxa :<erves to contrast these
lines with ra))idand less dignilied tetrameter eoiii)lets of the main story.

1. Cf. Moore's "Dear harj> of my country, in silence 1 fotnul thee."

2. witch-elm. Tiie broad-leaved drooiiing elm common iu Scotland
[I'/inus vioiitiUKi); witch (nu)re pro[»erly spelled vijch or vivh) is said to
mean drooping (A.S. wicen, to bend), but, doid)tless, popularly and with
Seott, the word 'witch' is sui)p()sed here to nu-au ?;n'-j((r(/ (cf. "wizard
elm," vi, 84(5 beloM), and the epithet is connected with tin; use of
forked branches as divining-rods ; riding switches from it wt're also
supposed to insure good luck on a jnurney.

St. Fillan's spring. "Scott being an antiquary and a scholar as well
as a poet, and his ])oetry being interpcnetrate<l Avith anticjuarian and
scholarly- allusion, it is worth while to ask Mhy the minstrel's hat]) is
hung on a witch-elm by a spring sai'ivd to St. Fillan. Possibly he had
in his miml, besides the general sacrcdiiess of the elm, that an elm g;)\('
shelter to ( )rphous when he sat down to lament J^irvdiee, and that in
\'irgil s l(»wer \\orld a gigantic elm-tree is the seat of dreams {A'iki'I,
vi. •JS2-.")). As foe Saint l-'ilhui, he was an e^nccial favourite with Scolt,
wlio ne.iitioned '^'t. i'illaii's powerfid piayi'r' in his early [locm of
< I'l'i iijtii/iis, and again introhieed him in MnrmiDi), where one ol the
objects of De Wilton's pilgrimage (('auto 1, st. -D) is

CE PAGE 239

210

NOTI<:S ON SCOTT.

Canto

'Saint Fillan'M liloHscd well,
VVhoHc Mpiiii.r ciiii fniizit'*! drfanis (lispcl,

And I lie cra/t'd hraiii rcstori'.'

Siuli a saint was an appropriati; ])atron oi tlu' harp, with which Davitl
exorcised the evil spiiit of Saul. Saint Fillaii owes his jiosition as a
saint of national in^iortancc entirely to Seott, who ennohUtl a local
superstition lirst ni.'ulc prominent by Pennant in liis Tour in 8(!otlani|
(177-). Strathlilhtii lies bttween 'I'ynilruni an<l Killin in tlu! up[)er
valley of the 'I'ay. It containeil a chai»el (ledic.ated to S.iint Fillan, to
wliicli. in Pennant's time, and down to xVnderson's (18.S.'»), mad peoide
\\'ere brought to be cured. The patients were dipped in a linn-po<»l of
tli(^ river Fillan : then carried thiee times sunwise round a cairn : then
left bound all night \\ithin the ruins of the chapel. They were often, it
is said, foujid dead next morning: but if their bonds were loosed (of
eoui'.se, by the Saint's interventiim), it Mas consideitMl a good onu-u of
their xiltimate recovery. Fillan was also noted for a miraculous left arm,
wliich gave light to his right when this was occupied in co])ying Scrip-
ture. This miraeulous aiiu was present at the battle of P)annockburn,
where it wavod miraeulous encouragement to Uobert P>i'uce out of its
silver box '" (Minto).

0. Minstrel Harp. In jirimitive times ])oetry was sung, extempore or
otherwise, by wandering J/iiiyfrci.s, who accompanied their performance
on the strings of the harp, making music of a character prolmbly resem-
bling the strumming on a banjo which accompanies negro songs.

10. Caledon or Caledonia, the lloman name for Scotland.

14. accordingf pause. A ])ause for the am)rd, or accompaniment of
the harp. Muriay's Xc^i' /)irfinn<iri/ (piotes from Bacon, "listening
unto the airs and accord.-; of tlie Ifarpe'' ; cf. MarviUm, 11, 11 :

Scioii a^ tlicy iiuan.'d liis turrets sirnii^'.
The iiiaidiiis raised St. Hilda's soot,',
And with tliu sea-wave anil the wind
Tiieir VDJees, swer'tly shrill, conihined,

And made harninnirjus close ;
Then answeiiti;^'' from the sandy shore,
Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar

Aeeoi'din;^' ehoi'us I'ose.

17. burden. This is not the same word as burden, meaning a load,
hut comes irom I'^reneh //o/in/nii. a I'ontinuous low note accompanying
;l tunc ; hence its meaning here — 'that which is always present,' 'the

theme.

Canto

i-l

Tin: I.ADV OF TIIK LAKK.

2-11

h David

ioii iiH a
I a local
S<'()tlanil
It; U[)[u'r
illaii, to
ul pL'o[)le

11-|)()(»1 of

111 : then
; ofttMi, it

ooscd (of
I oiiun of
; loft arm,
ing Scrip-
iockl)urn,
out of its

icnipore or
■rff)nnancc
l)ly reseni-

^s.

luiinL'iit of
" listuiiing
I :

iing a load,
ompaiiying
sent,' 'the

2!>. Moiian's rill. \o rill of tiiis name is known, and it in, doubt-
less, an invention ..f tlir |»(»(t. A Scotch saint name<l Monan lived in
the fourth century.

.'11. Glenartney. The valley of the Arlney, a trihutiuy of the llarn,
h( t ween lienvoirlicli on the noith and I'iun-N'aron thesduth.

.'{4. deep-mouth'd. i'\. Sioli's I'isiun <>/ lh,,i l!<,iliiirl:^ iii ; '-'r'n..

(leep-nidUl h'd hell of vespei.s tiillM"; and / //'//. I /. , I!, iv, | 'J ;
" lietween two ilogs whi<'h had the deepei- nioulli, '

45. beam'd frontlet. The hann is the main stem of the horn from
which the luanciufs, or thus, slut. The beam is not markinl until the
animal is some four yeais uhl, so that the ])nsses.-ioii of a "be;im"d
frontlet," i.e., of horns with .'i nnnifest eenti'.il stem anil l)ranelies,
indicates a full-grown stag. ( 'f. S-inierville's C/nisr, iii, 40.") tl'., where
"The I'oyal stag" is dcsciibed as tossing high " his beamy litsad."

47. tainted gale. Cf. Tln)mson"s A'lfinnn, :{(».S :

The ■^iianiil stnu'li
SUIT l.y Ilic tainted ^ak-.

").">. Uani-Var, " Ta-vaf. as the natnc is pronounced, or more
piiiperly l'(ii(//iiin>r. is a mountain to the noitli-e;ist of the village of
( '.illiinder in Menteith, deriving its name, which signilits tiic great dtii,
or c.ivern, from a sort of I'etrt'at among the rotiks on the south siiU',
said, by tradition, to have lieen the alxxh' of a giant. In latter linu'S, it
was the refuge of robbers and banditti, Avbo have been only extiri)ated
within these forty or lifty years. Slrieily speaking, this stronghold is
not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small enclosure, or
recess, suii'ounded with large rocks, and opeti above head. It may have
been originally designed as a toil for deer, who might get in from the
outside, but Mould litid it diliicult to rettirn. Tliis opinion ])i-cvai!s
atiiong the old spoi-tsmen and deer-stalkers in the neighl)otirhood ''
(Scott's note).

•")!. opening. Mere a technical httnting term meaning 'I'leakitig into
cry on sight of the game'; cf. Sco't's Hihliil of Tri< r/iKiin, III, xii,
17 : "As \\ hen the houiul is opening ; " and Jfrrri/ Win-'< ul' H7//r/.s../',
i\', ii, '200 : " If 1 bark out thus upon no trail, never trust me Minn I
open ag.'iin. "

"),"), paid them back Mith echoes.

liii. cairn. Not, in this case, an artitieial hea]) of stones, but a voiky

pinnacle.
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242

NOTKS ON SCOTT.

[Canto

71. linn. A Avonl of Celtic origin niLaning a pool, but also applit^l to
the ravine through wliich a stream runs.

70-7 See note on 1. 53.

84. shrewdly. In a keen fashion so as to cause trouble ; cf. JnHiin
Caesnr, 111, i, 145 : " My misgiving still falls shrewdly to the purpose."

85. burst. A hard run ; cf. 'I'hackeray's Esmond : " During a burst
over the downs after a hare."

89. Menteith. The district through which the Teith flows ; this
river drains Jjoch Katrine and empties into the Forth ; see map.

91. moss. Applied here, as commonly in Scotland, to a l)oggy dis-
trict ; cf. moss-trooper in the Lay.

93. Lochard is a little lake five miles south of Loch Katrine.

Aberfoyle is a village a little to the east of Lochard.

95. Loch-Achray. See map.

97. Benvenue. A mountain south of Loch Katrine, 2,386 f(>et in
height.

103. Cambus-more, near Callander, on the wooded banks of the
Keltie, a tributary of the Teith, was the seat of a family named
Buchanan, whom Scott freipiently visited. While staying there in
1809, the poet wrote the Stag Chase, made notes of the scenery, and
rode from Loch Vennachar to Stirling in the time allotted to Fitz-James.

105. Benledi. A mountain to the north of Loch \'ennachar, 2,882
feet hiuh.

lOG. Bochastle's heath.

Vennachar.

A moor between Callander and Loch

112. Brigg of Turk. I^rhjij is a Scotch form for hr'uhje, as in Burns'
poem, TJie Br'ujijs of Ayr ; this bridge crosses a stream that descends
from Cleu Finlas, between Lochs Achray and Vennachar. Br'ujg of
Turk is explained to mean 'bridge of the wild boar.'

117. Emboss'd. Rolfe quotes from the Art of Venerte or Huntuuj,
by an Elizabethan writer, Tuberville : "When the hart is foaming at
the mouth, we say that he is emboss'd." So Shakespeare, Anton y and
Cleopatra, IV, xiii, 3.

120. Saint Hubert's breed. Scott himself annotates this line with
a quotation from Tul)erville : "The hounds which we call St. Huberts

,rtiull#lT-|i II

[Canto

) applied to

; cf. JuHiia
tj piirposi'."'

ng a Imrsl

lows ; this
lap.

l)()ggy clis-
le.

386 feet in

iks of tlie
lily named
y there in
enery, and
''itz-Janies.

!har, 2,882
and Loch

3 in Burns'

t descends

Brhjg of

r Hmit'oig,
toaniing at
[iitoiiy and

; line with
. Huberts

I]-

TIIR LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

243

lioiiiids arc commnnly all ])lack<". yet nevertheless, the race is so niiiiglen
at tlxse days, that we lind tluin of all e(.loms. 'J'hese are the hounds
wiiich the aljbots of 8t. ilul)ert have always kept some of tlieir laee or
kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, which was a hunter with
S. I'lustace. Whereupon we may conceive that (by the grace of God) all
yood huntsmen shall follow them into i)aradise.''

127. quarry. The hunted animal; but tlie word is more properly
ap.plied to the game after it is slaughtered, as in Muchrtl,, J V, iii, 2(H).

131. that mountain high. Benvenue.

l.'?7-S. 'MVhrn the stag turn(;d to bay, tlie ancient hunter had the
pt rilous task of going iu upon, and killing or disabling, the desperate
animal." (Scott's note.)

138. whinyard. A dagger, or short sword ; in Lay of fff Last
Minstrel, v, 7, the same weapon is called a ir/tinyej:

145. Trosach's. The word is said to mean 'the rough or bristled
ten-itory,' and is applied to the districts between J.ochs Katrim and
Vennachar— more especially to the pass between Lochs Katrine and
Achray.

151. Chiding. " An example of the o^ 1 sense of the word as applied
to any oft-re|)eatcd noise ; originally a figurative use of cliide (intransi-
tive) as expressing a loud, impassioned, ntttrance of anger, displeasure,
etc." (Rolfe's m.te.) Cf. 1 lht>. IV, 111, i, 45: "The sea that
chides the banks of Englan.l," and M. X. ])., IV, i, 120 : "Xever did
I hear such gallant chiding," (where the Itarking of a pack of hounds is
spoken of).

1()3. In 1536 James V. was in France in connection with negotiations
for his marriage.

166. Woe worth the chase. Woe be to the chase ; cf. Faerie Queen,
II. vi, 32: '-Wo worth the man that," etc. ; "worth" is from A. S.
ireortlian, to become.

180-1. In the first edition pare and chase stood at the ends of these
lines instead of "way " and "day,"

196-7. The tower of Babel ; see Genesis, xi, 1-9,

208. dewdrops sheen. "This is sometimes princed dcM'drops' sheen,
under the impression that s/ieen is a noun. It is an archaic adjective
used by Chaucer and Spenser. ' Dewdrop,' not dewdrops, is the read-

Hi'

ill,'

, I

iii'^

214

NO'l'JCS ON SCOTT.

[Canto

iiig of tlie M.S. : tlu; use of tlio singular in sucli cases is aliiiost a
iii.imu'risiii of Scott's" {.Miii((»'s iioti.) Cf, "scepter .shene," luuri
ijncni, 1, ii, 10 ; ami V, 10, 1)el(>\v.

212. Boon, r.ountiful ; of. ParadiHe Lost, iv, 242-4: "Flowe.s

M liich . . . natuT'o boon poured forth ; " a ])oetical ad jt-c-

tive derived from Vv. hon ; confusion ^vitll a'l altoifcther ditfercnt \\()rd,

/>()(»i, meaning 'a gift,' has j)i(»bal)ly given riso to the sense in this and

similar passages. (See Murray's Ncic Eikj/is/i DlrtloKinj.)

21S-0. "The gaudy colour of the foxglove suggests j>ride, and the
])()isonous 'deadly nightshade' punishment. Iiuskin (piotes the line
as an example of ' Seott's liahifc of drawing a slight iiturul, frojn every
scene — and this moral almost always melancholy.'" (Masterman.)

224. warrior oak. 'Die oak is po called cither l)ooausc ships of w ar
were made of it, or hccausc of its strtngth and hardness. In (ddt.-r
poetry there was a fashion for applying such epithets to trees ; cf. the
list in Faerie Qtuot, 1, i, 8-9, which is itself an imitation of Chaucer's
Paiiement of Foulcs, 170 11". ; i)i hoth tliese ])assagcs the oak is stjded the
"builder oak." (See Skeat's note on latter passage in Chaucer's Mium-

Pot'lllli, )

227. frequent flungf, etc. Flung his bonghs t/iirkh/. This use of
frt'i/niuf. in the seii.se of ' crowded ' is L.itin, and is found in Milton,
Panulise Lod, 1, 704-7.

The f^Tcat sorajihic lords and chonihim
111 eloso icciss and sccrtt ••(iiichi> f sat;
A llioiisand di'iiiiy:ods un yoldcn seats.
Frequent and full.

231. streamers of various vines.

2r)4. " I'ntil the i)resent road Mas nuvde through the romantic pass
which I have presiun])tuously attempted to describe in the preceding
stanzas, there was no mode fif issuing fi om th(! delile called the Trosachs.
fxcei)ting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots oi
treefe. ^.">eotl"s note.)

274. ■wildering'. lU^wildering ; cf. 434 below, and V, 22.

277. Ben-an. This mountain ( 1,800 ft. high) is to the jiorth of the
Trosachs separating that pass from Clenlilas.

281. churchman. " In the old sense; of one holding high oilice in the
church. Cf. Sluikespeare, ,.' Hiii. V J, i, 3, 72, where Cardinal iJeaufort
is called 'the imperious churchman.' " (Kolfe.)

=a^,

[(,\\NT()

s aliiidst ;i
le," Farri.

itic.'il adjii;-

jront word,

in this and

le, and tlie
ics the liiu!
fidin every
riuan.)

Iiips of war
111 oMlt
es ; of. the
f Chaucer'.s
5 stj'k'd the
cer'.s Miliar

'liis use «)f
in Milton,

nantic pass
! preceding
e Trosachs.
hI rootb oi

>rth of the

litice in the
il Deaufort

Till-; LADV op TIIK LAKK.

21;

-SO. bugle-horn. Literally the ho.n of thn • hugk,' or wild ov • so
Mundevil.e (a snpj.osed cont. .npurary of ( 'haucer) sp.ak.s in his TranU
of horns of great oxm or lH,gh..s." and Chaueer himself us.s lund,..
horn of a dr.nkin,-!:o,.n : '-drinluth ..f his l.ngle-iu.rn tl,. v^...''
(l-rankhns Tide, 1. r>2."i. )

■J^.n. should lave. " l,i,l l.v,-- i. i|,. ,,„,i„g „f tl,. Ms. ,„„i n.st

edition.

207. Strings of hcad.s w.re and are employe! to keq, count of the
nmnher of prayers said; in the n.ari.s cnnunonly n^ed in the
KnnuuiUthohechureh. small heads are u..,d to m:u k tlie I ,v Maria
and large ones the Pain- Xn.trr ; l„ad originally nuant 'a pr.iycr '.

\m. beshrew. " ^ray ovil befall thee" (cf. note on 1. 84 ahov.) ; used
<"nnmon]y hi earlier Knglish as a nn'ld impr.caticm, ef. ni, IV ii
;;, l.) : " Jieshrcnv your heart, fair daughter." Murray in S, ,r J-n.inJt
/^>rnnmiry BU'^gv,tH that it may not he an imperative, hut that there
HK.y he an ellipsis of /, as in 2'nlhee, thank you, etc.

.'^07. Yet pass we that. Let us overlook that.

ni;l "The clans who inhahitod the romantic n^gions in the neigh-
1-urhood of Loch Katrine, Were, even until a late period, much addicted
lo pre.latory excursions upon their I.Mwhmd neighbours. «Jn former
times those parts of thi.i district which are situate,] beyond the Cram-
pian range, were rendered almost inaccessible by stri.n- barriers of
• oeks, an.l nmuntains, and lakes. It was a border country and
tliough on the ^^yy verge of the low country, it was almost t..tally
s..|uestered from the world, and, as it were, insulated with respect to
society. 'Tis well known tliat in the Jligblauds it was. in former
rimes, accounted not only lawful, but honourable, among hostile tribes,
t.> commit depredations on one another; and these habits of the a<'e
were perhaps strengthened in this district by the circumstances which
have be,n nientione.l. It bordered on a country, the inhabitants of
which, while they were richer, were less warlike than tiiey, and \vid< ly
<liirerenced by language and manners. '--Graham's Sbfrln., <,f S<;'n,r>i In
I^'rlhshirr^ Kdin., 1S06, p. 97. ^I'he reader will tlierefore be pleased to
ivmember that the scone of the poem is laid in a time,

' When tormiiiio- faiilds, or swcepiny' of a kIch
Had still been huld the deed of ijalUuit inuii.'"
(Scott's note.)

:;17. Cf. M'rclHwt of Vemre, I, ii, 90 : "An the worst fall that ever
fell. 1 1mi{).' ] Khali make shift to go witliout him."

1 1

1
1 '

246

NOTKS OS SCOTT,

[Can

3S4. Lady of the Lake. 'Pliis phrase is probably employed with a
reminisctnce <>t its use in Muloiy's Morff, </' A li/ntr, ]>k.. I, cijap. xxiii,
wlicre the iiiaitU.ii who gave lv\caiil)ur to Aithur is so e; lied.

341. A Nymph, a Naiad. Accordiii<^' to (ireck inytholoj^'y, nature
was peopled by interior female divinities called Nyiniihs ; the Nymphs
of streams wire called Xaia<ls.

.SIC), ardent. Apparently used in its literal, not metaphorical,
sense of ' Int ruing. '

nC)'?. snood. The nbl)on with which Scotch maidens bound the hair ;
sec note on III, 114.

•SS"). One only. For the inversion, ef. Jitliii.< Ca<'.<(tr, I, ii, 157 :
" When there is in it but one only man," JJcserlcd ViIUkjc, I. W.) :

" One on)}' niast<"- jfrusiis Uie whole (loiiiain."

40S. wont. The verb won means originally ' to dwell ' ;
Paradise Lust, vii, 4.")7 :

A9 from his lair tlie wild boast, where he wons
In forest \t'il(l, in thieket, brake, or den.

so m

and below, ] \', '298 :

Up siioke the moody Elfin Kiny,
Who wonnM within the hill.

A secondary sense was 'to be accustomed,' as in 1 Hcury VI., I,
ii, 14 : " Talbot is taken whom we wont to fear" ; so also below, IV, 278.
In modern i>ro3e English it is restricted to the form of the i)ast par-
ticijile ?f(>//i in the sinse of •aecustomed.' l*)Ut we have also the form
xrv)it<d in the same sense, Midsuuiimr ^^lyJit's iJrtaw, IT, i, ll.S:
"Change their wonted livi-i-ies." This indicates the existence of a
weak verb, perhaps formed from the noun void ; "wont" in the present
line, as well as in IV, '2(58 below, evidently is the present tense of this
verb ; so Panidln' Lost, I, 704.

400-10. James died in 1 042, at the ago of thirty, so that this state-
ment is not historically true ; but, on the whole, the description of this
stanza is in accord with tiadition. "This change in age," says Master-
man, " unimportant in itself, is interesting as illustrating Scott's
preference for middle-aged heroes. Cranstoun and Deloraine in tiie
Iaii/, Marmion and DeWilton in Murm'wn, Jtoderiek Dim and Fitz-
James in this poem, arc all exami)les in point. I'ossibly this preference
may be due to the fact that Scott was himself verging on middle-age

.i^KwrnSil f^^.

Mw*

[Cant

()

TUK LADY OF TIIK LAKK.

LM7

yc<l with iv
chap, xxiii,

)gy, nature
lio Nymplia

^taphorical,

tl tlie hair ;

I, ii, 157 :
'M :

1 ' ; so in

try VI., I,
w, IV, 278.
le past })ar-
lo the fdriii
[T, i, ll.S:
■itence of a
the present
iuse of this

thi.s state-
ion of this
,ys Master-
ing tScott's
ine in the

and Fitz-
preference
middle-age

when these j)0(>ms were written.'' But in the present case it seems pn»-
l)ahU5 that Scott's reason for making .lames middle-aged is to leiuh-r
liis ultimate attitude towards I'^lleu a i)i()teeting and somewhat paternal
one —more natural and fitting. For the history ot .Tanu-s'a reign the
student may consult Scott'a Tales of a (Irnmlfullipr, I, cliaps. xxv.-
xxviii, especially chap, xxvii ; he succeeded to the throne as a cliild,
was long j)ractically a prisoner in the hands of the Douglases ; emanci-
pated himself from their control and l)anished the wliolo connection in
l.')2S ; was active in repressing disorder and curbing the lawh-ss
nobility, the Borderers and tiio Higlilauders ; visited France in ].").'{(»,
married a daughter of Francis J, she died very soon, and in 1538
nuirried another French lady.

425. " ' Making light of the need that his words revealed.' 'Show'
isaiiotlur favourite rhyme-word with Scott, used by him in tlie peculiar
sense of dci'lure or iniliratc in looriiti. It is used in iliia sense in H, G.'.'S,
IV, US, V, 102 •' (Minto.)

440. ptarmigan and heath-cock. The former is a species of grouse ;
the latter tlie male of the black grouse.

44.'{. by the rood. A common oath, cf. Rlchnrd III., Til, ii, 77 ; voiMl
means 'cross,' cf. Ilolijruod Palace in Edinburgh.

458. Allan-bane. "Bane, in Gaelic, means white, or fair- haired."
(Stuart.)

4r)0. "If force of evidence co ild force us to believe facts inconsistent
with the general laws of nacure, enough might be produced in favour of
the existence of second-sight. It is called in Gaelic Taishifaraiujh, from
Ta'ish, an unreal or shadowy appearance ; and those possessed of the
faculty are called Taishatrin, which may be aptly translated visionaries.
Martin [^ Do script ion of the Western Idands, 1710], a steady believer in
second-sight, gives the following account of it: 'The second-sight is a
singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible object, without any
previous means used by the person that used it for that end : the vision
makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they neither see nor
think of anything else except the vision, as long as it continues ; and
then they appear pensive or jovial according to the object that was
rej)resented to them ' " (Scott's note). Scott makes frequent use of this
])eculiarly Highland superstition ; see WaoerUij, chap, xvi, Legend of
Montrose, chap. iv.

464. Lincoln green. A green cloth, so called from the place where

24 S

NOTKS ON S('0'IT,

[Cant

«»

■Mi,

iP'P'

it was iiKinufai'turt'd, and naed for luintliif^-drossca. Cf Foerio Qiiecti,
\'I, li, '» :

All ill !i wondniati'H jjifki'l ho was cIjuI
of Liiifolti grei'n.

475. errant-kiiight. I-it,tr;iIly a ' wiindi-ring knight,' a knight roam-
ing about ill .suaicli of advcnlurtH.

470. sooth. 'I'riu; ; tli<( word a[)iK'ars as an adjoctivo in Milton's
(Unnii.-t, I. .S'J.'{, and in 'soothsayer'; as a noun, in tlic pljrasts 'in sooth,'
' forsooth.'

47S. emprise. Knterprisc ; a word fnmid ofli-n in Spenser, ef. Fat'fh'
Qitieii, II, vii, 'M, etc.

41)0. Se»! note (>n 1. 'J'iT alxtve.

nOO. winded. " In his novtds Scott ahnost invai-iahly uses tiic weak
fojin 'winded,' where mo would e.\i»ei:t the strong foiin 'wound.' In
liis ]>oenis lie uses either form aeeoiding ttj the necessities of luetro and
rhyme. .See Canto 1\', 50- " (Stuart).

504. " Th" ( 'eltie eliieft.iins, whoso livi-s were eontinually oxpo.«ed to
peril, had usually, ni the nu)st retired si»i>t of their (hmiains, some place
of retreat for the hour of necessitj% wliicl', as cireunistances would
admit, was a towi'r, a cavern, or a rustic hut, in a strong and secluded
situation. One of these last gave iv fuge to the unfortunate Charles
Edward, in liis perilous wantlerings afterlhe hattle of CuUodou " (Scott's
note).

5'25. Idaean vine. Lhi was the name of a mountain near Troy; sec
opening of Tennyson's (A iioiic. " What Scott meant by the Idujan vine
is a jtuz/le. He could not have meant the true vine, for Idavan is not
one of its classical epithets, and besides it could not have borne liOch
Katrine's 'keen and searching air.' The Ixnanical name of the red
whortleberry or cowberry is Vacc'niiinii Vids Ithra, but this short
shrubby ])lant is not a creeper. Professor Ti'ail, the botanist, suggests
to mci that Scott nuiy have nie;\nt the stone biamble, which has a vine-
like leaf, and might be 'taught to elimi).' Scott may have been misled
about the botanical nan . Dorothy Wordsworth, in her description
of liothwell Castle, mentions 'a broaddeaved creeping plant which
scnunbled up the castle wall along with the ivy,' and had 'viuedike
branches.' r>othwell Castle was Ellen's ancestral seat. IVrliaps Scott
saw the plant there. The Douglas who then owned Bothwell Castle

()

[Can'i

iglit roani-

i Milton's
' ill Hooth,'

cf. Fdt'rh-

? the we.ak

)UI1(1.' In

luetre and

ixpoHC'd to
ionie place
ce« -Wi III 1(1
1 secluded
be Charles
" (Scott's

Troy ; see
tliean vine
a\an is not
orne Loch
f the red
this sliort
, sug<j;ests
las a vine-
'cu misled
escription
nt which
' vine-like
laps Scott
ell Castle

THK LADY OF TIIK I.AKi:.

211)

was a friend of Ins, and it was [irohaMy out of '■onipliincnf, fu him that
lie mail'' it the seat ut" his (xiled J)oiiglas'' (Miiito).

Ti'JS. plant could bear, /.«., plant irh'irh could, etc.

r)4(). target. Shield; cf. V, :i(».K

.^)I8. arroTVS store. Store of air(»\vs, plenty of arrows; cf. Miltmi,
L'Allnjvo:

With store f)f Indies wlio'-v hri'^lit eves
I{.''.iii inlliKiiee, uihI jiidue I lie Jirize.

5(jr». brook. " Rear, endure ; now srldoni used except with reference
to what is endured against one's will or inclination. It set ms to he a
favourite wortl with Scott" ( IJolfe). Cf. Ill, 77; \', r)Ii7; \'I, 1S7, ")!»!.

r)(iS. took the word. Spok(i in her turn.

'V,',\. '''IMiese two sons of Anak flourished in romantic! fahle. The first
is Well known to the admirers of Ariosto hy the name of i'eri'aii. He
was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at length slain l»y him in mortal
ciinihat. . . . Ascapart, or Ascal)art, makes a very material ligiire
'\\\ i\\{i ITUtorii of BcrU of Il<tnij>f()n, by wluiui he ». as eoiupiered. His
elhgies may he seen guarding one siileof the g vte of Southampton, while
the other is occupied hy lievis himself" (Scott's note).

581 -2. 'I'lie MS. sliows that Scott wrote originally :

To whom, tliotii,'-)! n. ore lemoto iier claim
Vuinig Klleii j,'ii\e a mother's name.

Mr. Minto says : "The MS. shows tliat the poet originally intended to
makt! tliis lady the wife of the exile and Klhm's motlu-r. He ])rol)ahly
cliani^ed his intention, and made her tlu; sister-in-law of Houulasand
lioderick Jehu's mother to furnish an olivious and prol>al)le motive for
their receiving the Chieftain's shelter ami protection.''

ilS."). "The Highlanders, Avho carried hospitality t<> a. punctilious
nx'jess, are said to have considered it as churlish to ask a stranger his
name or lineage before he lunl t;d;eu refreshment. !''euds were; so
frecpieut among them, that a contrary rule would in many cases have
produceil the discovery of some circumstance Avhich might have
excluded the !,aiest from the l)eiielit(, ' the assistance he stood in need
of " (Scott's note).

51)1. Snowdoun. Au old name of Stirling Castle; see on \'I, 781)
below.

|il I

250

NOTis ov aroiT.

[C'AS

i<)

Fitz-James. /'V/-. is tlif NnimnTi jiatntnymic nic'iniii^ 'srmof'; cf.
Mar, (}.

nit'J, ir. JaiiM's i,>* cdvtrtly i-cfi-crini^ tn (ht! fact that tlu! royal powci
ill Scotland had thn>ii;.'li tlir iiii>fortuiMs of his |ift'dri;»!ss((rH, and inter-
nal foiul.s, talhiii vtiy h)\v.

r>9'). James i\'. had lieeii killed in the hattic of Floddtn, lol.'^.

r)0(>. wot. Knows; this is an exanijile of a prtt'Tit whicli assumed
a jtresent meatiing (of. I at. Don, mrmiii'i) ; htiifo altseneo of the iiillec-
tion of the 3rd person sing., jiresent. (See Hmerson's H'mtorii <>i' f/i'
EmjUsh La)i(jU(t'j<', §451.)

(JlC), fl'. I'^llen playfully maintains the idea of a knight-errant and
eiioiianted hall (11. o.'iii-.'J ahovr).

Weird. (Jift«Ml with HUpernatural powers; cf. the "weird sisters"
of MucIk III.

down. Hill.

0'J(». viewless. Invisible, as in J/r(f6V/r'/'o/- iUca-s/z/v, lll.i, \'1{ -. "the
viewless winds."'

G.'il. Cf. Rir/iard ///., IV, i, S4 : " The golden dew of sleep," and
Jiiliu.-i C'(i<.'i(ir, II, i, '2'.i0 : "The honey heavy dew of slumber."

038. pibroch. " A Highland air . . . generally applied to tliose
airs that are played on the bag-pi|)e lieforc tin: Highlanders when they
go out to battle.' (Jamieson. )

Gi2. 'J'lie l)ittern is a marsh bird with a hollow note, so tliat it is
sometimes called the ' Miri-drum.' (Joldsmith {])<Kirf(d Vi/fai/f, 1. 44)
speaks of " the liollow-soiuiding l)ittern."

048-0. The habit of l)ards improvi.sing for tlie oceasion is shown in
WnnrU ij, chap, x.xii.

704. grisly. (Irim, horrible ; a frecpient v/ord in earlier i)oetry ; ef.
/ Ifdirij r/., 1, iv, 47 : " My grisly countenance made others lly." It
is derived from the same root as (jr in sonic, but is sometimes confused
with the (juite dill'erent Mord f/rizzlcd (from Fr. [/ris, 'grey').

7-10. told. The word tell means originally to count (cf. f('l/er.-t in
Parliament, who count the votes, and " the idle of bricks " Kxodxm, v, 8).
So in Milton's L'AVeijro : " every shepherd UdU his iale.^'

741. Cf. note on 1. 'Jn7 above.

(Cant

TIIK I.ADY or niK I.AKK.

ion of '; cf.

)\ ;il power
iiiul inter-

r>i;{.

I .'issumumI
tilt; irillcc-
0/7/ "/' lltr

LTiant and
<1 siHtcrs "

IlU: "the

loiJi), " and

!<l to tliose
svlieii tliey

that it i-!
'atjc, 1. 44)

slnnva in

Of try ; cf.
nly." It
i confused

f('//er.'i ill
dm, V, 8).

(!ant.> II.

7. " Tiiat llighland chicrijiins, lo .i late period, ictaiintl in thi-ir .sif-
vico the bard, as a family (illiccr, admits of very easy proof, '['lie
author of the ' l,ett(M'S from tho North of S(!otland,' an olllccr of the
Mn^iut'crs, (puirtereil at Inverness ahoiit I7-t». who ei'itainly cannot he
dcenu'd a favouraldo witness, gives the follow ing account of the ollice,
;ind of a bard ^vlloIn ho heard exercise his talent of recitation :—* The
b.'iril is skilled in the gciie.-ilogy of all the Highland t'.iniilies, sonietinieN
]ireeept(»r to the young laird, celebrates in Irish verse the original of tlu;
tnlie, tho famous warlike ac:tions of the suocessivt; heads, and .sings liis
on n lyrics as an oiiiate to tho chief •wlu-n indisposed for sleep. Jiut
])oets are not eipially esteemed ami lionound in all countries. I happened
to bo a witness of tiie dislionour done to the muse at the house of one of
the chief.s, where two of these bai'ds were set at a good distanc(\ at the
lower "ml of a long table, with a parcel of Highlanders of no extra-
ordinary appearance, over a cup of ale. Poor inspiration ! They weit;
not asked to drink a glass of wine at our table, though the whole com-
{)aiiy consisted only of tho (frrat iikiii, one of his near relations, antl
myself. After some little time, the chief ordered one of them to aing
me a llighland song. The bard readily obeyed, and with a hoarse voice
and a tune of a few various notes, began, as 1 was told, one of his own
lyrics ; and whtiii he had proceeded to the fourth or filth stanza, I per-
ceived by the names of several persons, glens, and mountains, w hich J
liad known or heard of before, that it was an account of S(»me clan
l>attle. lint in his going on, the chief (who pirpies himself upon his school
learning), at some ))articular passage, bid him ceas*;, and cried out,
" There's nothing like that in Yirgil or }(omer." I bowed and told him
1 believed so. This you may believe was very edifying and delight-
ful.'" (Scott's note.)

10. The song indicates that Allan-bane, pres\imably tlu-oUiili his
supernatural powers, has some idea of the true character of the visitor.

22-2^. 'May you be successful at tournaments' ; tliis is indicated by
the '-arlier MS. reading : "At tourneys where the ])rave I'csort. "

2!)-;!2. ^'\. MtnniDii. Introduction III, i:{7 :

Yum wcathcr-liriiton hind . . .
Whoxe tritter'tl jihiid and ni.'ued choek
His northern clime and kindred sj)eak.

87-89. Cf. II. 22-3 above, with note.

N'OTi:S ON Sf'OTT.

[Canto

!U. parts. I)t[i!irts
mill Jhsiitid yi'liij/f,
laid."

cf. (Jiav's Eliijii, "tlu! Uiu'll <»f |.;itlin^ <liiy,''
171, " llcside tlu! 1jc<1 wluTc i»i>,itiii^ lifo was

lOM. 'I'lif liist tdition rciitls : "'I'lic sti'p ui ]iartiii^' fair to Hpy."

100. the Graeme. "Tlu.' .•uwifnt uml icwcrful f;iiiiily of (liiilwun
(wliicli f(»rmi'tric.vl n-asoiis is lifi-o .sju'lt aftii- tlu! Si'ntti.sli jii'oniiiiciati.)ii)
Ik'M oxt ■iisivo pKSscssioii.s ill tlio cfuuititH of I)uiiil)aitou uiid Stirliiij^.
Vvw faiiiilits can hui.st of iiioio historical ii'imwii, having claim to three
of th»! most rc'inai'kaltl(! characters in tlin ScoM ish annals. Sir .lohn, the
(lia'nio, the faithful and undaunted jiartakcr of Ihe lahoura and
[lati'iotic \\arfaru of Wallace, fell in the unfortunati; lield of Falkirk, in
I'JDS. The celehrated Mat(|uis of Montrose, in whom \h\ Iletz saw
reali/o<l hi.s ahstra<'t idea of tlu; heroes ot" anli(iuity, was the .second of
these wortlii; s. And, notwithstandiiijt^ tlu! severity of his tcinpti', and
the riu'oui- vith which he e.\e(.'uted tlu; oppieissive niandatt s of the
princes whom ho .served, I do not hesitate to name as a third, .lohn
< !r;enio of Cliverhouse, N'iscount of hundee, M'hose heroic death in the
arms of victory may be allowed toe;nic( 1 the memory of his eruilty to the
non-conformists, dui'int; the' leiu'u of ( harles II. and James II.'' (Scott's
note.) The sjH'cial (ii'a'ine country lies to the south of the valley of
the Tiitli, and so adjoins tlic district supposed, in tin; poem, to belong
to Clan Al[»ine.

11*2. in hall and bower. 'Among men and women.' 'J'iie //(f/^ was
the nuiin a[»ailment of the palace wheie the men particulaily gathered ;
hi, It'll', meaning originally a chand)er, was appliid to the ladies'
apartments.

\'.\\. Saint Modan. A Scotch abbot of the seventii century. "I
am not pi'ei)ared to show that Saint Modan Avas a performer on the
harp. It was, however, no unsaintly acconiplisliment ; for Saint
hunstaii certainly diil play ui)on that instrument, which retaining, as
was iiatui'al, a portion of the saiu-tity attached to its master's character,
announced future events by its spontaneous sound." (Seutt's note )

141. Bothwell's banner'd hall. " I'.othwell Castle is one of the
liuest baidiiial ruins in Scotlaml. It stands ' nol>ly overlooking the
(.'lydc,' about nine miles above (Ilasgow. . . Theie is some authority
for representing it as a possession of the House of Angus at the date
given in the ])oem. For a description of the ruiu see Dorothy
Wordsworth's Tuar, p. 41)." (Minto.)

[Canto

rilK I.ADV OF TllK LAKK

253

lifr was

' ( iialiiiiii
iiiciatitii)
i Stirling,'.
I to tlilft;
.lolin, tlif
iiirs iiiid
;ilkirk, in
Kct/ .saw
second of
iipcr, and

( s of tllf

1(1, dolin
itli in the
Ity t(. the
(Scott's
valU-y of
to belong

hall was
atliered ;
ladies'

ry. " I
r on tlie
or Saint
ining, as
Kifacter,
lote )

: of the
iing the
ntht)rity
;he date
Dorotliy

I4*J. "The downfall of the I>.iiiglasHcs of the Ininsi' of Aolmis dnring
the reigii of JanirH \. is tho evtnit allmltil t<» in the text. 'I'lie Karl of
Angnu, it will lu- renieinhert d, had ni.irricd tlie (|i'(tii .l(iua;.'<'r, ami
availed hinisi'lf of the rii^dit ^\hi(•h ln' thus atMjuired, as well ;is of his
oxtrnsive power, to ret;iin tin- king in a suit, (»f tutelage, vlneh ap-
proauhed very near to t:aptivily. Several <i|Mn atteiniits wen- nia'le to
reS(Mio iF.anuH from this tliraMotu, with uliiih lie w is will known to l»e
deeply <lisgusted : hnt tiie v.ilonrof the I ».-tiglass<'8 ao'l tlitir- ;dlies gave
thejn tlu' victory in every eontliet. At length the king, while residing
at Falkl.'intl, contrived to eseajie by nigiit out of his own court and
palace, and roih; full speed to Stirling Castle, wheii; the governor, who
was of the (tp[)o.sitt) faction, joyfully received him. I>eing thus at
lihi'rty, .liimes .'^lieedily sununoned aromid him kucIi peers as In; knew
to be most inimical to the chtmination of Aii'.'us, and lai<l his eoinpl.iint
l»cfore them, says J*itseottie, ' with great laiuentatioiis ; showing to t hem
ln>w he was holden in subje(;tion, thir years l)ygone, hy the Marl of
Angus and his kin and friemls, who oppressed tin; whole country and
spoiletl it, nnder the pretence of justice and his authority; and had slain
many (tf his lit-ges, kinsmen, antl frii nds, because they would havt; had
it mendeil at their hands, and ])ut him at liberty, as lu; ought to have
iieen, at the counsel of his Avliole lords, and not have \nv\\ subjected
and corrected with no particular men, l>y the rest of his no! ies. There-
fore, said he, 1 desire, my lords, that I may l»e satisliid of the said
earl, his kin, and his friemls ; for I a\(iw that Scotland .shall imt Imld
us both ■while [/.r. till] 1 be icveiiired on him ;ind \\u-. The loids,
hearing the king's complaint and hunwntation, and also the great rage,
fury, and malice that he bore towards the Marl of Am,'us, his kin and
friends, they concluded all, and thought it best that he should be sum-
moned to underly the law; if he found no caution, nor yet compear
himself, that he should be put to the horn, with all his kin atul friemls,
so mai<y as were contained in the letters. And farther, tin' lords
ordained, by advice of his majesty, that his brother and fiic nils should
be summoned to find caution to underly the law within a certain day,
or else be put to the horn. But the earl appeared not, nor none for
him ; and so he was put to the h(>rn, Avith all his kin and fri(;nds : so
many as were contiiim-d in the sunnuons that compeaied not were
banished, and holden traitors to the king. '" (Scott's m)te. )

15*.). From Tweed to Spey. The Tweed is the southern boundary
of Scotland ; the Spey rises in luverness-shire and Hows north through
Bauii'shirc.

1 ■

i i

i !
i.

nwv

25-4

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

1G8. resign'd is tho past tense; 'did not really yield more tlian the
oak yields to tlie wind.'

170. reave. Tear aAV^ay ; cf. Fitcrle Queen, I, iii, 3G : "IFc! to him
lept, in mind to reave his life," Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis, 1. 70(),
The participle rcff, is still used.

108. Cf. Milton, J/A//r,iro, 70-80:

Where perhaps some hcauty Hes,
The cynosure of nei<,'hl)oiirni^' oyep.

200. A hleeding heart was the crest of the Douglasses. Robert liruce
on his death-bed be-pieathed his heart to his friend Lord James Douglas,
to be borne to the Holy Land. Douglas, accordingly, set forth ^v'\'h
tho heart enclosed in a casket, but, on his way, fell iti battle with the
Saracens in S[)ain ; the heart was brought back and buried in Melrose
Ab})ey.

206. strathspey. "A variety of the Highland reel, named after the
district where it became noted [the AStrath or valley of the Spey]. There
is a trilling anaclirouisni in putting the "word into Kllen's mouth ; it was
not used until late in the eighteenth century" (Minto).

213. Clan-Alpine. " There Avas not, strictly speaking, a clan Alpine,
but there weie a luunber of clans of whom clan (Ii'cgor was regarded as
the chief, who clainietl descent from Kenneth ^'acali)ine, the first king
of all Scotland, and were known as Siol Alpine, or race of .vipine"
(Minto).

210. A Lennox foray. See note on 1. 410 below.

220. Black Sir Roderick. />/iu means black. See note ■':: 1. 408
below.

221. "This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in the Court
of Scotland ; nay, the presence of the sovereign himself scarcely re
strained the ferocious and inveterate fends which were the perjjctual
s(nirce of bloodshed among tlie Scottish nobility" (Scott's note).

Holy-Rood. The royal palace at Edinburgh.

22!l. "The exiled state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in
this and subse<|uent passages. The hatred of .James against the race of
Douglas was so inveterate that numerous as their allies were, and dis-
regarded as the regal authoi-ity had usually been in similar cases, their
nearest friends, even in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not

[Canto
re than the

ir<! to him
)ni,s, 1. 7()(),

IT].

THE LADY OF TIIK LAKE.

255

)l)ert Hnice
i;m ! )ou,i,'l;ia,

fortli ^vi'U
le with the

in Melrose

1(1 after the
ey]. There
ith ; it was

huv Alpine,
[•('i^anled as
e iirst king
of Aipine"

3 ->:: 1. 408

tlic Court
icarcely re
Q perpetual
te).

(i's.'crated in
the raee of
fe, and dis-
eases, their
1, durst not

entertain them, unless under the strictest and closest disguise" (Scott's
note).

23G-7. Koderick and Kilen, luM.ig lirat cousins, were within the
degrees prohil)ite.l hy the Church of Rome, and could not marry except
l)y dispensation of tlie pojje.

251. orphan ])eloug8 to "child" in the next line.

254. shrouds. Protects ; ef. Faerir Queen, 1, i, 6 : Antony and Cleo-
palra, III, xiii, 71.

2G0. Maronnan's cell. " The parish of Kilniaronoek, at the eastern
cxtr inity of Loch Lomond, derives its name from a cc//, or chapel dedi-
cated to Saint Maronoch, or Marnoch, or Maronnan, al)oiit whose
sanctity very little is now remembered" (Scott's note). A'i//-=cell, as
in Colmekill, the cell of Columba.

270. Bracklinn's thundering: wave. "This is a l)eautiful cascade
made by a mountain stream called the Keltic, at a place called the
bridge of Bracklinn, about a mile from the village of (!allander, in Men-
teith" (Scott's note).

274. claymore. Broadsword ; the word is ( Jaelic, and means laerally
'great sword.'

294. shadowy. Dark, sombre.

30;}. woe the while. Woe be to the time. While, now usually a
conjunction, was originally a noun meaning 'time.'

305, ff. "Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate in
ail his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tink-man, because he
fined, or lost, his followers in every battle which he fought. He was
van(|uished, as every reader must remember, in the bloody battle of
llomildon-hill, near Wooler, where he himself lost an eye, and was
made prisoner by Hotspur. He was no less unfortunate when allied
with Percy, being wounded and taken at the battle of Shrewsbury. He
was so unsuccessful in an attempt to l)esiege Koxburgh Castle, tliat it was
called tlie Find Baid, or disgraceful expedition. His ill fortun- left him
indeed at the battle of Heauge, in France ; but it was only to return
with double emphasis at the subsequent action of Yeinoil, the last and
most unlucky of his encounters, in Avhich he fell, with the lloMer of the
Scottish chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in France, and about two
thousand common soldiers, A. D. 1424" (Scott's note).

25G

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

V ' i

309-10. "The ancient warriors, >vh()se hope aud confidence rested
chielly in thiir blades, were accastonied to deduce omens from them,
especially from such as wore supposed to have been fabricated by
enchanted 8kill, of which we have various instances in the ronumces and
legends of the time " (Scott's note).

311). Beltane game. '' T)('ltane or beltein, old May-day, cek-brated
in many parts of Scotland down to the end of the last century by boii-
iiit'S and dances. The ancient (iaels lighted bonlires also at Lammas
and Hallowmas; tlie custom survives in Scotland at Hallowe'en"

(Minto).

327. canna's hoary beard. The down of the canna or cotton-grass.
Canmi is a word of (Jaelic origin.

335. Glengyle. A glen at the western end of Loch Katrine.

337. Brianchoil. A promontory on the northern shore of the lake.

34:0. banner'd Pine. This is a raHu-r far-fetched expression for a
banner with a pine upon it (cf. 1. 401 bulow) ; the ])ine was the badge of
the Mac<iregors.

343. brave. Fine, splendid, ])eautifnl ; the word is contiinially used
in Scottish dialect in the provircial form Jiraw. Brace is used frequently
by Shakespeare in the sense which it has here: Hamlet, H, ii, 312:
"This ])rave o'erhanging iirmamout ; " so bravery = ^nevy, Spenser,
Mother Huhbard's Tab', 1. 858.

345. bonnets. The word is applied in Scotland to a man's cap.

351. chanters. "The pipe of the bagpipes on wliich the melody is
played. The pipes thrown over the shoulder, "whicli are generally
decorated with ri])l)ons, are the 'droues.' Scott ignoics the distinction,
proba})ly f<)r the sake of the more poetic word 'chanter' " (Minto).

303, ff. " The connoisseurs in pipe-nnisic afi'ect to discover in a well-
composed pi1)roch, tlie imitative sounds of march, conllicc, flight, pur-
suit, and all the 'current of a heady light.' To this oj)ini(m Dr. Ueattie
has given his sudVage, in the following elegant passage : -* A ;»V>ror7i is
aspcjies of tune, peculiar, I think, to the Highlands aud Western Isles
of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and ddTers totally from all
other music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially in the
onick movement, so mixed and huddled togetlu'r, that a stranger finds it
impossible to reconcile his car to it, so as to p^jrceive its modulation.

[Canto

IT].

TIIK LADY OF THE LAKE.

257

lence rested

from them,

.l>ric;ited l)y

oniances and

T, celebrated

iury l)y hoti-

at Lammas

Hallowe'en"

!otton-grass.

ine.

■ the lake.

essiou for a
bhe badge of

inually used
I frequently
H, ii, 312:
y, Spenser,

s cap,

le melody is
e generally
di.stinctiv)n,
Minto).

iv in a well-
Hight, pur-
Dr. Beattie
V pihroch is
estern Isles
Dy from all
:ia]ly in the
iger linds it
iiodulation.

iSome of these pibrochs, being intended t > represent a battle, begin uith
a grave motion resend)ling a march ; then gradually (|uicken into the
onset; runoff with noisy confusion and turbulent rapidity, to imitate
the conflict and pursuit ; then swell into a few ilouri.shes of triumphant
joy ; and perhaps close with the Avild and slow wailings of a funeral
procession.' — Essnij on Ldughttr and Ludicrous CinupoHii'toii, chap, iii,
note " (Scott's note).

367, hurrying. Note that this word l)elongs to " their "(1, 3GS) — a
construction not permitted in modern picse, but found in poetry, and
liistorically justiliablo, " their " ])eing really the genitive of the pronoun
aiul not a j)rononiinal adjective.

371, closing. Not 'ending 'but ' beginnitig ' ; from 'close' in the
sense of ' coming to close (quarters ' ; cf, V, 3S9,

374. target. Shield ; cf, I, 546.

383. clarion. The clarion is a trumpet whose note is peculiarly clear
and shrill.

392. burden bore. Maintained the undersong ; t. Ti'nqvM, I, 2,
381 : " And, sweet sprites, the l)urden l^ear," The burden ( Fr, ])()urdon)
was the bass or undersong which was " usually continued when the
singers of the air paused at tlie end of a stanza, aad (when vocal) was
usually sung to words forming a nfi-ain." Ibnce burden in the sense
of a chorus or refrain, Cf, I, 17 above, with note.

395. The words of the chorus were the iirsthe was able to distinguish.

405. bourgeon. Swell into bud. Cf. In Mcmoriam, cv. :—

Now l)ourjj:coiis e\ery maze of ([uick
Aliout the flowering sijuares.

408. "Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly
used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, every l^ighland chief had
an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, and
which was comnum to all his predecessors and successors, as I'haraoh t<»
the kings of l'gyi>t, or Arsaccs to those of Tarthia. This name was
usually a patronymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of the
family. Thus the Duke of Argyle is calle.l Mac! 'ailnm Moi.', or the son
of Colin the Great. Sometimes, however, it is derived 'Voui armorial
distinctions, or the memory of some great feat ; thus Lord Scaforth, as
chief of the Mackenzies, or Clan-Keunet, Dears the epithet of Caber- fae,
or Buck's Head, as representative of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the
17

Mii|i,l:

258

NOTES OX SCOTT.

[Canto

family, who .saved the Hciottisli kiii^ wlioii endangcriMl })y a slag. ]\\\i
])esi(les this title, which belonged to hi.s oliice and dignity, the ehiet'tiiiii
had usually another peculiar to liiniself, which distinguished liini from
the chieftains of the same race. This was sometimes derived from com-
plexion, as (Uia or 7-oi/ ; sometimes from size, as beij or 'inorc ; at other
times iroin some jtcculiar exjdoit, or from some peculiarity of habit oi'
appearance. The line of the text therefore signifies,

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine.

The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorrams, or boat songs
of the Jlighlanders, which were usually composed in honour of a
favourite chief. They are bo 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 do\il)led, as
it were, and those which were timed to the rowers of an ordinary boat"
(Scott's note).

410. at Beltane, ^.e., in May ; see note on 1. 319.

41G. Menteith. See note on I, 89.

Breadalbane. A district north of Loch Lomond and around Loch
Tay.

419. Glen Fruin. A valley to the south-west of T^och Lomond ; at
the entrance of this glen stand the ruins of the castle oi Bannochar.

420. Slogan. The battle cry of the Highlanders.

4'Jl. Glen Luss is another valley on the western shore of Loch

Ix)nH)ii(l.

Ross-dhu i-! .situated on the western shore of the same Loch.

422. "j'he refei-ence in this and the preceding lines is to an event
which actually took place some sixty yeru'S after the supposed date of
the events of the poem. Scott gives the following account of it : ** The
Lennox, as the district is called, which encircles the lower extremity of
Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to the incursions of the moun-
taineers who inhabited the inacct. ssible 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 (ileu-fruin is a celebrated instance. This was a clan-battle, in which
the Macgregors, headed by AUaster Macgregor, chief of the clan, en-
co'i.ntered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded by Sir Humphry Col-

[Canto

stag, r.ut
le ohk't'tiiiii
I liiiii from
. from com-
; at otlier
of habit oi'

boat songs
)nour of a
le sweep of

to be sung
tloiibled, as
uary boat"

oil lid Loch

omond ; at

nx'/iar,

e of Loch

an event
iod date of
F it: ''The
xtremity of
the moun-
r end of the
were often
;ed conflict
e, in which
le clan, en-
nphry Col-

ri].

THE LADY OP TIIK LAKE.

259

(jiihouu ot" Luss. It is on all hands allowed that the action was desperately
lought, and tli.it tlu! ( 'iili|iili<»iius Wfre del'catcd with great slaughter,
leaving two hundr.'d of tlieir nune dead upon the held. l>ut po^tular
tradition has added other horrors to the tale. It is said that .Sir
lliunphry Cohpdioun, as ho was on horseback, escaped to the castle of
F.cnechra, or Banocliar, an<l was next day dragged out and murdered by
the victorious Macgregors in cold bloo<l. 'J'he consecpiences of the
battle of (ilen-fruiu wt;re very calamitous to the family of Macgrcgor,
Avlio had already been considered as an unruly clan. The widows
of the slain Cohpiliouns, sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in
doleful procession before the king at Stirling, each riding upon a wliite
palfrey, and bearing in hi-r hand the bloody shirt of her husband
dis[)layed upon a pike. James IV. was so much moved by the com-
plaints of this 'choir of mourning dames,' that he let loose his ven-
geance against the ^lacgregors, without either bounds or moderation.
The very name of the clan Avas pr()scril)ed, and those by whom it had
been borne were given up to sAvord and lire, and al^solutely hunted doAvn
by Ijloodhounds like Avild 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
elan. The Clan-Ch-egor being thus driven to utter despair, seem to have
renounced the laws from the benefit of w-hich they we' e excluded, and
their depredations produced iicav acts of council, confirming the severity
of their proscription, Avhieh had only the etlect of rendering them still
more united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary proof of the
ardent and invincible spirit of clansliip that, iiotwithstandi-'^' the
repeated proscriptions providently onlained by the Legislature, ' for the
timeous preventliKj the disorders and oppression that may fall out by the
said name and clan of Macgregors and their followers,' they were in
1715 and 1745 a potent clan, and continue to subsist as a distinct and
numerous race" (Scott's note).

426, Leven-glen. The A-alley of the LeA-en Avhich connects Loch
Lomond Avith the Clyde.

431. The refercMoe is to Kllen,

450. shun is the intinitiA-e.

471. pious, used here not in its narroAver sense, as referring to the
obligations of religion only, but in the l)roader sense of the Latin }hus
(cf. Virgil's phrase plus Aenai.s), dutiful, obedient to domestic and social,

260

NOTKS ()\ SCOTT,

L^'

.wro

■I I '

as Wi.W as religious, claims ; cf. (iray's A'A;///, 1. HO : " Soiim; jdous drops
the closing eye riMjiiircs. "'

493, ir. 'I'lio carl recalls an incident of his [i.ist lite uhioh is narrated
in a long passage from ritscotlie, (pioted l>y Scott in liis notes to the
Lay of the Ldst Mhidvel. In the year 1520 "the Karl of Angus and
tlie rest of the Douglasses ruled all which they liked, and no man
durst say the contrary ; wherefore the king [.James V., then' a minor]
was heavily displeased and W(juld fain have been out of their hands, if
he might by any May ; and to that eflect wrote a ([iiiet and secret letter
with his own haiul, and sent it to the Laird of iiuccleuch, beseeching
him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the force that
he might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home-passing, and there
to take him out of the Douglasses hands." . . . The Laird of
Buccleueli, accordingly, assembled his friends and attempted to rescue
the king at Halidon Hill, but was defeated in the ensuing l)attle, and
put to flight. "The Ivirl of Angus returned [from the pursuit] with
great merriness and victory, and thanked (»od that he had saved him
from that chance, and passed with the king to Melross, where they
remained all that night."

"Tliis incident would identify the exile with the Earl of Angus, who
married the widow of James IV. ; but v/e learn from Canto V, 1. o25,
that he was the uncle of this banished JOarl, and the jioet adds m a note
that he was * an entirely imaginary personage ' " (Minto).

495. See note on line 141 a))ove.

497. Percy's Norman pennon. 'J'his was a trophy of victory won
in 1388 by a former I)f)Ughis. The famous battle of Otterbourne, or
Chevy Chase, arose out of an attempt by Hotspur to recover the banner
of his house,

504. the \vaned crescent. The crescmt was the badge of the Buc-
cleuch family, whom he had defeated. 8ee note on line 49.'), ff.

506. Blantyre was a priory, of Avhich the ruins are still standing, on
the Clyde, opposite Bothwell Castle.

513. out-beggars. By surpassing {out-) makes l>eggarly or worthless
all 1 have lost.

516-7. The rhyme here is perfect if the obsolete pronunciation of
*' heard" as hccrd (still used among the uneducated) is retained; cf.
Milton's Lycidas, 11. 25 and 27, where the same two words rhyme.

IT].

TIIH LADV OV TIIH LAKE.

201

r)2,S-r>. Hiiwks were usually carried on the wi-ist, with thuir eyes
lioodfd ; the hood was removed wiienever they were to he kt loose in
pursuit of their prey.

TviT. Goddess. The MS. has "liuntre.ss" ; the referuiice is to Diana.

r)4l. ptarmigan. See note on 1, 440. Tn winter tlie plumage of the
ptarmigan is ic/iite.

548. Ben-Lomond. The highest mountain on the shore of the Loch
(3,192 feet).

M9. Without panting.

574. Glenfinlas. A wooded valley hetween Ben-an and T>en-ledi, the
entracce to wliieh is hetween Lochs Aehiay and Vennachar.

f')??. a royal ward. ]Malcolm (wlio is a purely fictitious peisonage) is
represented as he.id of the (Jrit'mes : but still a minor, and hence under
the guardianship of the king.

588. Strath-Endrick. The valley of the river Endrick, which Hows
into Loch Lomond from the east.

60.3. gflozing" words. Words which give a deceptively pleasing
interpretation; there arc two words glo.ss in English, viz., yfoss 'an
interpretation,' and gluss 'lustre,' and occasionally, as here, the meaning
seems to arise irom a confusion of the two words.

015. "In 1529, James V. made a convention at Edinburgh for the
purpose of considering the best mode of quelling the lionler robbers,
who, during the license of his minority, and the troubles which followed,
had committed many exorbitances. Accordingly, he assem))led a Hying
army of ten thousand men, consisting of his principal nobility and their
followers, who wei-e directed to bring their hawks and dogs with them,
that the monarch might refresh hi nself with si)ort during tlie intervals
of military execution. With this array he swept th'-ougli l^ttiick Forest,
where he hanged, over the gate of his own castle, Piers Cock burn of
Henderland, who had prepared, according to tradition, a feast for his
reception. He caused Adam Scott of Tushielaw also to be executed,
who was distinguished by the title of King of the I'order. But the
most noted victim of justice, during tliat expediti()n, was John Arm-
strong of Gilnockie, famous in Scottish song, M'ho, 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 T'eviot.

\ 1
■ 1

1 1
! '

\ ,

1 1

2G2

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

The effect of this seventy was such., tliat, as the vulj^'ar expresHed it,
'the ruahbush kept the cow,' and ' thiTcafter Mas ^C'at pt-are and rest
a long time, "\\ In.riithi'ongh the Kin^^ had great prollt ; for he had ten
thoutiand sheep going in the Kttriek Forest in keeping by Andrew liell,
who made the King as good count of them as they had gone in the
bounds of Fife.' — P'dncottii'\f Hhstonj, \y. lali" (Scott's note).

623. C'f. GenesiM, iv, 10: "The voice of thy ]>rother'.s Idood erietli
unto me from tlie L'round. "

G23-C. Meggat's mead. Tlie meadows ah»Mg the l)anks of the
Meggat, a tri])utary of tlie Yarrow. The Ettrick antl Yarrow Jh)w
through Selkirkshire into the Tweed. The Teviot is in Roxburghshire
and empties into the Tweed near Kelso.

624. braes. A Scotch word meaning 'steep banks.'

632. pretext. The accent is on the second syllable, as in Corlolanns,
V, vi, 20.

634. "James was in fact equally attentive to restrain rapine and
feudal oppression in every part of his dominions. ' The king past to
the Isles, and there held justice courts, and jmnished botli tliief and
traitor according to their demerit. And also he caused great men to
show their holdings, wherethrough he found many of the said lands in
non-entry ; the which he confiscate and brought home to his own use,
and afterwards annexed them to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne
brought many of the great men of the Isles captive with him, such as
Mudyart, M'Connel, M'Loyd of the Lewes, M'Neil, M'Lane, MTntosh,
John Mudyart, M'Kay, M'Kenzie, with many other that I cannot
rehearse at this time. Some of them he put in ward and some in court,
and some he took pledges for good rule in time coming. So he brought
the Isles, both north and south, in good rule and peace ; wherefore he
had great profit, service, and obedience of the people a long time there-
after ; and as long as he had the heads of the country in sul)jection,
they lived in great peace and rest, and there was great riches and policy
by the king's justice.' — Pitscoltie, p. 152 " (Scott's note).

638. [Give me] your counsel in the streight (strait, dilliculty) which
I reveal.

659. See note on 1. 200 al)ove.

002. See note on I, 127.

678. The Links of Forth. Lhiks means the windings of a river,

[Canto

IT],

TinC LADY OK TIIK LAKK.

2G3

pressed it,
o jukI rtist
o ]i;iil ten
lri;w Ik'll,
)ne ill tlio

[)(

)(l crictli

vH of tho
rrow How
)urglishirc

'Oriolanus,

apine and
ig past to

tliief and
at men to
id lands in
3 own use,
ir. Syne
n, such as
:\rintosh,

I cannot
3 in court,
le ])rouglit
erefore ho
inie there-
ul)jection,
ind policy

ty) which

f a river,

and also tho land lying atnong the windings. Tho L'ni/cs of '"'orth is the
(listricL between Stirling and Alloa, where the river win<ls nuieh.

079. Stirling's porch. The castle at Stirling was a favourite residence
of the Scoteli kings.

6!>9. startler. 'One who is startled.' Scott is scarcely justilied in
using such a formation in this passive sense.

702. battled=l)attlcmented, as in VI, 7 below.

)8. astound. "Astounded; tins contraction of tlu; partici[)le was
formerly not uncommon in veibs ending in d and t. Thus in Shakes-
peare we (ind the participles hlont {Ildiii., Ill, iv, 182), rnsliicld
[Mfdsurc for Pleasure, II, iv, 80), tdint {I Hciiri/ VI., V, iii, 18.'}), etc."
(ll(dfe. ) But this explanation of Ilolfe's is probal)ly wrong here ;
Murray's JVeio Enfjlhh Dktiondry shows that there was an eailier verb,
nMone, of which antound is the past pai'ticiple ; tho more modern verb
astound is a derivative of this earlier past participle, used here by Scott.

7r)7. chequer'd shroud, i.e., his tartan plaid; shroud originally
means a garment ; cf. II, 254, with note.

763. **Lockhart quotes here a criticism of Jeffrey's: — 'There is
something foppish and out of character in Malcolm's rising to lead out
Ellen from her own parlour ; and the sort of wrestling match that takes
place between the rival chieftains on the occasion is liumiliating and
indecorous.' Iloderick Dhu apparently agreed with tlie lirst i)roposi-
tion, and Douglas with the second" (Minto).

parting. See note on 1. 94 above.

the Graeme. Th'^ definite article is thus used, both in Ireland and
Scotland, as a sort of title of honour to indicate the chief of a clan.

774. See 11. 318-20 above.

780. " The author has to apologize for the inadvertent appro])riation
of a whole line from the tragedy of Douglas : ' I hold tlie lirst who
strikes my foe. ' " (Scott's note. )

795. brands. " A pet word with Scott. Note how often it has been
already used in the poem " (Llolfe).

801. " Hardihood was in every respect so essential to the character
of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was tho most bitter
which could be thrown upon him " (Scott's note).

liifi,

264

NUTKS ON SCOTT.

[Cas'i

I ■ i 1 1

1 I

804. fell. Hill.

son. lackey. I'^di- sijiiilar use, cf. Conius, 4r>r) : "A tltouHjuid liven-icd
auL^tls liickt-y her," jiinl Antmiif and ('/(npufnt, 1, iv, [M] : " I.iku .-i
vjigaltorul ling upon tin; strt'iiin, (loe.s to ami hack, lackeiying tliu varying
tide."

sot), henchman. "'This officer \n n sort of sooretary, and is to bo
really, upon all oicasions, to venture his life in defence of liis master;
and at drinking-lxiuts lie stands behind hi.s (seat, at his haiineh, from
whence his title is derived, and watches the conversation, to see if any
one otl'ends his patron. An I'^ngli.'^h otlieer being in coni[)any with a
certain chieftain, and several other lligldand gtiiitlemen, mar Killichu-
men, hail an argument with the (/irat ntnn ; and both beiugwell warmed
with usky, at last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was hench-
man, not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief was
insulted, and thereupon diew his pistol from his Hide, and 8na})ped it at
the ollieer's head : but tlie pistol missed lire, otherwise it is more than
probable he might have sufbred death from the hand of that little
vermin. P)ut it is very disagreeable to an l^nglishmau over a bottle,
with the Highlanders, to see every one of them have his gilly, that
is, his servant, standing behind him all the; while, let what will be the
subject of conversation.' — Letters from Scutland, ii, 159" (Scott's note).

831. Fiery Cross. See on III, 18, below.

S^G. point. Cf. Bacon, I'in'ssituife of 'J'/ilnys: "pointing days for
pitched llelds," Fturle (Jui'eti, 1, ix, 41 :

And he, that points the Hcntuiel liia room,

Doth license liiui dciiart ;it sound of morning doom.

("ANTO 111.

3. legends store. S«e on 1, ,147.

17. gathering' sound. Tlic sound, oi' signal, for gathering ; ef. IT.
362.

18. the Fiery Cross. "When a chieftain designed to summon his
clan, u[)on any sudden or imjtortant emergency, he slcAV a goat, and
making a cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in the lire, and
extinguished them in the blood of the animal. This was called the
Fieri/ CroNS, also Cnau Tarhjh, or the Cro^iS of Shame, because disobedi-
ence to what the symbol implied, inferred infamy. It was delivered to

,^j(!S«*|!5«?-'-«— "r™ -

[('ant

()

iiiil livcM'icd
: " Mkr ;i
ilu; varyiiij^'

1(1 is to ])(!

lis mast»;r ;

iindi, fi'din

) stu if any

iiiy "witli a

r Killichu-

vM vvarnied

"Nvas lieuch-

< chief was

ia])i)e(l it at

iiioro than

that little

r a bottle,

gilly, that

will be the

ott's note).

ig (lays fof

III

TIIK LADV OK TIIK I.AKK.

265

ing ; ef. IT.

summon his
a goat, and
;he lire, and
J called the
se disobedi-
delivered to

a Hvvift and trusty messenger, who ran full speed with it to tlu; next
handet, where he prisentcd it to the j)rinci[)al person wilii a single word,
implying tiie ]»laeo (tf rcnde/V( is. " Jle who received the symbol was
hound to send it forward, with cijual dispatcli, to the; next village ; and
thus it jiassed with incrediMe celerity through all tiie distrii't which
owed allegiance to the chief, and also among his allies and neighbours, if
tluMlangcr was common to them. .At sight of the I'iery ("ross, t!Very
man, from sixtc^en years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was
oliliged instantly to i-cpaii', in his best arms and accoutrement-', to the;
place of rendi/vous. He w'-o failed to a2)pear, sulFered the extremities
of lire and sword, which were emblematically denounced to the dis-
oljedient })y the bloody and burnt marks ui)on this wailike signal,
huring the civil war of 174r)-(>, llu; I'icry Cross often made its circuit ;
and upon one occasion it passed through the whole <listrict of Ihead-
albane, a tract of thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late Alexander
Stewart, J']s(|., of Invernahyle, discriljcd to mo his having sent round
the J"'iery Cross tlr »ugh the district of .\ppine, during,' the same commo-
tion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two I'^nglish frigates,
and the ilower of the young men wei'c with the army of I'rince Charles
Mdward, then in Kngland ; yet the sunnuons was so effectual, that even
old age and childhood ol)eyed it ; and a force was collected in a few
hours, so numerous and so enthusiastic, that all attempt at the intended
diversion iipon the country of the absent warriors was in pi'uch.'uce aban-
doned, as desperate, 'ibis ])ractice, like some others, is common to
the Highlanders with the ancient Scantlinavians " (Scott's note).

19, IF. Mr. Rolfe (juntos as follows from Mr. Kuskin's Modern
Paliitr}-.^, iii, '^78 : " And thus Nature becomes dear to Scott in a three-
fold way : dear to him, iirst, as containing those remains or memories
of the past, whii;h he cannot llnd in cities, and giving hope of Pr;etoriau
mound or knight's grave in every green slope and shade of its desolate
places ; dear, secondly, in its moorlaiul lilwrty, which has for him just
as hiuh a charm as the fenced garden had for the mediaval ; . . . and
(h'ar to liim, iinally, in that perfect beauty, denied alike in cities and
in men, fcr which every modern heart had begun at last to thirst,
and Scott's, in its freshness and power, of all men's most earnestly.
x\nd in this love of beauty, observe that the love of roloiw is a
leading element, his healthy mind being incapaltle of losing, under any
modern false teacliing, it", joy in brilliancy of hue. ... In general, if
he does not mean to say nuich about things, the one character which he
will give is cohuir, using it with the utmost perfect mastery and faith-

20)0

NO'I KS OV HC'OTT.

.WTO

f»lno88. " "After giviiij^iii.iny ilhistiiitioiiH of Scott's nso of colojir in his
l)octry, KuHkin ((uotcH tlit^ present ii;i.sHa<,'e, Mliieli he says is 'si ill more
interesting, heoause it has in> foviii. in it nt all except in one woid
(ch(tHct'), l)ut AvhoUy composes its imagery either of colonr, or (»f that
«lelicate lialf-helieved life which wo have seen to his so imixtrtant an
element in mo<lern lan(lsca[)o. Two more considi'rations,' ho adds,
'are, liowever, snggcsteil by the above passage. 'V\w lirst, tltat the
love of natural history, excited hy the continual attention now given to
all wild landsca[)e, heightens rcciproivilly the iiuerest of thai laixlscape,
and heoomes an important element in Scott's description, Icaiiing him
to linish, down to the mijiutest si)eckling of breast, and slightest shade
of attributed emotion, the portraiture of birds and animals ; in strange
<)pj)Osition to Homer's slightly named 'sea-crowa, who have care of the
works of the sea,' and Dante's singing-))irds, of undellned species.
Compare carefully the 'Jnd and ,'>rd stanzas of J'okchi/. The second point
I have to note is Scott's habit of drawing a slight moral from every
scene, . . . and that this slight nu)ral is almost always melancholy.
Here he has stopped short without entirely expressing it : —

•The mountain-shadows

lie

Like future Joys to Katioy's eye.'

Hia completed thought would bo, that these future joys, like the
mountain-shadows, were never to be attained. It occurs fully uttered
in many other places. He seems to have been constantly relmking his
own worhlly pride and vanity, but never pur})osefully : —

'The foam-uflobt'S oti her eddies ride,
Thick as the schemes of human pride
That down life's current drive amain,
As frail, as frothy, and as vain.'

Huskin adds, among other illustrations, tlie reference to ' foxglove aiul
nightshade,' in i, 218, 21l> above." (Uolfe.)

39. cushat dove. The ring-dove or wood-pigeon ; cf. Wordsworth's
*'0 nightingale thou surely art," 2nd stanza (see p. 2U1 ante).

44. Abrupt, "^riiis i-efers to the sudden stops and turns in his pacing.

C)2. rowan. The mountain ash.

71. Scott has a long note to give some historic justification for the
character of the Hermit; but the cases he cites, are not strikingly

[Twn.

TTI].

rni; ladv of tiik kakk.

267

*liiiir ill hi.s

'still IIKHt-

OIIU Wold
i>r of that
xti'taiit an
ho adds,
, that tho
w ijivcii to
laiidrtcaix',
adiiiL^ him
itust shade
ill stranj^'e
fare of the
d 8i)(!eie.s.
cond ]K)int
rom every
elaucholy.

, like tho
lly uttered
huking lii.s

V(,d()ve and
rdsM-orth's
his })acing.

on for tht;
strikingly

parallel, and tlio extremely wild and fantaatie trails of Brian arc tho
I'irtli o( Seott'.s own imagination, lli; had a \veakr.«'SH for fanta.stie
ligureH, <.;/., N'orna in the /'Inifr, Mrg Merrilies in (>iii/ Minnirriini, the
(iohlin I'age in the Liiif, etc.

71. Benharrow. A niouiitain near tho heatl of iiake Lomond.

87. Strath is a glen on a larger scalo.

01. "The legend which f(dl()W8," ho says, 'is not of the author's
invention. It is possiWle ho may diller from modern critics, in supposing
I hat tho records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and characteristic
of, tho country in which tho scene is laid, are a legitimate subject of
poetry, lie gives, however, a ready assent to the narrower proposition
which condemns all attem[)t8 of an irregular ami disordered fancy to
excite terror, by accumulating a train of funtastio and incoherent
horrors, whether ])orrowed from all countries, and patched upon a
narrative belonging to one which knew them not, or derived from the
autlior's own imagination" (Scott's note). Scott proceeds to (^uote a
tradition concerning a founder of the church of Kilmalie which resembles
tlie story of Brian's birth.

104. field-fare. A species of thrush.

105. flush'd and full. " Flush'd describes the purple colour of tho
heatli-])ell ; /(/// = full-bh)wn " (Stuart). Hut it seems prol)able that the
reference in the word as here used is rather to fullness of bhxmi than to
colour ; cf. 384 l)elow, where Stuart interprets y?H.>7t</(r/ as " full bloom" ;
again in the 11^ art of Midlothian : " I thought of the bonny bit thorn
that our father rooted out o' the yard last May, when it had a' the flush
of blossoms on it," and again in (Joldsmith's Denerted Villayc, 1. 128:
"For all the Idoomy Hush of life is fled."

114. ** The .s//0(>(/, or rit)and, with which a Scottish lass braided her
hair, had an emblematical signilication, and ap[>lied to her maiden
character. It was exchanged for tlie cnrch, to}f, or coif, when she passed
by marriage into the matron state " (Scott's note).

136. The cloister, etc.; i.o., he became a monk.

138. sable-lettered page. " Black-letter " i)ages ; hlack-h'ttcr is the
name technically applied to the old- English characters employed in early
MSS. and printing.

142. cabala. Originally the traditions handed down by word of

'II

i ; !i

2G8

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

mouth from Moses to the tlcwisli K;il)l)is ; lience, as here, applied to
anythmg secret ami mysterious.

149, tr. " lu iuloptiiig the legem.l concerning the ])irth of the Founcler
of tlic Cliuruh of Kili.ialie, the author has endeavoured to trace the
effects wliich such a belief was likely to produce, in a l)ar])arou3 age, on
the person toAvlioruit related. It seems hkely that he must have be-
come a fanatic or an impostor, or tliat mixture of both Avliich forms a
nuire fre(|uent character than either of them, as existing separately.
In truth, mad persons are fre(piently more anxious to impress upon
others a faith in their visions, than they are thetnselves confirmed in
their reality ; as, on the other liand, it is difficult for tlie most cool-
lieaded impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in some
degree believing what he is so eager to hr/e believed. It w.is a natural
attribute of such a character as the supposed hermit, that he should
credit the numerous superstitions with which the minds of ordinary
Highlanders are almost always ind)ued. A few of these are slightly
alluded to in this stanza. The liiver-demon, or the River horse, for
it is that form which ho commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the
Lowlands, an evil and malicious spirit, delighting to forbode and to
witness calamity. He frecpients most Highland lakes and rivers; and
one of his most nienu)rable exi)loits was performed upon the ])anks
of Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms tlie scene of our
action: it consisted in the destruction of a funeral procession with all
its attendants. 'i"he 'noontide hag,' called in (iaelic Glasllrh, a tall,
euiaeiated, gigantic female ligure, is supposed in i);irticular to haunt the
district of Knoidart. A goblin, di'esKcd in antique armour, and having
one hand covered with blood, called from that ciicumstauce, Lliamdearg,
or Reddiand, is a tenant of the forests of Gleinnore and Ilotliiemurcus,
Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape and malignant in dis-
position, are believed to fre([uent dillV-rent mountain.-i and glens of the
Highlands, wIxmv any unusual ap[)earance, pnxlueed by mist, or the
strange lights that are sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never
fails to pi'csent an apparition to the imagination of the solitary and
melancholy mountaineer" (Scott's note).

100. Alpine's lineage. Sec on II, 213.

108. The fatal Ben Shie's boding- scream. " Most great families
in the Highlands weic; su[)[)o.scil to have a tutelar, or I'ather a domestic
spirit, attached to them, m ho took an interest in their prosperity, and
intimated, by its wailings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of

[Canto
, applied to

tlie Foumler
to trace i\u)
.rmiH age, on
list have be-
nch forms a
; separately,
npress upon
jonlirnied in
e uiost cool-
)ut in sonu;
kMS a natural
it he .should

of ordinary
are slightlj^
er horse, for
elpy of the
bode and to

rivers ; and
1 the banks
scene of our
laion with all
■slick, a tall,
to haunt the
', and having

Llicimdeanj,
otiiiemurcus.
gnant in dis-
L glens of the
mist, or the
bjects, never
solitary and

;reat families
r a domestic
osperity, and
,t of Grant of

ITT

THE LADY OF TIIR FiAKK.

209

(Irant was called il/"// MouUdclt, and appeared in the form ov a girl,
wlio had licr arm (jovcrcd witli hair. (Jrant of llolliicmurcus had an
."ittondant called lloihich-ait-dnit, or the (!host of tbe Kill; and many
other examples might be mentioned. 'J'he lUin-Scliie implies a female
Fairy, whose lamentations were often sujjposed to precede the death of
a chieftain of particular families. When she is visible, it is in the foiin
of an old woman, with a Idue mantle and streaming-hair. A supersti-
tion of the same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior
ranks of the native Irish.

The death of the head of a Highland family is also sometimes supposed
to ))e ainiounced by a chain of liidits of dilferent colours, called J)i\ mi,
or (' ath of the Druid. The direction which it takes, marks the place
of the funeral" (Scott's note).

1G9. Sounds, too, had come. "A presage of the kind alluded to in
the text is still Ijclievcd to announce death to the ancient Highland
fn.mily of M'Tjcan of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle
'\^ heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the
family residence, ringing his fairy l)ridle, and thus intimating the
ap[)roaching calamity. Flow easily the eye, as well as the ear, may be
deceived upon such occasions, is evident from the stories of armies -u
the air, and other spectral phenomena with wliich history abounds. Such
an apparition is said to have been witnessed upon the side of South fell
mountain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 2lh'd June, 1744, by
two persons, William Lancaster, of Blakehills, and Daniel Stricket, his
servant, M'hose attestation to the fact, with a full account of the a[)pari-
tion, dated the 21st July, 1745, is printed in Clarke's 'Surveyed the
Lakes.' The apparition consisted of several tro(>[is of horse moving in
regular order, with a steady rapid motion, making a curved sweep
arouiul the fell, and seeming to the spectators to disa])p('ar over the
ridge of the mountain. Many persons witnessed this pln.'nomenon, and
observed the last, or last but one, of the supposed troop, occasionally
leave his rank, and pass at a gallop to the front, when he resumed the
same steady pace. This curious appearance, m;dving the necessary
allowance for imagination, may be ])t>rhaps sulliciently accounted for by
optical deception. — Sarveij of the Lakes, p. 25" (Scott's note).

171. shingly. Covered with gravel (shingle) ; see note on V, 4G.

187. grisly. See note on I, 704.

191. " Inch-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most

ffi r

TI "

1 1

270

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

The chu)

l)cautifu] island at the lower extremity of Loch Tjomoiul. i ne cnurcii
l)elongiii<; to the foniicr nunnery was long use<l as the place of worshiii
for the parish of l>ii<!lianan, hut .sc.irce any vestiges of it now remain.
The Ijurial-ground continues to he iised, and contains the family places
of sepulture of several neighl)ouring clant'. The monuments of the
lairds of Macgregor, and of other families claiming a descent from the
old Scottish King Alpine, are most remarkable. The Highlanders are
as zealous of their rights of sepulture as may 1)C expected from a
people whose Avhole laws and government, if clanship can he called so,
turned upon tlie single principle of family descent. * May his ashes
be scattered on the water,' -was one of tlie deepest and most solemn
imprecations which they used against an enemy " (Scott's note). See
a detailed description of the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chief-
tain in the Fair Maul of Ptrth, chaps, x aiid xi.

198. "The ritual is very felaborateiy studied ; it is Avorth the reader's
while to realize the full force of the symbolism. The choice of the
crosslet from the yew of the clan's sacred burial ground, the kindling of
its points in the fire, the quenching of the lire in blood— each of these
acts has its significance plainly declared by the ofTieiating priest"
(Minto).

212. strook. Milton uses the ^ame form in Hymn on the Natinttj,
1. 95.

223. fell. Hill.

237. volumed flame. Stuart interprets * voluminous,' * v.?st,' but the
meaning is 'in volumes,' i.<'. in rounded masses (rolume means originally
'a roll,' from Lat. volro) -, cf. the common expression "volumes of
smoke " and liyron's Sie<je of Corinth :

With volnmoci smoke Ihal slowly i,'ri'\v
To one white sky of sulphurous Jiue.

245. "The whole of this stanza is very impressive ; the mingling of
the children's curses is tlie climax of horror. Note the meaning of the
triple curse. The cross is of ancestral yew— the defaulter is cut otF from
communion with his clan ; it is seared with fire — the fire shall destroy
his dwelling; it is dif^ped in blood — his heart's bh od is to be shed."
(Tayh,r.)

253. See note on G22 below.

255. See note on 644 below.

[Canto

TTT].

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

271

The ohiircli
3 of Wdrsliip
now remuiii.
iuuily places
ents of the
nit from the
hlanders are
;ted from a
)e Ciilled so,
iiy his ashes
most solemn
i note). See
hland cliief-

the reader's
hoice of the
e kindling of
L'ach of these
ting priest"

the NativUy,

:{?st,' but the
lus originally
■'volumes of

mingling of
ianing of the
3 cut off from
shall destroy
to he shed."

'_'7!>. by this sign, i.e., ])y the cross,

'Jsr). Lanrick mead is on the north side of Loch Vennachar, near its

western eml.

300. the dun deer's hide. " The present bro(/iie of the Highlanders
is made of half-dried leather, with holes to admit and let out the water ;
for walking the moors dry-sliod is a matter altogether out of the ques-
tion. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of undressed
deer's hide, with the hair outwards, -^ circumstance which procured the
Highlanders the well known epithet of Rcdshank-i. The process is very
accurately described by one Elder (liimsclf a Highlander) in the project
for a union between England and Scotland, addressed to Henry VHL
' ^Ve go a-hunting, and after that we have slain red-deer, we flay off the
skin by-and-by, and setting of our bare-foot on the insidv. .hereof, for
want of cunning shoemakers, by your grace's pardon, we play the cob-
blers, com})assing and measuring so nmch thereof as shall reach up to
our ankles, pricking the upper part thereof with holes, that the water
may repass where it enters, and stretching it up with a strong throng
of the same above our said ankles. So, and please your noble grace, we
make our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of shoes, the rough
liairy side outwards, in your grace's dominions of England, we be called
Uoughfooted Srols.' Pinkerton's History, vol. ii, p. 397" (Scott's note).

304. steepy. Cf. IV, 374 ; the word is also found in Shakespeare,
Thnon, I, i, 75. ■

.309. questing. Seeking (the game).

310. scaur. A bare cliff; the same word as scar in Tennyson's

" O sweet and far from olitf and scar."

.33*2. cheer. la its original sense of 'countenance,' 'look '; cf. Mid-
.sunnncr y'ujJd'ft Dmtiit, III, ii, 96 : "pale of cheer."

344. bosky. Bushy; cf. Tempest, IV, i, 81 : "My bosky acres, and
my unshrubb'd down."

349. Duncraggan's huts are between Lochs Achray and Vennachar,
near the Ih-ig of Turk.

3r)7. Scott Avrote originally ' 'Tis woman's scream, 'tis childhood's
wail. ' Mr. Rolfe says : ' ' Yell may seem at lirst too strong a word here,
l)ut it is in keeping with the people and the times described. Besides
Seott was familiar with old luiglish poetry, in which it was often used

272

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

nil;,"

where a modoni writer would thoose .iiKttlu'r wonl. Cf. Surrev, Vh'iiU's
Anifhl: "With Av.'iiliii;,' uri'at .'uul uoiihtrs sluill yijlliiig"; and
(lascoignu, J)r Pr(>J'uu<il-< :

'From (It'plli (if (liioh; whcri'iii my sor.l doth dwell,
O gracious (!i"l, io thee I cry uiidyi'll.'"

300. The Coronarh c.f the Higldanders, like the UluhttHH of the
Iloinans, and the riiiloo of the Irish, was a wild exj>ressii)ii of lamenta-
tion, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a departed friend,
When the words of it were artieulate, they expressed the praises of the
deceased, and the loss the clan would sustain by his death. The Coro-
nach has for some years past been superseded at funerals l)y the use of
the bagpipe ; and that also is, like many other J fighland peculiarities,
falling into disuse, unless in remote districts " (Scott's note).

386. correi. A (laelic word. "The hollow side of a hill" (Scott's
note).

387. cumber. Trouble, perplexity ; found in early Scotch writers
like Dunbar and Lyndesay, also in Fairfax's Tus^o, ii, 73: "Thus
fade thy helps, and thus thy cumbers spring" ; cf. Fd'ir Mniil uf PciHlt,
chap, xvi : "So the Fair City is (piit of him and his cumber."

388. Red hand. With a hand red with blood.

394. Stumah. ''Faithful ; the name of a dog " (Scott).

439. hest. Kehcst, couimand ; a word used only in poetry ; cf.
Tenipeft, III, i, 37 : " I have broke your hest to say so."

452. "Inspection of the prrvincial map of Perthshire, or any large
map of Scotland, will trace the progress of the signa' through the small
district of lakes and mountains, which, ia exercise of my poetical ])rivi-
lege, I have subjected to tho authority of my imaginary chieftain, and
which, at the period of my ronuuK.-e, was really occupied by a clan who
claimed a descent from Alpine ; a (dan the most u:\fortunate, and most
persecuted, but neither the least distinguishe<l, least powerful, nor least
brave, of the tribes of the Gael. The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to
Duncraggan, a place near the l>rigg of Turk, where a short stream
divides Loch Aeliray from Loch Vennaehar. From thence, it pa-^ses
towards Callander, and then, tui'uirig to the left up the pass of Leuy, is
c<"signed to Korman at the chajtel of Saint Bride, which stood on a
small and romantic knoll iu the middle of the valley, callud Strath-Ire.

Canto

iiiil

iiig

;///.s' of the

of himenta-

rtcd frieiul.

.lises of till.'

Tliu ('oro-

y the use of

leculiarities,

ill" (Scott'H

•tell writers
7.S: "Thus
lid of Pi-rtli,

jjoetry ; cf,

)r any large
,'h the small
)f'tical ])rivi-
lieftain, auil
^ a clan who
;e, and most
ul, nor least
y Cross is to
hort stream
xi, it passes
i of Leny, is
stood on a
L JStrath-lre.

TTT].

THE LADY OF TIIH LAKK.

273

ToniV)ea and Armuidave, or Armandavc, are names of ])laccs in the
vicinity. The alai'in is then su[)j)os('(l to pass along the lake of I.uhnaig,
and through the various glen.s in the di.>tiict of llahiuidder, iacludiuf
the neighbouring tracts of Glenlinlas and Strath-Ciartuey " (Scott's
note).

4r)3. Strath Ire. A valley between TiOchs Lul)naig and Voil. Both in
the poem and in his note on 1. 452, Scoit sciin.-; to apply the name of
Strath Ire to the valley of the Leny ; it is in the latter valley, about
half a mile from the southern end of Locli r^ul)naig, that the ruins of the
chapel of f^t. Bride stand.

408. Teith's young waters. The Leny is a branch of the Teith,

460. sympathetic eye. His eye grew di//.y in sympathy with the
whirling motion of the waters.

478. tide. Time ; cf. holj'tide (VI, iV.l, below), (_ ..ristmas-tide, even-
tide, etc., also De.icrted VUUuje, 1. 209 : "terms and tides 1 resage."

485. coif-clad. See note on 1. 114 al)ove ; as also for .^iuooiled.

541. brae. See note on II, 04.

570. "It maybe necessary oo inform the snuth'.;ru reader, that the
heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set lii'c to, tliat the sheep niay
liave the advantage of the young herbage produced, in room of the
tough old heatlier plants. This custom (execrated l)y s})oitsmen) pro-
duces occasionally the most beautiful nocturnal ap[)earances, simiLir
almost to the discharge of a volcano. This simile is not new to poetry.
The charge of a warrior, in the thie ballad of llardyluiute, is said to be
'like fire to heather set' " (Scott's note).

Balquidder. A village near the eastern end of Loch Voil.

577. coil. Bustle, confusion ; cf. Temped, I, ii, 207 :

Who was so linn, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason '.'

578-82. The two Lochs mentioned are on the course of the Balvaig,
which empties into Loch Lubnaig. Stnilk Gartneij is the north shore of
Loch Katrine.

GOO. "The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clansmen

to their chief, rendered this both a C(»mmon and a solemn oath. In

other respects they Were like most savage nations, ca[)ricious in their

ideas concerning the ol)ligatory power of oaths. One solenm mode of

274

NOTKS ON SCOTT.

[Can'1'0

swoariiif^ was \>y kiasiiis^' tlio iHrJ:, imprecating ui»on themselves deatli hy
tluit, or a similar wiapoii, if they broke their vow. But for oaths in
the usual foim, tliey are said to liave had little respect. As for tlir
rL'Vorcuce due to tlu; cliief, it may be guessed from the following odd
example of a Highland point of honour :--

'The clan wliereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, is the only
one 1 liave heaid of, wliich is without a chief; that is, being divided
into families, under several chieftains, without any particular patriarcli
of the whole name. And this is a great approach, as may appear froju
an ati'air thaJ- fell out at my table, in the Highlands, between one of that
name and a Cameron. The piovocation given by the latter was —
'Name your chief.' — The return of it at once was — 'Yon are a fool.'
They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, I sent a small
party of soldiers after them, which, in all proba])ility, prevented some
barbarous mischief that might have ensued ; for the chiefless High-
laiuler, who is himself a petty chieftain, was going to the place aj^pointed
Mnth a small sword and pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took
with him only his bn^adsword, according to the agreement. When all
was over, and I had, at least seemingly, reconciled them, I was told the
words, of which I seemed to think but slightly, were, to one of the clan,
the greatest of all provocations.' — Letters from Scotland, vol. ii, p. 221 "
(Scott's note).

600- 10. All the places mentioned are in the Forth Valley (see map) ;
" these are points in the territory of Roderick's southern neighbours, who
might have seized the opportunity to take him in the rear, when he
threw his men down the valley of the Teith against the king" (Miuto).

61G. cruel, because she had rejected his suit.

622. "This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the mountain
of Benvcnue, overhanging the south-eastern extremity of Loch Katrine.
It is surrounded with stupeiulous rocks, and overshadowed with birch-
trees, mingled with oaks, the sj^ontaneous production of the mountain,
even where its clifrs ajpear demided 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, as conjectured
by Mr. Alexander Campbell, may have originally only implied its being
the haunt of a ferocious banditti. But tradition has ascribed to the
Ur'isk, who gives name to the cavern, a figure between a goat and a
man ; in short, however much the classical reader may be startled, pre-

[Canto

/^cs (lo.itli Ity

for oaths in

As for tile

llowing oilil

is the only
5iiig (Uvi<letl
IV,: patriarcli
appear from
1 one of that
atter was —
are a fool.'
sent a small
rented some
btless High-
ce appointed
d man) took
. When all
was told tlie
! of the clan,
ii, p. 221 "

r (see map) ;
hbours, who
ir, when he
' (Minto).

TIT].

THE LADY OF THE LAKE,

275

le mountain
)ch Katrine.

with Ijirch-
e mountain,
^41d a situa-
itic, did not

implies the
conjectured
!ed its being
ibed to the

goat and a
iartled, pre-

eisely tliat of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk accms not to have in-
herittMl, with the foi-m, tlu! iietulnnce of the sylvan deity of the classics :
liis occupation, on the coiitr.'uy, resembled those of IMiltoii's l,iil>bor
Ficml, or of the Scotti.sh Drowuie, though he diifered from both in name
and a])pearance. ' The Urlst^, ' says Dr. ( Jrahani, ' were a set of lubberly
siiperuaturals, 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 Highland- had one of the order attached to
it. They were supposed to l)e dispersed over the Highlands, each in his
own wild recess, but the solenm stated meetings of tiie order were regu-
larly held in this Cave of Benvenue. This current superstition, no
doubt, alhnhs to some circumstance in the ancient history of this
country.' Scenery on the Soutluvn Conjhics of Perth -^Jihr, p. 11), 1806. —
It must be owned that the djir, or Den, does not, in its present statc^
meet our ideas of a subterraneous grotto, or cave, being only a sinall and
narrow cavity, amonrj huge fragments of rocks rudely piled together.
But such a scene is liable to convulsions of nature, which a Lowlander
cainiot estimate, and which may have choked up what was originally a
cavern. At least the name and tradition warrant the author of a ficti-
tious tale to assert its having been such at the remote period in which
this scene is laid " (Scott's note).

G39. Mr. Rolfe notes that here and in 1. 28 we have an illustration of
what is comparatively rare in figurative language — the use of the
innnaterial to exemplify the material— the contrary course being the
natural one. Shelley, in his preface to the Prometheus, dra--'* attention
to the fact that he f reiiucntly resorts to this sort of figurative ) iiustration.

GV. chafed. Cf. Julius Caesar, I, ii, 101: "The troubled Tiber
ehaling with his shores," and Lear, IV, vi, 21 : " The murmuring surge
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes."

656. satyrs. "The Urisk, or Highland Satyr" (Scott's note).

664. Beal-nam-bo. " Bealach-nam-bo, or the pass of cattle, is a
mor,t magnilicent glade, overhung with aged birch-trees, a little higher
up the mountain than the Coir-nan-Uriskin, treated of in a former note.
The whole composes the most sublime piece of scenery that imagination
can conceive " (Scott's note).

672. " A. Highland chief, l)eing as absolute in his patriarchal author-
ity as any prince, had a corresponding number of oiHcers attached t(^ his
person. He had bis bodyguards, called Luichttach, picked from his

276

NOTKS CS SCOTT.

[Cant

clan for strciiiit li, activity, ami entire «U,'vnti(m to liis |icrs(m, These,
!u;coriliiig to tlieir deserts, were Hure to .sliiue almiidiintly in the rude
profusion of his hospitality. It is rt'corded, for exanipUi, })y tradition,
tliat Allan Macl>ean, chief of that elan, lia[)peued uitoii a time to hear
one of theye favourite retainers observe to hia comrade, that their cliief
{^'rew old — ' Whence do you infer that?' ucplied the other. — 'When
was it,' rejoined the fnst, 'tliat a soldier of Allan's was obliged, as I am
now, not only to eat the lle^h from tlie bone, but even to tear fttl" the
inner skin, or filament?' 'J'he hint was (juite sullieient, and MacLean
next mornini,', to relieve his followers from such dire iiecesKity, under-
took an imoad on the mainland, the ravages of which altogether elFaeed
the memory of his former expeditions for the like ])urpose.

Our otTicei of Engineers, so often (pioted, has given ;;s a distinct
list of the domestic ofheers wlio, imleptiid. nl of J.iiirlitfdrJi, or (jarik'S de
corps, ])elonged to tli',' establisliment of a iligldand Chief. These
are, 1. The Ih nrhuKtii (see note on II, <S01>). 2. Tlie Bard (see note on
II, 7). 3. Blad'ur, or spokesman. 4. (lif/ic-ninrr, or sword-bearer,
alluded to in the text. o. iilUU'-caKJlup^ who cariied the chief, if on
foot, over the fords. 6. GiUie-coinstriihw, who leads the chief's horse.
7. Gil/ic-Trd.shanarinsh, the baggage man, S. 77/6 P'qtfr. 9. The
piper's gillie or attendant, who carries the bagpipe. Although thia
appeared, naturally enough, very ridiculous to an Ihiglish ollicer, who
considered the master of sueh a retimio as no more tlian an English
gentlenian of IMlX) a year, yet in the circumstances of the chief, whose
.strength and im[)ortanee consisted in the num])er and attachment of his
followers, it wis of the last conseq'ience, in point of policy, to have in
his gift su))ordinate ollices, which called innnediately round his person
those wlio were most devoted to him, and, being of value in their esti-
mation, M'ere also the means of rewarding thtmi " (Scott's note).

G9i)-7')0. It w.is a eonnuon superstition that ghosts haunted places

where treasures were buried. Horatio in his adjuration of the ghost in

J/amkl says :

Or if lliou luist u)ihnurfl('fl iti iliy life

KxlDi'lt'd irt.Msiii'i' in llic womh of tvirth,

Fur wiiicli, liuv s,ty, you spirits oft \v;ilk in di'atli, etc.

71. '^. "Th<! metri-'al peculiarity of this song is that the rhymes of the
even lines of the lirst (juatrain are taken u[» by those of the odd lines in
the second, and that they are the same in all three stanzas " (Taylor).

Ave Maria, Hail Mary. The words occur in a Latin jjraycr to the
Virgin and are suggested by the salutation of the Angel, Luke, i, 28.

[Cant

()

l\'.

TfriO I.ADY OK Til 10 LAKE.

277

)ii. These.
M tlu! nidr
y triiditidii.
inie to hear
t their chief
r.-'Wheii
,'0(1, as I am
tear f)tF the
d MacLe.'iii
ity, undur-
th(!r e (Faced

s a distinct
or (janli'S ih
lief. These
(see note on
vord-bearer,
cliief, if on
hiuf's horse.
'■r. 9. Tlie
though this
ollicer, avIio
an Kiigh'sh
■liief, whose
lueiit of his
, to have in
his person
1 tlieir esti-
te).

nted places
:he ghost in

'nies of the
J<ld lines in
(Taylor).

aycr to the
e, i, 28.

7r)7. Lanrick height. Ahove Lanriek mead ; see 1. 'JSO. with note.
772. eagle plume. The rdtjlc plunu! maiked the chieftain,
777. Bochastle's plain. See «)n I, loO.

Canto IV.

]. "The Spenserian stanzas in all the other Cantos are reserved for
the poet's retlcctions. Tiiough the rellcction here is put into the mouth
of young Norman, torn from his bride by war at the church door, it
ai'/plies also to the Knight of Snowdoun's gallant adventure after J^llen,
which is the main theme of the Canto "' (Minto).

f). wilding. WilduKj means properly a wild plant, l)ut is here used
as an adjective. Cf. Faerie (Jiircii, J 1 1, vii, 17: "Oft from the forest
did he wildings bring"; Shelley, Qiucit Mah : "These are thine early
wilding llowcrs."

10. conceit originally means 'something conceived'; here it is used
in the sense — especially common in I'^li/.abethan literature — of aii in-
genious or poetical thought.

19. Braes of Doune. The umlulating region between Callander ami
Doune on tlie north side of the Teitli.

36. boune. This is the word which is found in modern prose Knglish
in the form houinl, in such phrases as ' lie is ])ound for the ^Vest. ' 'J'he
word means 'ready,' 'prepared ' ; and hence is here tautological,

42. bout. Properly a turn, hence may hrre mean 'a turn in events,'
but probaldy it has the more ordinary sense of a contest ; so Scott in
Woodstock speaks of a "])out at single stick."

Tm. advised. 'Thought (wi,' '})liinned'; cf. Mcirlmnt of Viii'ii'c,
I, i, 142 : "with more advised watch."

03. Taghairm. "The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various
superstitious modes of in<juiring into futurity. One of tiie most noted
was the TaijJiairin, mentioned in the text. A jierson was wrapt U[) in
the skin of a newly-slain bullock, and deposited beside a waterfall, or at
the bottom of a precipice, or in some other sti'ange, wild, and unusual
situation, where the scenery around him suggested iiothing but objects
of horror. In this situation, he revolved in his miiul the question pro-
posed ; and whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted imagina-

278

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Cant

()

tion, passed for the inspiration of tho (lisoinl)O(li(Ml spirits, who haunt
tho desolate recesses. In soino of tliese Jlehrides, they attri))ut(!d the
same oracular power to a large black stone ])y the sea-shoi-e, which tluiy
approached with certain solemnities, nii«l considered the first fancy
which came into their own minds, after they did so, to be the undoubted
dictate of the tutelar deity of the stone, and, as such, to l)e, if ])<)ssible,
punctually complied with" (Scott's note).

67. "I know not if it be worth observing, that tiiis passage is taken
almost literally from the mouth of an old Highland Kern or Ketteran,
as they are called, ile used to narrate the nu-rry doings (tf the good
old time when he was follower of llob lioy MaciJregor. This leader,
on one occasion, thought proper to make a descent upon the lower part
of the Loch Lomoiul district, and summoned all the heritors and farm-
ers to meet at the Kirk of Urymen, to pay him blackmail, i.r., tril)utc
for forbearance and protection. As this invitation was su[)portcd by a
band of thirty or forty stout fe'iows, only one gentleman, an ancestor,
if I mistake not, of the present Mr. (Iraham of Oartnu)re, ventured to
decline compliance. Rob Roy instantly swept his land of all he could
drive away, and among the spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild
breed, whose ferocity occasioned great jtlague to tlie Ketterans. ' But
ere we had reached the How of Dennan,' said the old man, 'a child
might have scratched his ears ' " (Scott's note).

68. merry-men. "A name given especially to freebooters such as
the foUov.ers of Roderick: of. ' Hol^in Hood aiul his i.icrry men.' The
epithet may express their careless and improvidently happy disposition.
Scott, however, asserts that jnerrv/ in this phrase means /a/»ou6', renoiuned,
and that merry-men means, not men of mirth, but men of renown "
(Stuart).

Gallangad is near Kilmarnock on the Catter Burn, a tributary of the
Endrick.

73, ff. "Skeat ex])lains 'kerne' as 'an Irish soldier,' quoting from
Spenser's View of Ireland, and deriving from Jrish 0'ar)i, a man.
Scott treats the word as identical with cateran, the Lowland Scotch
name for a Highland robber, from which he derives Loch Katrine.
The mention of liaalvuiha and iJennaiis /loir (Rowardennan), familiar
to tourists as piers on the steamer track on the east side of Loch
Lomond, shows that the bull was taken in a Lennox foray. In giving
the history of the sacriiicial bull the poet follows Homeric precc-

[Cant

who haunt
;iil>ut(!(l the
which they
lirst fancy
! nndouljted
if jiossible,

is^t! is taknn

I" I\ettei"iin,

f the good

'hi.s leader,

! lower j»ait

■s and fann-

i.r., tribute

ported by a

vn ancestor,

ventured to

lU he could

;ottish Avild

pans. • But

-n, 'a child

nrs such as
men.' The
disposition,
s', renowned,
)f ronowu "

tary of the

ioting from
II, a man.
;uul Scotch
h Katrine.
ii), familiar
le of Loch
In giving
eric precc-

IV].

TMK LADY OK THK LAKF'].

279

dent, and it was a habit of his own, eonnnon to him probably with
ancient bards, to celebrate localities familiar to his friends" (.Minto).

8L the Hero's Targe. "There is a rock so nanxd in the l''orest of
( Uenlinlas, l)y wliich a tumultuary cataract takes its course. Tliis wihl
jilace is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, who
was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered them ilown from
the brink of the precipice a' -ve. His water ho procured for himself by
letting down a llagon tied to a string into tlie black pool beneath the
fall " (Scott's note).

{>S. broke. "'Quartered.' — Everything belonging to the chase was

nuitter of solemnity among our ancestors ; but notliing was more so Mian

the mode of cutting u[), or, as i*- was tt.'chnically called, Jyrcdl'inij, the

slaughteriMl stag. The forester had his allotted portion ; the hounds

had a certain allowance ; ami, to nuike the division as general as

possible, the very birds had their share also. 'There is a little gristle,'

says Turbervillc, 'which is upon the spoone of the l)risket, which we

call the raven's bone ; and I have seen in some places a raven s<j wont

and accustomed 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 not depart

till she had it.' In the verj'' ancient metrical romance of Sir Tristrcm,

that peerless knight, who is said to have been the very deviser of all

rules of chase, did not omit the eeiemony : —

'The rauen lie yanc liis yiftcs
Sat oil the fourched tre.'— .S'//- Tristrcm.

"The raven might also challenge his rights by the Book of St.

Albau's, for thus says Dame Juliana Berners : —

♦ Slittoth annn

The l)elly to tliu side, from the corhyii boiu.' ;
That is corbyn's fee, at the death he will he.'

"Johnson, in * The Sad Shepherd,' gives a more poetical account of

the same ceremony : —

• J/«/-/rtn.— He that undoes him.
Doth cleave the briskol hone, upon the s-i)ooii
Of which a little gristle i,'-row.s you call it —
Robin lltnitl. -The nuiii's hone.
Marian. — Now o'er hcud sut a ra\ en
(hi a sere hough, a grown, grcil hini, ;inil hoarsf\
Who, all the while the deer was breaking up,
.So croak'd and cried fnr't, as all the hiint.snien,
Especially okl Seathlock, thought it omi'ious.' "

(Scott's note).

»l

* -.' ■

280

NOTi:S ON SCOT'I'.

[Canto

I IT), rouse. ('!'. M<irl»t/i, \, v, I'J :

Thf ( imc liiis lii'fti, HIS scimcH would li;i\ .■ cool'd
Tip Ik II a iiiulii sliiifk, nml iiiv (ill of li.iir
WoiiM III u ili-<iii;il I I'l-atiHu roiiHc ami si't-
Ah life Were in't.

ISi-.*]. "Thon^li this lie in tlu- text ilo.sfiiil)iHl as a rosponso of the
TaL(li;iirin, or Oi'ac;!*; of llic lliiln, it \\;is of itself an aiij^'iiry frt'cpicntly
attmulLMl to. Till' fate of (lie li;ULl(! Was ofti'ii anticipated ill th(5 ima-
gination of tlu! coniltat.uits, l)y oh.siTving wliicli party tir.^t sIumI blood.
It is said that tlu' llJLildanders under Montrose wiri; so di-cply ind)iu!d
with this notion that, on the niotnint^' of tlio battle of Tipperinoor,
they murdered a defenceless herdsman, whom they found in the li(dds,
merely to securo aii advantage of so much eonscqueucu to thuir party"
(Scott's note).

15*2-3. "The coat of arms of the Karl of Moray has thnu! silver stais.
The Mar coat of arms has a black band across it, oi-, in licrahlic language
a sahfe jxtle " (Mastermaii).

157. See note oi. 1. 'M above.

1(50. of Earn. Inhabitini; the district almut Loch Marn (see map).

1G4. shaggy. The word Trosachs means 'bristling.'

174. stance. A Scotch word nu'aning 'station.'

11)7-8. CI. La 11 of the '"sf.Mlnstn'l,\\,\'m:

lie knew by tVic streamers thni sliot so lirijjht
That the spirits were ridiiiy the northern ii;;ht.

ami Tennyson, Morte iV Arthur : " Shot like a streamur of the northern
nutrn."

2'2;i. trow'd. ' r.elieved' ; of. A///r, xvii, 1> : "Doth he thank that
servant because lu; did the things that wei't; commanded him ? I trow

not."

'J.'il. Cambus-Kenneth's fane. An abln-y on the other side of the
Forth fi'om Stirling.

243. " Various clans have characteristic epithets in popular repute,
sometimes alliterative, sometimes not, as 'the gallant (Jrahams,' 'the
haughty Hamiltons,' 'the trusty Boyds,' 'the lucky Duffs'" (Minto).

'250. Sooth. Cf. note on I, 470.

[Canto

IVJ.

TIIK LADY OK TIIK I.AKK.

2Sl

onso of the

' fiv(|ucntly

in tlio iiiia-

HlU'd 1)I(»(mI.

ply inil)iu!»l

ilUK-'mioor,

tlu! fields,

luiir party "

-ilvcr stai'.s.
it; lunguago

00 map).

V northern

iliank tliat
I ? I trow

ido of the

ar repute,
mis,' ' the
Miuto).

2(51. "This littlo fairy tah; is t'oundod iipon a vi-ry curidUM Oaiiiwh
liallail, whioli oci'iU'H in tlu- Ktirnijif; T/m/', a (Mtllet't ion «tf horoic soiigH,
lirrtt puMiHlicd in I.")!!) ;uid ifprintod in Id!!."), inscrilied hy AnderH
Sitfronson, tho oolKn'tor and idilor, to .Sojihia, Queen of Dcnniaik"
(Scott's note). Tliis is a eloso imitation of the nucimt hallad, of uhiL-li
species Seott'H long nu'trieal romancoa like L<ii/ and the /.ai/i/ of ihr
Ijiikr are a modern development.

2G'2. mavis and merle. Nortliern Kn;.diMh and I-owland Scotch
names for thrush and blaeUhiid.

12()(>. wold. Tin; open country, as opposed to irooil ; a favourite word
with Tenn^yaoi' cf. Lathj nf ^ilmlotl :

Loii^,' fk'Ids of luirloy and of ryo

That clothe tho wold and nieul the sky.

and Milli'r's hdiKjhtvr :

And oft in raniblinjfs on tho wold,

Wlicri April ni;,'lits lir'j^Mii to blow,
And April's ensi'itit ^^liiiinifr'd cold,

I saw tho villu;,'u lights below.

2()S. wont. Cf. note on I, 408.

274. glaive. A poetical word for 'sword.'

277. pall. Originally a cloak (Tiat. jxiUiiini), then used also for a
lich material out of which cloaks were made ; so in Fairir (Jimii, I, vii,
li» : " He gave her gold and jturiilo pall to wear," and often in old
ballads :

ilia robe was neilbtT i,Tcrn nor grt-y,
15ol jille it was of riclie pall.

2S.'{. darkling". In tlie daik ; a poetie d word ; ef. Pantd'isi' Lost, iii,
3(1 : " As tlu- wakeful ))ird sits darkling."

2S."). vair. A species of fur used in the iiuddle ages.

2.S(). sheen. See note on 1, 'JOS.

2i>l. The placing of tlie luiturally unaccented syllable fin " llichard")
ill tho metrically stressed place is a characteristic license in the naive
style of the old ballad.

207. the moody Elfin King. Scott in his note on this line (piotes
from Dr. tiraham : "The7>aoi»e ShV, or Men of Peace of the High-
landers, though not absolutely malevolent, are believed to bo a peevish,

282

NOTi:S ON SCOTT.

[Canto

rtpining race of beings, wlio, possessing themselves but a scanty portion
of happiness, are supposed to envy mankind their more complete and
substantial enjoyments. They are supposed to enjoy in their subter-
raneous recesses a sort of sha<lo\vy happiness, — a tinsel grandeur;
which, however, they would willingly exchange for the more solid joys of
mortality. They are believed to inhabit certain round grassy eminences,
where they celebrate their nocturnal festivities by the light of the moon.
Atjout a mile beyond the source of the Forth above liOchcon, there is a
place called Coirshian, or the cove of the Men of Peace, which is still
supposed to be a favourite place of their residence. In the neiglibour-
hood are to be seen many round conical eminences ; particularly one,
near the head of the lake, l)y the skirts of which many are still afi'aid to
pass after sunset. It is believed that if, on Hallow-eve, any person
alone goes round one of these hills nine times, towards the left hand
(sinldrorsum) a door shall open, by whi(^h he will be admitted into their
subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of mortal race, have been
entertained in their secret recesses. There they have been received
into the most splendid apartments, and regaled with the most sump-
tuous banquets and delicious wines. Their females surpass the daughters
of men in beauty. The seeminfjJy happy inhabitants pass their time in
festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music. But unhappy is
the mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to partake of their
dainties. By this indulgence he forfeits for ever the society of men,
and is bound down irrevocably to the condition of ShVich, or Man of
Peace."

298. wonn'd. Dwelt. See note on I, 408.

301. "It has been already observed that fairies, if not positively
malevolent, are capricious, and easily offended. They are, like other pro-
prietors of forests, peculiarly jealous of their rights of vert and vvuixou,
as appears from the cause of olTence taken, in the original Danish ballad.
This jealousy was also an attribute of the northern Dtwrijar, or dwarfs,
to many of whose distinctions the fairies seem to have succeeded, if,
indeed, they are not the same class of beings. In the huge metrical
record of German Chivalry, entitled the Helden-Buch, 8ir Ilildebrand,
and the other heroes of who • it treats, are engaged in one of tlieir most
desperate adventures, from a rash violation of the rose-garden of an
Ellin, or Dwarf King" (Scott's note).

305. This variation in the regular form of the stanza is a connnon
feature in early ballad poetry ; in the Ancient Mariner Coleridge takes
a similar liberty.

Ihl-r iuMi

">ij.^ui'L-,i:Tu-^w>w i< mm i' . i

Canto

IV J.

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

283

luty portion
)mplete and
heir suhter-

graiideur ;
solid joys of
Y emiiicucos,
jf tlie moon.
11, there is a
vhicb is still

iieighbour-
ciilarly one,
till afraid to

any person

be left hand

d into their

have been
;en received
most samp-
le daughters
;hoir time in

unhappy is
ike of their
iety of men,
, or Man of

t positively
e other pro-
and venison,
misli ballad.
', or dwarfs,
icceeded, if,
ige metrical
inidebi'and,
f their most
rden of an

I a common
3ridge takes

306. "As the Dao'ine. ShV, or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they
were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume
their favourite colour. Indeed, from some reason which has been, per-
haps, originally a general superstition, green is held in Scotland to be
unlucky to particular tribes and counties. The Caithness men, who
liold this belief, allege as a reason that their bands wore that colour
when they were cut off at the battle of Flodden ; and for the same
reason they avoid crossing tlie Ord on a Monday, being the day of the
Aveek on Avhich their ill-omened array set forth. Green is also disUked
])y those of the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is it held fatal to
the whole clan of (Jrahame. It is remembered of an aged gentleman of
that name that when his horse fell in a fox-chase, he accounted for it at
once by observing that the whipcord attached to his lash was of this
unlucky colour " (Scott's note).

307. "The elves were supposed greatly to envy the privileges
acquired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who
had fallen into their power a certain precedence, founded upon this
advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the old ballad, describes his
own rank in the fairy procession :—

' For I ride on a milk-white steed,

And a3"e nearest the town ;
Because I was a christen'd knight,

They gave me that renoun.'"
(Scott's note).

313. part. See note on II, 94, above.

322. grisly. See note on I, 70-4.

330. kindly blood. The blood of thy kind, or kin ; cf. Much Ado,
IV, i, 75 : " That fatherly and kindly power that you have in her."

345. ** No fact," says Scott in his note, "respecting Fairy-land seems
to be better ascertained than the fantastic and illusory nature of their
apparent pleasure and splendour."

355. "The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions of
humanity by a sort of criniphuj system, which extended to adults as
well as to infants. Many of those who were in this world supposed to
have discharged the debt of nature, had oidy become denizens of the
' Londe of Faery ' " (Scott's note).

371. Dunfermline grey. The Abbey of the (Irey Friars at Dunferm-
line ill Fifeshire.

»N

iil:!

I- 1 J

28i

NOTKS O.V SCOTT.

[Canto

374. steepy. See note on III, 804.

37G. Lincoln green. See note on I, 4G4.

387-8. Cf. Macbeth, II, i, 42: " Thou luarshaU'st me tlie way that 1
was going."

bourne. Not meaning ?«»»7*liere, hut 6'^?Ta7/4 ; ef. Coinus. lUli -. "And
every hosky hourn from siile to sich\" The eommou Seotcli spelling i.s
burn.

392. scathe. Harm ; cf. Khig John, II, i, 75: "To do offence and
scathe in Christendom."

393. kern. See on 73 above.

411. Bochastle. Sue on I, lOG. It will he noted tliat Scott accents
the word ditlerentlv' in the two passages.

421. atone. This use of atone instead of atone for is not connnon.
The Netv Enrj/i.sh Dirtionarii gives some cases, e.(j., from liulwer
Lytton : "They endeavoured to atone the h)ss by the pursuit of
Artaba/Ais." For a different use of atone, cf. V, 325, with note.

437. train. Lure ; cf. Macbeth, IV, iii, 118:

Devilish Macbeth
By many of those trains has Hi)Uf,'lit to win nie
Into ills power.

44G. For this use of 'as,' cf. 11, 5G.

473. reck of. ("are f<)r; a poetical word; cf. Spenser's ShephenVti
Calendar, Vlll, 34, " tliou's but a i;izy lortl, and rt'oks much of thy
swinck " ; more conunonly nek without a preposition, as in 1. 747
beloM', and Hamlet, "recks not his own reed."

50G. weeds. CJarments ; common in older English in this sense, now
only in the phrase 'widows wecils' ; cf. Midsumnier N'kjIiVh J)ream,
II, ii, 7: "Weeds of Athens he doth wear," Milton, V Allegro, 1'20,
*' In weeds of peace."

523. in better time. In more ])rosperous days.

531 -'2. The Allan and Devan are two streams which rise in the hills
of Perthshire and How through tlie ])lain of Stirling into the I'orth.

552. Note the accent of bridegroom ; iu 1. G82 below, it has the
ordinary accent.

iPiLW-iw aw i^*

[Canto

TV].

TIIH LADY OF THE LAKE

285

ray tliat ]

!1.'}: "And
Si»c]liiig is

)ffeiice aud

jott accents

)t common,
om liulwer
jHirsuit of
lote.

■i Shppher(Vs
riucli of thy
IS in 1. 747

3 sense, now

hV.H J ))•('(( in,

i/legro, 120,

in the hills
Forth.

it has the

5/59. 'Tf. Wai'cfh'ii, chap, xix : ' Mat('lif>s were then made for run-
ning, wrestling, leaping, jtitcliing tlu; li;u', and otlitT sjjorts.' ' Pitching
tlie l)ar' appears to have luen nuicli tin; .^anic as tlif modern ' throwing

the 1

lannner.

(Stnart. )

507. batten. Feed ghittonously on ; cf. JfamJct, III, iv, (
on this moor."

batten

590. The toils are pitch'd. Tlie nets are set ; the same jdirase is in
Shakespeare, Lore's J^ahunr Lost, IV, iii, 2. "In r(]>rusi nling this
mode of hunting by Set toils or nets, into which the deer were driven,
as being known to lUanche of T)evan, 8cott is mot-e historically lealistic
than in the stag-hunt on horseback in Canto 1 '' (Minto).

594. stag of ten. "Having ten branches on his .-uitleis " (Scott's
note). Cf. Massinger, Emperor of the Ed-st., W , 2: " He'll make you
royal sport ; he is a deer of ten, at least."

017. thrill'd. 'I'he word thrill {ilrill is a variant) means originally 'to
pierce'; Itolfe interprets here '(quivered,' and his intiipretation is
conlirmed by the old ballad Yountj Johnstone :

He hadna weel been out of the stable

And on his saddle sot,
Till four and twenty broad arrows

Were thrilling? in his heart.

G.31-2. The blade had penetrated so deep ; cf. Macaulay's Horathis :

On Astur's tbroat Iloratius

l{ii;ht liinily pressed bis heel,
And thrice and four times tuj^ired amain

Ere he wrenched out the steel.

042. Daggled. ^Vet, soaked ; m variant of (Iraiinhd ; cf. Lay of the
Last Minstrel, 1,310: " Was daggled by the dashing spray."

057. shred. Cut off; in this sense obsolete, though the noun ,s]ired is
connnon.

072. wreak. Avenge: cf. liomeo and Jalkt, III, v, 102:

To wreak the love I bore my ;'ousin
Upon bis body that bath slaut,diter'd him.

080. It was customary for knights to wear some gift which was a
token offanmr ; lu'uce the sense of the word here. Cf. Laij of the Last

Minstrel, IV, 334 :

With favoiu- in hia crest, or glove
Memorial of his ladye-love.

iir i

V '

286

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

GOO. is up. Is ill progress; cf, Tlfiis Andronini'^, II, ii, 1 : " Tho
hunt is up."

724. Cf. 21)7 above.

74G. slip. Tecliuit'iil tenii in hunting for letting loose the greyhound
from the slip-^, or nooses, l)y whicli tliey were holtl until sent after the
game; of. Henry V., Ill, i, oi.

I see you stand like greyhoinKls in the slip
Strainin;,' \\\ton the i-'tart.

747, fF. Who ever reck'd, etc. "St. John actually used this illustra-
tiou when engaged in confuting the plea of law proposed for the unfortu-
nate Earl of Stratford : * It was true, we gave law to hares and deer,
because tliey are beasts of chase ; but it was never accounted either
cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the head as they can be
found, because they are beasts of prey. In a word, tlie law and
humanity were alike ; the one being more fallacious, and the other more
barbarous, than in any age had been vented in such an auditory.
Clarendon's History of the Rebellion. Oxford, 1702, "fol. vol. 1, p. 183."
(Scott's note). For reck\l, see 1. 473 above.

762. "The Scottish Highlanders, in former times, had a concise
mode of cooking their venison, or ratner of dispensing with cooking it,
which appears greatly to have surprised the French whom chance made
acquainted with it. The Vidame of Chartres, when a hostage in I'^ng-
land, during the reign of Henry VI, was permitted to travel into Scot-
land, and penetrated as far as to the remote Higlilands (an Jiii fond des
Sauvai/es). After a great hunting party, at which a most Avonderful
quantity of game was destroyed, he saw these ScottUh Sav(tijes devour a
part of their venison raw, without any further preparation than com-
pressing it between two batons of wood, so as to force out the l)lood,
and render it extremely hard. This they reckoned a great deUcacy :
and when the Vidame partook of it, his compliance with their taste
rendered him extremely popular. This curious trait of manners was
oomnnmicated b}'" Mons. de Montmorency, a great frie:..i of the Vidame,
to Brautome, by whom it is recorded in Vies des Homines JUustre,-,,
iJiscours Ixxxix, art. 14. . . . After all it may be doubted whether la
chaire nostree, for so the French called the venison thus sununarily
prepared, was anything more than a mere rude kind of deer-ham"
(Scott's note).

772. Cf. 11. 131-2 above.

787. Coilantogle's ford. On the Teith just ])elow its exit from
Loch Vennachar.

[Canto

i, 1 : "The

le greyliound
mt after tlio

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

(\\NT() A .

287

this illustra-
the uufortu-
'03 and doer,
iintod either
they can be
lie law and
3 other more
.11 auditory.
. 1, p. 183."

I a concise

1 cooking it,

diance made

;age in Eng-

el into .Scot-

Jiii fond dcs

t vvonderful

■/('s devour a

I than com-

b the bh)od,

it delicacy :

their taste

lanners was

he Vidanie,

"s lllastri'.^,

whether la

summarily

deer-ham "

exit from

"It should he remembered that the action of the Poem extends over
six days, and that the transactions of each day occupy a Canto. Thus
each ( 'anto opens with a sunrise, and comparing them gives one a keen
sense of Scott's freedom and power as a descriptive poet. It is a very
pretty harmony at the opening of tliis Canto to unite the sunrise with
the In-ighter and nobler elements of his story, the martial faith and
c()urt(!sy, the higher humanity, of the two com])atants, and thus fix the
reader's eyes on this as the centre of his picture. It is a revelation of
the poet's innermost heart, and of *lie depth and geniality of feeling
that is one of the secrets of his power over the hearts of others. As a
pure matter of art, too, it is worth while to compare this prologue with
the short quatrains which .Spenser prefixed to the cantos of his Faerie
(,)nf(')i. These quaint half-doggrel (piatrains, prol>a]>ly made rude on
]nirpose to set off the elaborate music of his main stanzas, Spenser
intended as sign-posts to keep the reader from losing his way. But they
were an afterthought, and are too bald and detached. Scott's prologue
here answers a similar purpose perfectly : it points a moral impressively
yet with true poetic art, and adds to rather than disturl)S the unity of
the narrative " (Minto).

15. by. "The word is used for the rhyme, but perhaps gives the
idea of hurry --Diidtcrcd o//'the prayers" (Rolfe).

Hi. to steal is used here to indicate haste.

22. wildering-. See I, 274, and note.

winded. See I, 500, and note,

2.3. "If the poem were to ])e judged by strict probability, this pros-
pect would have to be held not true to Nature. The windings of the
Forth cannot be seen from tlie heights to the North of Loch Achray.
P>ut from the time that Fitz-James plunges into the Trosachs, crossing
tlie stream 'that joins Loeli Katrine to Achray' (IV, 487) till he
emerges on Loch Vennachar, he is in pure Romance land. The mixture
of strict local truth with romance is puzzling unless the poet's right to
keep to nature only when it suits him is fully recognized " (Minto).

32. bursting- throug"h. 'When they burst through.' This is an
example of Scott's loose writing, ' bursting ' cannot be construed in the
.sentence.

40. shingles. Pebbles, gravel ; cf. Enoch Arden, 733 : "all round it
ran a walk of shingle."

288

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

64. sooth to tell. T.) tell tlu- tnitli ; s,, I, -ro.

1()2. show. 'I'liis use of ,s7/o//' is not umiHdal in lailicr Kni^lisli ; cf.
Corid/anun, JV, v, 68 : " tliongli thy tackle's torn, thou show'st a nolde
vessel."

108. Sec note on 1. l'J4 below.

124. " There is .scarcely a laore disorderly period in Scottish history
than that which succeeiled the battle of Flodden, and occupied the
minority of James V. Feuds of ancient .standing broke out like oM
wounds, and every (juarrel among the inde[)eudent no])ility, which
occurred daily, and alnio.st hourly, gave rise to fresh bloodshed. 'There
arose,' says Pitscottie, 'great trouble and deadly feuds in mauy parts of
Scotland, both in the north and west parts. Tlie Master of Forbes, in
the north, slew the Laird of Mclilruni, under tryst : ' (i.e., at an (Ujrcct/
and .secure mcctuuj). Likewise, the Laird of Druninielzier slew the Lord
Fleming at tlie hawking ; and likewise there was slaughter among many
other great lords. — I*. I'Jl. Nor was the matter nuich mended uiuler
the government of the F]arl of Angus : for though he caused the King
to ride through all Scotl.unl, ' under the pretence and colour of justice,
to punish thief and traitor, none were found greater than were in their
own company. And none at that time durst strive M'ith a Douglas, nor
yet a Douglas's man ; for if tliey would, they got the worst. Therefore,
none durst plainzie of no extortion, theft, reilf, nor sLuighter done to
them by the Douglasses, or their men ; in that cause they were not
heard, so long as the Douglas had the court in guiding' — Ihkl. p, 133"
(Scott). "This disorder was largely due to the weakness of Albany, a
nephew of James III, who had been brought np in France, and was
called in after Flodden to act as Regent, being next heir to the throne
if James IV. had died chihlless. Scott elsewiiere gives the following
character of him : — 'The llegent Albany, bred in the court of Francis I,
and a personal favourite of that monarch, was more of a couitier than of
a soldier or a statesman ; and the winning qualities of vivac'ty and
grace of manners which had gained him favour and ap[)lause while in
France, were lost upon tlie rude nobility of Scotland.' He was nomin-
ally Regent from 1515 to 1523 " (Minto).

150. shingles. See on 4(5 above.

153. See note on I. 379 below.

161. rears. " Raises. The word was formerly less restricted in its
application than at present. Cf. Shakespeare 'rear iuyhand ' {Tempest,

[Canto

• Kngliali ; cf.
low'st a noble

ittish history
occupied the
out like oM
bility, whicli
ihed. ' There
iiiauy parts of
of Forbes, in
, at an aijreed
dew the Lord
among many
lended under
ised the Kini^
ur of justice,
were in their
Douglas, nor
b. Therefore,
;hter done to
liey were not
Ihld. p. 133"
of Albany, a
ice, and was
bo the throne
he followinj'
of Francis I,
irtier than of
vivac"ty and
luse while in
) was nomin-

THK LADY OF T!IK LAKE.

289

bricted in its
I ' ( Tempest,

U, 1, 295, Jnlin, Cae.ar, III, i, 30), 'rear tlic liigher our opinion'
[Aittony ami Cleopatra , II, i, 35^, etc. ; Milton's ' he reared me,' tliat is
lifted me up {Pur. Lust, VIM, 31(5), ' rcar'd her lank head '' (Com jJ
836), etc." (Rolfe.)

shock. A group of sheaves ; cf. JiuujeH, xv, 5 : "He burnt up ])oth
the shocks and also the standing corn."

lOr). "The ancient Highlanders verilied in their practice the hnts of
Cray:—

' An iron race the luouiitaiti cliifs luainlaiii
Fofs to the gentler ycnius of ihe iilaiii ;
For where unwearied sinews must he found,
With sidedonj; plouyh to (juell the flinty u'rovuid ;
To turn tlie torrent's swift descending flood ;
To tame tlie savage rusiiinsr fioiii the wood ;
What wonder if, to patient valour train'd,
They guard with spirit what by strength they gain'd ;
And wliile their rocky raniparls round they see
The rough abode of want and liberty,
(As lawless force from confidin(;e will grow).
Insult the plenty of the vales i)elow?'

—Fragment on the Alliance of Education and Government.

"So far, indeed, was a Crpayh, or foray, from ])eiiig hehl disgraceful,
that a young chief was always expected to show his talents for command
so soon as he assumed it, by leading his clan on a successful enterprise
of this nature, eitlier against a neighbouring sept, for wluch constant
feuds usually furnished an apology, or against the Sa.iseuarh, Haxons, or
Lnwlanders, for which no apology was necessary. Tlie (iael, great
traditional historians, never forgot that the lowlands had, at some
renujte period, been the property of their Celtic forefathers, which
furnished an ample vindication of all the ravages that they could make
on the unfortunate districts wliich lay within their reach. Sir James
(hant of Grant is in possession of a letter of apology from Cameron of
Lochiel, whose men had committed some depredation upon a farm called
Moines, occupied ])y one of the Grants. Lochiel assures Grant that,
liowever the mistake had happene<l, his instructions Avere precise, that
the party should foray the province of Moray (a Lowland district),
where as he coolly oljserves, ' all men take their prey ' " (Scott's note).

177. good faith. Tn good faitli.

108. curlew. The accent is on the last syllable, contrary to usage ;
cf. Tennyson's LocI-hIcj IlaU : " 'Ti.s the place, and all around it, as of
old, the curlews call."
10

'!* fi

290

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Cant

'J.'U-f). St'ott notes that siuiilar language was ns»;(l by lliu Marl of
Alliole in l.'J.'i") : " He looked at a gn.-at rook whieh lay l)esi<le hini, ami
swore an oath that he would ni.t lly that day until that roek shoultl
show him the exainj)le." {Tdles of <i itrandfidhcr, ehap. xiv.)

240. Alluding, doubtless, to the old myths with regard to earth-born
warriors : the Titans, the warriors who sprang from the dragon's teeth
sown by ( "admus, etc,

27^'?,. jack was a defensive coat of leather or some such material, but
it might be strengthened, as in this case, with rings or plates of metal.

*27<). "Tliis incident, like some other passages in the poem, illustra-
tive of t!ie character of the ancient (Jael, is not imaginary, but boirowed
from fact. The Highlanders, with the inconsistency of most nations in
the same state, were alternately capable of great exertions of generosity,
and of cruel revenge and perfidy. The following story 1 can oidy (pu)te
from trailition, but with such an assurance from those by whom it Avas
communicated, as permits mo little doul)t of its authenticity. Early iu
the last centur}^ John (iunn, a noted Cateran, or Highland robber,
infested Inverness-shire, and levied black mail, up to the walls of tlie
])rovineial capital. A garrison was then maintained in the castle of that
town, and their pay (country banks being unknown) was usually trans-
mitted in specie, under the guard of a small escort. It chanced that
tlie otfK.'er who commanded this little ])arty was unexpectedly obliged to
halt, about thirty miles from Inverness, at a miserable inn. About
night-fall, a stranger, in the Highland dress, and of very prepossessing
.ippe.'irance, entertd the same house. Separate accommodation being
impossible, tiie Englishman offered the newly-arrived guest a part of his
supper, which was accepted with reluctance. By the conversation he
found his new ac(juaintauce kiunv well all the passes of the country,
which induced him ea^^crly to request his company on the ensuing
morning. He neither disguised his business and charge, nor his appre-
hensions of that celebrated freebooter, John Gunn. — The Highlander
hesitated a moment, and then frankly consented to be his guide. Forth
they set in the morning ; and, in travelling through a solitary and
dreary glen, the discourse again turned on John (Junn. 'Would ycju
like to see him?' isaid the guide; and, without waiting an answer to
this alarming question, he whistled, and the English officer, with his
small party, were surrounded by a body of Highlanders, whose num-
bers put resistance out of question, and who were all well armed.
'Strang(;r, ' resumed the guide, 'I am that very John Gunn by whom

K -Jv-

("Canto

the Marl of
I'lo him, <iii<l
riK'k .should

o earth-horn
•a^fon'a teeth

iiaterial, l)nt
es of metal.

em, illuatra-
)ut l)or rowed
ist natioiia in
f generosity,
n only ([uote
whom it was
y. Early in
land rohber,
walls of the
}astle of that
sually trans-
chanced that
ly obliged to
inn. About
)repossHSsiug
dation being
a part of his
versation he
;he country,
tlie ensuing
or his appre-

Highlander
uide. Forth
solitary and

Would you
u answer to
;er, with his
whose num-
well armed,
nil by whom

TIIK I,.\I*V OF Ti;

.\ K H.

2!)1

y\i f(!ar((l to lu; inlnr(!ei)ted, and not without c?i.n>ie : for I came to the
inn la.st iiiglit with :' express purpose of learning your rout.-, tliat I
and my followers mignt e.ise you of your ciiargo by the ntad. i'.ut 1 am
inca])abl«! of betraying the trust you reposed in nu;, and having con-
vinced you that you were in my power, I can only dismiss you unplun-
dered and uninjured.' Jfe then gave the otlicer directions for his
journey, and disappeared with his party as suddenly as they had pro-
se'ited themselves'" (Scott's note;).

277

wont = Avonted ; see note on T, 40S.

*JOS. three mighty lakes. Katrine, Achray, Vj..nachar.

302. "The torrent which di.scharges itself from Loch Vennachar,
the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form tlie scenory ad-
joining to the Troaachs, sweeps through a ilat and extensive moor,
called Hochastle. Upon a small eminence, called the D^in of IJochastle,
and indc'cd on the plain itself, are some iutrenchments, which have been
thought Roman. There is adjacent to Callander, a sw(H,t villa, the
residence of Captain l^'airfoul, entitled the Roman Camp" (Scott's note).

'M)S. S(!e L 100 above.

315. "The duellists of former times did not always stand upon those
])unctilios res])ecting equality t>f arms, which are now jui^ged essential
to fair combat. It is true, that in former combats in the lists, the par-
ties were, hy the judges of the field, j)ut as nearly as possible in the
same circanistances. Rut in private duel it was often otherwise. In
th'.tt desperate combat which was fought l)etween Quoins, a minion of
Henry III. of FraJice, and Antraguet, with two seconds on each side,
from which only two persons escaped alive, Quelus complained that his
iuitagonist had over him the advantage of a poniard which, iie used in
1 tarrying, while his left hand, which he was forced to employ for the
same purpose was cruelly mangled. When he charged Antraguet with
this odds, 'Thou hast done wrong,' answered he, ' to forget thy dagger
at home. Wo arc here to fight, and not to settle punctilios of arms,'
In a similar duel, however, a younger brother of ti.e house of Aul)anye,
in Angoulesme, behaved 7nore generously on the like occasion, and at
once threw away his dagger when his enemy challenged it as an undue
advantage. Rut at this time Juirdly anything can be conceived nu>re
horrildy brutal and savage tlian the mode in which private quarrels
v/ero conducted in France. Those who were most jealous of the point
of honour, ami acquired the title of Rufinefi, did not scruple to take

m i!

^ «/ *rf

N0TK8 OS SCO'IT.

[Canto

every !iilv;iiit;igt' of Hti'fii^tli, iiiiiiiIhih, surprise, iuul ariiis, to at('(»iii|ilisli
tlufir levelige ' (Scott "s iKitc).

'A'lri, atone. Cf. 7M.') liclow : "A victim to .'aoiie tlu^ wiir." .Sluike-
speare uses the verb transitively tlioii^'h not in exactly tin; same sense,
as ill /!ic/i'ir<l II., I, i, -02: "Siiujo we cannot atone you." (This is the
original sense t)f tlu* word, ' to hring at une.')

329-30. See III, 01, 11'.

3.34. read. Interpreted, ex[>)ained ; frecpient in early ]']ngli.sh, e.g.,
Chaucer's hedth of Uhmchc : ".loseph lie that lUtle so Tlie kinge's
metynge (dream), I'harao," and the old liallad, TJie liraea of Yarrow:
'* I'll lead your dream, sister, he says" ; so Spenser, Faerie Queen, II,
iv, 3(), etc.

,340. kern. See on 111, 40.

3r)(;. carpet knight. Cf. Tive/jVi ^^l[|ht, III, iv, 257: "He is n
knight dul)l)c<l witli unhatched ra[)icr and on car[)et consideration."
Markham, in liis Book of Honour (102r>) explains that carpet knights
are " men wlio are l)y the Prince's grace and favour made knights at
home, and in the time of peace, liy the imposition or laying on of the
king's swoi'fl. . . . And these of the vulgar or common sort arc
called cariicA-knitjIttfi, because, for the most part, they receive their
honour from the king's hand, in the court and npou carpets and such
like ornaments belonging to the king's state and greatness."

3G4. ruth. Pity ; a word now olisolote, though we have rnthle»,^.
Cf. Coriolanus, I, i, 101 : " Would the noliility lay aside their ruth."

371. which refer.s to the whole clause that follows; Roderick has
already expressed his preference for single combat.

373. falchion. Another poetical Avord for swunl ; properly a curved
sword (Lat. falx, sickle).

378. darkly refers to the mood and expression of the combatants.

379. "A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and
studded with brass or iron, was a necesssary part of a Highlander's
ecpiipment. In charging regular troops, they received the tluust of the
bayonet in this bu(;kler, twisted it aside, and used the broad-sword
against the eiicund)cred soldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the
front rank of the clans were thus armed ; and ('aptain CIrose informs us,
that, in 1747, the privates of the 42nd regiment, then in Flanders, were,

•

I
t

[\ .-, ji i ..:n!H'j. -M^— '-'

[Canto

y<» act'iiiiiplisli

iir. " Sli.'ikc
I! same si'iisi',
(Thia is the

l''ngliHli, r.r/ ,
I Tlie kingti's
I of Yarrow:
•ie Queen, II,

: "He is n
nisidoratioii."
arpet knights
(Ie knights at
iig on of the
non sort are
receive their
)ets and sueli

lave ruthleHx.
leir ruth."

Roderick lias
erly a curved

d)atants.

; leather, and
ilighlander's
thiust of the
broad-sword
>, most of the
e informs us,
luders, were,

V]-

'llli; I.ADV OF If IK l,AKK,

2U3

II' s.

for tlu! most part, permitted (o carry targcjts. Mi/idiri/ Aul'n/iiif
vol. i, ]». 101. A person thus armed had a considerable advantage in
private fray " (Scott's note).

38H. "The use of defensive arnumr, and particularly of tlic Imcklcr,
or target, was general in Queen Kli/.aheth's tinu^ although that of tlie
.single rapier .seems to have been occasionally practised much earlier,
llowlaud Vorkc, however, who betrayed tiio fort (tf Ziitpheu to the
Spaniards, for which good service he was afterwards poisoned by them,
is said to have been the lirst who brought tlic rapier light into general
use. Fuller, speaking of the swash-huckleis, or Itullics, of Queen Kiiza-
beth's time, says :—' West Smithlield was formerly called Kullians'
Hall, where such men usually met, casually or otherwise, to try vias-
,VWf'.!j with sword and buckler. More were frightened than hurt, more
iiurt tluin killed therewith, it being accounted unmanly to strike beneath
the knee. But since that desperate traitor itowland ^'orke first intro-
duced thrusting witii rapiers, sword and buckler are disused.' In 'The
Two Angry Women of Abingdon,' a comedy , printed in 15!)ll, we have a
jtathetic complaint: — 'Sword and l)Uckler light begins to grow out of
use. 1 am sorry for it : I .shall never see good manhootl again. If it be
once gone, this poking fight of rapier and dagger will come ui) ; then a
tall man and a good sword-and-buckler man, will be spitted like a cat
or ra})bit.' P>ut the rapier had on the continent long superseded, in
private duel, the use of sword and shield. The nuisters of the n<»ble
science of defence were chielly Italians. They niaik; great mystery of
their art aiul mode of instruction, never suffered any person to be
present but the scholar who was to be taught, and even examined
closets, beds, and other places of possilde concealment. Tlieir lessons
often ga^'e the most treacherous advantages ; for the challenger, having
the right to choose his weapons, freipicntly selected some strange,
unusual, and inconvenient kind of arms, the use of which he practised
under tliese instructors, and thus killed at his ease his antagonist, to
whom it was presented for the brst time on the field of battle " (Scott's
note).

389. in closing^ strife. They came .to close (piarters ; cf. II, 371.

406. "I have not ventured to render this duel so savagely desperate
as that of the celel)rated Sir Ewan of Lochiel, chief of the clan Cameron,
called, from his sable complexion, Ewan Dim. He was the last man in
Scotland who maintained the royal cause v uring the great Ci\il War,
and his constant incursions rendered him a very unpleasant neighbour

'■: Hi ■

29t

N.()TES ON S(-OTT,

[CRANIO

to tlic rt'jmlilic.aii ^'anisou at Inveilocihy, now Foit-Willi.-im. 'I'Iip skir-
mish is <l»'t;iilt'il ill a (Mirioiis iiieni(»ir of Sir Kwan'H life;, printol ju the
Aitpciitlix of I'tdinant's Scottisli Tour.

"•Tn this cnrf.agcinuiit, liociiid liimsclf liad H»;vcral woiKh-rfiil cscai cs.
Tu thi! rctri'at of tho Mngli.sli, oik; of thn .stroii^'cst ami lirav est of tiif
ofritifrs rt'tiriMl behintl a Imsh, wlu-ii ho oh.sc^ivt'd Lo(,'hicl pursuing;, ami
acciiit,' Iiiiii Tmaci;om|»aiiif(l \v\i\i any, lie leaiit out, and tlion;^hL him hi.s
pri-y. They nu't ono anotht-r with iMjual tiuy. Tho conihat was lon.^
and doubtful: tlio Eni,'li8li gentUiUian liad l)y far the ailvantaj^'c? in
strength and si/.o; but Lochic', excotulin;^ him in niinbhmt'ss ami ability,
in the enil tript tlio sword out of liis liand : they closed amlAvrts led,
till both fi'll to the ground in each other's arms. The llnglish olliei r
got above Loehiel, ami pressed liim hard, but stretehing forth his n» ck,
by attempting to disengage hims* If, Loehiel, who by this time hail iiis
hands at liberty, with his h^ft hand sei/ed him by the collar, and juniji-
ing at liis extended throat, he bit it with his teeth ((uitc! through, and
\ni[)t such a hold of his grasp, that he brought away his mouthful : this,
he said, ir(i.'< /hr sirreM'st hit lie vvcr Inn/, in hin li/< time.^ — Vol. i, p. ,*i7") "
(Scott's note).

411. reck'd not of. See on I\', 47.'i.

4r)2. Lincoln green.

>ee on

4»;4.

4<)1. palfrey. A small sadtUe-horse, jjartier'arly a lady's horse.

4{')r>. weed. See on 1\', ;")<••').

4(50. boune. See on 1\', :m\.

485, tT. " It, may be worth noting," Lockhart says, " that the Poet
marks the progn^ss (;f the King by naming in succession jjlaces familiar
and dear to his own early recollections- lUair-Drummoml, the hi at of
the Homes of Kaimes ; Kier, that of the princi[)al family of the nanu; of
Stirling; Ochtertyre, that of John llamsay, the well known antl(piary,
and correspondeiit of I'urns ; and Craigfortli, that of the C'allenders of
C'raigforth, almost umler the walls of Stirling (*astle: -all hospitable
roofs, under which he had spent many of his young(!r days."

The places nanied are all on the banks of the Teilh between ('allamler
and Stirling.

480. prick'd. Originally f^piirred, thence the Mord i-ame to mean
rode ; as in Faerie (/ueen, I, i, 1 : " A geuth; knight was piii'Kiiig on the
[ila.iu.

■kMk*

I Canto

V].

tin: i.ADV OF riii; i.akk

L'O;

I. 'I'lio skir-
iiitcd iu tile

ifiil cscaj cs.

■••IVcst (»f tllr

iirHuinj,', .'iiid
i^'lit him liis
»;it was l()ll^'
<iv;uita;;(> ill
iuid .•li,'i|ity,

111 -WTt S ',0(1,

iglisli oliiiH r
til his iMck,
iiiii! Iia<l his
and jimij)-
linujuli, jiiid
thful: this,
I. i, p. .'{7.") "

inrso.

it tlio Voot
L'cs faiuiliar
the scat of
1x3 Daiiu! of

aiiti<|uary,
illuiidcrs of

liospitahlu

I Callaiidor

e to iiR'au
viiig on tlio

4s7. nierry-tnen. Scr on I V, OS.

488,11". ThiH aMiiiiiitcd iiarrativo ox|»ro.s.sivt? of tin; swiftness of their
courso, may ho (^onuMircd with tho Hiinilar hut niiii(; ilalimati! account "f
William of I )clorairu;'M rido to MelrosL' {f.ni/, I, '_'.")'.>-.'{ h'»).

nil). Out, /".''., you iiri! miMtakcM in your oonjooturc ; as frc(|iicnlly in
8haUcM|M>an!, cte.

r>'2'i. Saint-Serle. "Thu kin;,' himself is in .such distress for a rhyme
as t<) ht! ohliged to a|)i)ly to one of the ohst-urest saints in the calendar"
(.lelFrey.) Scott wroto originally l>i/ ntij iniril, which rhymed with Lord
for "Karl" in tlu; next line.

5'jr). S'uitt himself says: "The |)ou,L,'las of the |»ocm is an imaj,'inary
j)ersoii, a HUp])osed uncli! of tht! Marl of Angus." l''or the latter seo
note on \, 14*2.

r)M. Sec note on IV, '2'M.

Ml. ward is used in Scott's loose fashion for ' ward oil'.'

544. * Shall become a nun.'

r)49-r)2. "An eminence on tho north-east of the castlo, where state
erindnals were executed. Stirling was ofttni polluted with iiohle blood.
The fate of William, eighth earl of I)(niglas, whom James II. stabbed in
Stirling ('astle with his own hand, and while under his roy.il safe-con-
duct, is familiar to all who read Scottisli history. Murdack i)uke of
Albany, Duncan I'^arl of Lennox, his father-in-law, and his two sons,
Walter and Alexander Stuart, were executed at Stirling in 142."). They
were ])eheaded upon an eminence without the castle -wr.lla, but making
])art of the same hill, from •whence they could behold their strong castle
of Doune, an<l their extensive possessions. This 'heading hill,' as it
was sometimes termed, bears commonly the less terrible name of
Hurley- 1 lacket, from its having been the scen(! of a courtly amusement
alluded to by Sir David Limlsay, who says of the pastimes in whidi *^';e
young king was engaged,

' Some harlcd him to the Hurly-liackct ; '

wluch consisted in sliding, in some sort of chair it may be supposed,
from top to bottom of a smooth bank. The boys of lvliul)urgh, alxnit
twenty years ago, used to play at the hurly-hacket, on the (Jalton-Hill,
using hn- their seat a horse's skull " (Scott's notcV

i)')H. Franciscan steeple. The steeple of a church belonging to the

296

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Canto

religious or<ler of the Franciscans or Oray Friars ; the former name they
derived from St. J'Vancis of Assisi, A\ho founded their order in 1208,
the latter name from tlicir dross, wliich distinguished them from the
Dominicans or Jilack Friars, and the Carmelites or White Friars.

502. morrice-dancers. "'I'he 'tnorrh'c or moorish dance was probably
of .Spanish origin ; ])ut after its introduction into England it became
])lend(Ml with the May-tl;iy games. One distinctive feature of the
Morrice-dancer was the wearing of l>ells on the heel" (Scott). In
Scott's Ahhul, chap, xiv, there is a <lescription of the dance.

504. ** Every burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but more especially
the ccuisidrrable towns, had their solemn pAr//, or festival, when feats of
archery were exhibited, and prizes distril>uted to those who excelled in
wrestling, hurling the l)ar, and other gymnastic exercises of the period.
Stirling, a usual place of royal residence, was not likely to be deficient
in pomp upon such occasions, especially since ,,ames V. was very partial
to them. His niuly piulicipaticm in these popular armsements was one
cause of his accpiiring tlie title of King of tlie Com'iions, or Ii( x Plehei-
orutn, as Leslie has latini;a(l it. The usual prize to tlie best shooter was
a silver arrow. Such a one is preserved at Selkirk and at Peel)les. At
Dumfries, a silver gun was substituted, and the contention transferred
to lire-arms. The cei'emony, as there performed, is the subject of an
excelleut Scottish poem, by Mr. John Mayne, entitled the Siller Oun,
1808, which surpasses the efforts of Ferguson, and comes near to those
of Burns" (Scott's note).

571. play my prize. Cf. Shakespeare, 7'Uus Andronicns, I, i, ;^9J) :
" Ycm have i)iay"il your prize."

272. stark. Strong: So Chaucer, Jluut^c of Fame :

M(! earn iiiLT in liis I'lawrs starke
Ab lightly us 1 wlto a lark,

and the Lmj, I, 215: "A stark, moss-ti'oopiug Scott was he." The
woi'd f)rigiually meant slilf, as in I llcnnj IV., V, iii, 42: "Many a
nobleman lies stark and stitF. "

584. jennet. A small Spanish horse.

611. Scott gives a descriptioii of the dress of the Morrice-dancer in the
Fair Mahl of Pi rf/i, ch. xvi, an<l in a note on ch. xx, he speaks of their
wearing 252 small bells in sets of twelve at regular musical intervals.

G14. "The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was a

[Canto

or name tliey
'der in 1208,
em from the
''riars.

vas probably

(I it became

itui-e of the

(8cott). In

re especially
'hen feats of
5 excelled in
the period,
be deficient
very partial
nts was one
Ji'<x Plehei-
shooter was
ee])les. At
transferred
l>j(!ct of an
Siller (hin,
inr to those

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

md:

he." The
"Many a

icer in the
lis of their
nervals.

iiul was a

favourite frolic at such festivals as we are descri})ing. This sportin-r, in
which kings did not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Soothuid
upon the Eeformation, by a statute of the 6th Parliament of Queen
Mary, o. 61, A.I). 1,155, Avhich ordered, under heavy penalties, that 'na
manner of jx-rson be chosen Robert Hude nor I.ittle John, Abl)ot of
I'nreason, Queen of May, nor otherwise.' But in loGl, the 'rascal
multitude,' says John Knox, 'was stirred up to make a Kol)in Hude,
whilk enormity was of many years left and damned by statute and act
of Parliament; yet woul.l they not be forbidden.' Accordingly tliey
raised a very serious tumult, and at length made prisoners the magis-
trates who endeavoured to suppress it, and wcnild not release them "till
tiiey extorted a fornuil promise that no one should be punished for his
share of the disturl)ance. It would seem, from the complaints of the
(general Assembly of the Kirk, that these profane festivities were con-
timied down to 1592. Bold Roljin was, to say the least, ecjually suc-
cessful in maintaining his ground ag- i ist the reformed clergy of Enghuul :
for the simple and evangelical Lat^r.or complains of coming to a country
church, Avhere the people refused to hiar him, because it was Robin
Hood's day ; and his mitre and rochet were fain to give way to the village
pastime. Much curious information on this subject may be found in the
Prehminary Dissertation to the late Mr. Ritson's edition of the songs
respecting this menu)rable outlaw. The game of Robin Hood was usually
acted in May ; and he was associated with the morrice-dancers, on whom
so much illustration has been bestowed by the connnentators on Shake-
speare. A very lively picture of these festivities, containing a great deal
of curious informatitm on the subject of the private life and amusements
of our ancestors, was thrown, by the late iugeuious :\Ir. Strutt, into his
romance entitled ' Queen-hoo Hall,' published after his death, in 1808"
(Scott's note).

615-S. The persons mentioned are the traditional companions of
Ivobin Hood; Friar Tack was his chaplain, skilled also in handling
the (piartcr-stali'; the latter appears in Ivanhoe as the hermit of
Copmanhuist

617. as ivory bone. The (piaint comparison is in imitation of the
style of tlie oid ballads in which these pei'sonages appear.

622. 1'he bull's eye, or centre, of the target was white.

624. For a similar extraordinary feat in archery, see Ivanhoe, chap,
xiii

626. stake. That which is set up ; here, th<: prize.

■ 1

f"!!

298

NOTKS ON ."^(H)!"!'.

[Canto

630. wight. There are two different -words of tliis form ; one a noun
meaning person, as in the L«;i, 1, i, () : " Xo living wiglit, .save tlie lady
alone," and Othello, II, i, 51): "She was a wight, if ever such wiglit
were, to suckle fools;" the other an adjective, meaning slromj, hntrc,
as in Marnilon, VI, xx, 14: "(), for one hour of WaUace ivi(jht," and
the Lai/, I, xxii, 2 : " wightest steed. " In the present case either inter-
pretation may l)e given.

6.30, ff. "The Dougla,s of the poem is an imaginary person, a supposed
uncle of the Karl of Angus. But the king's hehaviour during an unex-
pected interview with the Laird of Kilspindie, one of the LaTiished
Douglasses, under circmnstances similar to tliose in the text, is imitated
from a real story told by Hume of Godscroft. I wouhl have availed
myself more fully of the simple and atiecting circumstances of the old
hisoory, had they not been already woven into a pathetic ballad by my
friend Mr. Finlay.

"His (the king's) implacability (towards the family of Douglas) did
also appear in his carriage towards Archibald of Kilspindie, wlionilie,
when he was a child, loved singularly wall for his ability of body, and
was wont to call him his Gray-Steill. Archibald, being banished into
England, could not well comport with the humour of that nation, whicli
he thouglit to be too proud, and that they had too high a conceit of
themselves, joined with a contempt and despising of all others. Where-
fore, being wearied of that life, and remembering the king's favour of
old towards him, he determined to try the king's mercifulness and
clemency. So lie comes into Scotland, and taking occasion of the king's
hunting in the park at Stirling, he casts himsulf to be in his way as he
was coming home to the castle. So soon as the king saw him afar ofV,
ere he came near, he guessed it was lie, and said to one of his courtiers,
yonder is my Gray-Steill, Archi])ald of Kilspindie, if he be alive. The
other answered that it could not be he, and that he durst not come into
the king's j»resence. The king approaching, he fell upon his knees and
craved pardon, and promised from thenceforward to abstain from
medtUing in public affairs, and to lead a quiet and private life. Tlie
king went by without giving him any answer, and trotted a good round
pace up the hill. Kilspimlie followed, and though he wore on him a
secret, or shirt of mail, for his particular enemies, was as soon at tlie
castle gate as the king. There he sat him down upon a stont; without,
and entreated some of the king's servants for a cup of drink, being
weary and thirsty ; but they, fearing the king's displeasure, durst give
him none. When the king was set at his dinner he asked what he had

-. ■JhKT iii*Alii>ilii ..

[Canto

; one a noun
save the lady
V such wight
slroiuj, hran-,
! ivitjkt," .-uid
I either iuter-

11, a supposed
I'iiig an iiuex-
tlie banished
:t, is imitated
have availed
:es of the old
ballad by my

Douglas) did
ie, whom lie,
of body, and
xmished into
nation, which

a conceit of
lers. Where-
iig'tt favour of
3ifulness and

of the king's
liis way as he

him afar ofV,
his courtiers,
e alive. The
lot come into
tiis knees and
abstain from
.te life. 'J'he
a good round
n-e on him a
,s soon at tlie
tone without,

drink, l>cing
re, durst give
. what he had

V].

THE LADY OP THE LAKE.

299

done, what he had said, and whither he had gone ? It was told him
that he ha<l desired a cup of drink, and had gotten none. The king
reproved them very sliarply for their discourtesy, and told them tliat
if he had not taken an oath that no Douglas should ever serve him, he
would have received him into his service, f(;r he had seen him sometime
a man of great ability. Tlien he sent him word to go to Leith, and
expect his further pleasure. Tlien S(,.me kinsman of J)avid Falconer,
the cannonier that was slain at Tantallon, began to quarrel Avith Archi-
bald about the matter, wherewith the king showed himself not well
pleased when he heard of it. Then he connnanded him to go to France
for a certain space, till he heard further from him. And so he did, and
died shortly after. This gave occasion to the King of England (Henry
VIII.) to blame his nephew, alleging the old saying That a king's face
should give grace. For this Archibald (whatsoever were Angus's or Sir
George's fault) had not been principal actor of anything, nor no coun-
sellor nor stirrer up, l)ut only a follower of liis friends; and tliat noways
cruelly disposed.'— //w/;6e 0/ 6'(;(/.srro//', ii, 107" (Scott's note).

G.S7-8. Larbert is a town ten miles soutli of Stirling ;

Alloa is seven miles east of Stirling on the Forth.

641. "Tlie usual prize of a wrestling was a lam and a ring, l)ut the
animal would have eml)arrassed my story. IMuis, in the Cokes Tale of
(Jamelyn, ascri})ed to Chaiicer : —

'There happed to he there heside

Tryed a wrestlhiij- :
And therefore there was y-setten
A ram and als a riny. '"
(Scott's note).

C)')'!. It broke as it fell.

600. Ladies' Rock. "In the Castle-hill is a hullow called 'the
Valley' comprehending about an acre, and having the appearance of an
artificial work, for justings and tournaments, with other feats of
chivalry. Closely adjoining to this valley, on the soutli, is a small
rocky pyramidal mount, called 'The Ladies' Hill,' where the fair ones
of the court took their station to l)ehold these feats " {Xhiuitu's History
of Stirli)i(j.shit'e as quoted by Stuart).

6(52. pieces broad. "After the introduction of guineas in 1003, the
twenty-sliilling pieces of the preceding rtiign were called ' broad pieces,'
because they were much broader and tliinner than the new coins"
(Stuart).

mmmm

300

NOTKS t»N S(;OTT.

[Canto

ii!

73;"). atone. Sec on 'A'2r^ jibo\»e.

liyA. prick'd. See on 480 a])Ove.

768, Hyndford is a village iiv lianarksliire on the Clyde. A Sir Jolm
Cariuichael of Hyndford was Warden of the Borders in the reign of
Mary of Scotland.

790. An example of the figure called prolcpsis ; the 'mate' must

expire before the term ' widow ' is applical)le ; cf. AFacaulay's j>rt^/ie o/

Lalcc lic(jUlns, xiv :

The rush of squadrons sweepiiiia:
Like w hirlw inds o'er tlie ])laiii,
The shfiutiiii,'' of llic slayers

Anil the screceliiny of the slain.

811). this common fool. So we liave "foci multitude" in the
3f>rrh(Uit (if Vi'iilci, Ji, ix, 'Jti.

822. vulgar throat. Tlie throat of tlie comiuon people ; cf. tlie use
"vulgar"' in 1. 808 l)elow.

834. Lockhart quotes a i>arallcl passage from Coriolduus, T, i, ISO, fF. :

Who deserves {^reatiiess
Deserves your hate, and your affect ions are
A sick man's ajipefite who deserves most that
Whieh would increase his e\il. lie that, depends
Upon your favors swims with fins of lead
And hews down oaks with rushes. JIani;-ye ! Trust ye?
Witli e\ cry minute ye do ehan^-'e a mind,
And call him noiile that was now ^our hate,
Him vile that was your j;arland.

838. cognizance. " The salde pali' of Mar." See on TV, 153.

839. cousin, A term of courtesy, not neccssardy implying relation-
ship, employed by kings and other i)ers()ns of high rank of one another.
So Henry add'-'sses Katherine as cousin in Jli'iir;/ ]'. , V, ii, 4, and
Hotspur speaks of "Cousin (ilendower," I Henry IV., Ill, i, 3.

850. lost. Forgot.

858. for spoiling of. Cf. the same construction in Shakespeare,

Sonnet, iii :

The which he will not e\ ery liour survey,
l''or hluiitin^' the fine point of seldom pl(?asure.

and Tifi) (!( ntlcnicii of V(ron(i, 1, ii, 130: "Yet here they shall not lie
for catching cold."'

887. Earl William. The Douglas who was stabbed by James II.
Cf. note on 549 above.

«t • ir<l<iiM>l

[Canto

A Sir John
the reign of

mate ' must
.y's Battle of

de" in the
; cf. tlie use
I, i, ISO, ff. :

ye?

, 153.

ing reliition-
oiie .'mother.
', ii, 4, and
i, ,S.

Shakespeare,

shall not lie
y James II.

THE LADV OF THE LAKE.

('ANTr) VI.

301

7. battled. ' Battletnented,' as in II, 702.

9. the kind nurse of men. (jf. 'J Henry IV., Ill, i, 5: "O gentle
sleep, natui'e's soft nnrse."

34. stored. " Alnmdantly heaped, The poet might have found a
happier word than stored, which is ndsusetl in such a connexion, but it
is characteristic of him not to mar the vigour of his delineation by too
nice a search for the apt word" (Minto).

43. " 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 scmietimes at variance with feudal princi])les. It flowed
from the Patria PoteKt(ts, exercised by the eliieftain as representing the
original father of the whole name, and M^as often o])eyed in contradic-
tion to the feudal superior. James V. seems first to have introduced,
in addition to the militia furnished from these sources, the service of a
small nundjer of mercenaries, who formed a body-guard, called the
Foot-Band. The satirical poet. Sir David Lindsay (or tlie person who
wrote the prologue to his play of the ' Three Estaites '), has introduced
Finlay of the Foot- Band, who, after nuicli swaggering u})on the stage,
is at length put to flight by the Fool, who terrifies him by means of a
sheep's skull upon a pole. I have rather chosen to give them the harsh
features of the mercenary soldiers of the period, tlian of this Scottish
Thraso. These partook of the character of the Adventurous Companions
of Froissart or the Condottieri of Italy.

"One of the best and liveliest traits of such manners is the last will
of a leader, called (JefFroy Tete Noir, who having ))een shghtly wounded
in a skirmish, his intemperance brought on a mortal disease. When he
found himself dying he sunnnoned to his bedsivle the adventurers whom
he commanded, and thus addressed them : —

" 'Fayre sirs, quod GefFray, I knowe well ye have alwayes served and
honoured me as men ought to serve their soveraygne and capitayne, and
I shal be the gladder if ye wyll agre to have to your capitayne one that
is discended of my Ijlode. Behold here Aleyne Vxnix, my cosyn, and
Peter his brother, who are men of amies and of my blode. I require you
to make Aleyne youre capitayne, and to swere to hym faythe, obey-
saunce, love, and loyalte, here in my presence, and also to his brother :

"■h.

302

NOTES ON SCOTT,

[Canto

howf )»r it, r wyll tliat Alcyne liiive the soveraygne charge. Sir, (jiiod
thoy, we ;irc wrll ('((iiteiit, for yc liiuive right wt.'U chosen. 'I'here .all
the coinpiinyoii.s iiKule them seniyaant to AU;yno IJonx and to IVter his
l)rother. Wlien all that %\a3 done, then (>'etrrayc s])ake agayne and
sayde, Nowe, sirs, ye liaue ()l)eyed to n»y pleasure, I canne yon great
thanke ; Avherefore, sirs, 1 wyll ye hauo parte of that ye liauo liolpen to
coiKjuere : T saye unto you, that in yonder chest that ye see stande
5'^onder, therein is to the sum of xxx thousande fraidces ; 1 will giue
them aceordyuge to my conscyence. Wyll ye all be c(uitent to fulfyll my
testament ; howe saye ye? Sir, (|Uod they, we be right well content to
fulfyll your commauudemcnt. Thanne fh'st, (|iu)(l he, I wyll and giue
to the Cha})ell of Saynt Cieorge here in the Castell, for the reparacious
thereof, a thousande and fyue hundred frankes; and I gyue to my
louer, Avho hath truly served me, two thousande and fyue hundred
frankes ; ami also 1 gj'ue to Aleyne lloux, your iiewe capitayne, foure
thousande frankes ; also to the varlettes of my chamber, I gyue live
hundred frankes ; to myne olhcers T gyue a thousand and fyne hundred
frankes ; the rest 1 gyue and bequeth as I shall shevve you. Ye be
V])on a thyrtie companyons all of one sorte ; ye ought to be bretherne,
and all of one alyaunce, withoute debate, ryotte, or stryfe amouge
you. All this that I haue shewed you ye shall fynde in yonder cheste :
I wyll that ye departe all the resydue ccpially and truely })itwene
you thyrtie ; and if ye be not thus contente, but that the deuyll wyll
Set debate bytwene you than beholde yonder, is a slronge axe: breke
up the coffer and gette it who can. To those wordes euery man
answered and said, Sir ami dere maistcr, we are and shall l)e all of one
accorde ; Sir, we haue so moche loued and douted you, that we wyll
breke no coffer, nor breke no noynt of that ye haue ordaynd and com-
manded.' Lord Berners' Froissart, II, 418" (Scott's note).

53. The Flemings came fi'om Flanders, a naturally fertile land, and
in those days very productive as compared with Scotland.

00. halberd. A weapon in which spear and battle-axe were com-
Ijined.

G8. holytide. Here simply lioUdaij.

68. grappled to their swords. "(*f. II, 781, 'their desperate hand
gri}H(l to the dagger.' It may he noted, as showing how Scott searched
for bxie right expression here, that he cancelled in the MS. two tenta-
tives, ' (jrasped for the dagger,' and ' (jrojted for the dagger' " (Miuto).

75. burden. In the sense in which it is employed in II, o92.

,**

[Canto

3. Sir, (juod

1. 1'h-rc Mil

to Potcr liis

agayiic and

le you great

lie liolpeu to

e see standi!

I will giuf

tofulfyllmy

11 content to

yll and giue

! reparacious

,'yue to my

r'ue hundred

tayne, foure

I gyue five

^ue hundred

^ou. Ye be

e hrethernc,

'yfe amonge

ider cheste :

ely bitwene

deuyll wyll

axe : breke

euery man

)e all of one

lat we wyll

k1 and coni-

e land, and

were coni-

lerate hand
•tt searched
two tenta-
' (Minto).

92.

VTJ.

THK LADV OF TlIK LAKE.

303

sn. a chaser of the deer, i.r., a ])<)acher ; cf. 11. l«)l>-7() below.

>... Ci. Thr 7'<iii/h:s/, ill, ii, iL'C. : " will troll you a catfli."

8S. buxom. A Mord meaning originally t/ieh/iiKj or ohedicnt, but in
lilciMture u.scd to indicate pleasing (jualitius of very various character ;
here, firc/i/, as in Ilmrij V., Ill, vi, 'J7 : "buxom valour."

91. swing-ing. To .sicukjh is properly to beat, to lash, cf. Milton's
Uijmns on tlic. Xatifili) : "Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail,"
l»ut the j'resent participle is used as a mere intensive, as in tliis ]»assage ;
so Fieliling speaks of "swingeing damages" ( Jo.si'iili, Andrews), and
Dudley Wai'ner ( Backhxj Studies) of a " swingeing cold night."

92. black-jack. "A large leathern jug for l)eer ; so named from its
resemblance to a ^'uc^--boot, a large boot with a front piece to protect the
knee" (Stuart).

93. the seven deadly sins are pride, idleness, gluttony, lust, avarice,
envy, and anger ; see Faerie Queen I, iv.

95. upsees out. "Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the

Dutch"' (Scott). The word is found in 1-ieaumont and I'letcher's

liajijurs D'lfiJi : "The bowl must be upsey English"; and in Jonson's

Alchemid :

I do not like the fullness of your eye ;
It hath a lieavy cast, 'tis npsee Dutch.

Upsee is said to be a corruption of the Dutch opzi/n, in the fashion of ;
Scott, therefore, uses the word incorrectly here.

10?>. placket and pot. Metonomy for 'women and wine'; placket
means a petticoat.

104. lurch. To lie in wait for, to plunder ; another form of lurk ; cf.
Merry Wires of Wind.-^or, II, ii, 2t) : "1 myself sometimes, leaving the
fear of Ood on tiie left hand . . . am fain to shufllle, to hedge, and
to lurch," and Mariuion II, Introduction, 26 : "The wolf I've seen . . .
with lurching step around me prowl."

lOiK bully-boys. Clood fellows. The New Euijlish Dictionary says
tliat !>ul.'y Willi oiiginally a term of endearment ap[)lied to either sex;
cf. MidsumiiaT Nhjht's Dreaiu, III, i, S: "What say'st thou, bully
r.ottom," Scott, lioh Roy, chap, viii : "You are not the first bully-boy
tliat has said stand to a true man."

124. store of blood, ('f. Milton's L'Alleyro, 121 : "store of ladies."

iti

.1''

304

NOTKS 0\ SCOTT.

[Canto

12!). A description of a " j,'l«'n-m;iiilt'n " may be fouinl in tln' Fair
Maid of Perth, cliap. xi. Stio also iiotti on iir\t line,

181. "The joiitrluurs, or ju<,'gKi's, as we learii from the elaborate moiK
of the late Mr. Slrutt on the S[)orts and Pastimes of the people of
Kn<.,dand, used to call in the aid of various assistants, to render these
performanees as eaptivating as possible. 'IMie glee-maiden was a neces-
sary attendant. Her duty was tumbling and dancing ; and therefore
the Anglo-Saxon version of Saint Mark's (Jospel states TIerodias to have
vaulted or tumbled l)efore King Herod. In Scotland these poor crea-
tures seem, even at a late period, to have been bondswomen to theif
masters. . . . The facetious qualities of the ajjo soon rendered him an
acceptable addition to the strolling band of the jongleur. Ren Jonsori,
in his splenetic introduction to the comedy of * P>artholomew Fail',' is at
pains to inform the audience ' that he has ne'er a sword-and-buekler
man in liis Fair, nor a jugglei-, with a well-educated ape, to come (»ver
the chaine for the King of England, and ]>aek again for the I'rince, and
sit still on his liaunches for the Pope and the King of Spaine ' " (Scott's
note).

144. Cf . Scott's Doom of Derorjoil :

Now give 1110 a kiss, quoth liold Robin Hood,
Now givL' me a kiss, said he,

For there never came maid into merrj' Sherwood
But she iiaid the forester's fee.

152. the tartan screen.

mutlled.

The tartan plaid in which her head was

170. Needwood. A royal forest in Staffordshire.

178. The choice of phrase is probably due to exigencies of rhyme ;
but cf. " do the part of a honest man " {Much Ado, 11, i, J 72).

183. Tullibardine's house. The family of the Murrays of Tullibar-
dine in Perthsliire, some twenty miles from Stirling.

194. lightly. Easily; cf. Tennj-'son. Locl'^mj llnll: " In the spring,
a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love."

l*jy. An errant damosel of yore w^as a damstd in search of a knight to
redress some wrong ; here tlu^'e may be a reference to the Errant
Damzdl of the Faerie (Jticen, III, i, 15 :

All suddenly out of the thicket brush
U]ion a milk-white ]ialfre\' all alone,
A goodly lady did forehy them rush.

[Canto

ill tlif /''((//■

.'il)()r.'ito Mdi k
Am pfopU- (it
render thc.sc
was a neccs-
111(1 therefore
udias to liavc
HO poor croa
men to tluir
tiered him an
Ben Jonsori,
w Fair,' is at
l-and-l)uckler
;o como over
i IVince, and
:ie"' (Scott's

VT].

rUE \.M)\ OF TIIK r.AKK

3o;

er liead was

s of rhyme ;
'2).

i of Tullibar-

u the spring,

f a kniglit to
) tlie Errant

200, high quest. Important enteriaisc ; qurst was the technical
term for an adventure undertaken hv a knight.

2.'}4. barret-cap. A (small llat cai>.

234-0. Cf. IV, rKSO-O, and the note ..n 1\', (JSG.

2r)9-r)2. Cf. Mann'ton. Jntrod. VI, s')-i)| .

\\'e ho'd the kindred title dear,

Even when, percliain'c, its farfetched elaiiii

To Soutln'on ear sounds I'lupty naiuu.

204. Beaudesert. For the pronunciation of tlie last syllable, cf. the
proper name Ch rk (pronounced and often written C/urk) ; the proper
name Dexarl is found.

2!)r>. Leech. Physician; a eoiiimon word in Mer I'higlish : Chaucer,
TroUuH, i, 857 ; Shakespeare, Timoii, V, iv, 84.

.SCO. prore. Prow ; poetic word ; cf. Mat. Arnold's llaiuan Life :
" Cut by the onward labouring vessel's i)rore."

347. Dermid's race. The Campbells, who were hereditary enemies
of the Macgregors of Clan Alpine ; see Legend of Mtjnlnj,i( , chap. xix.

348. "There are several instances, at least in tradition, of perstms so
much attached to particular tunes, as to rcjuire to hear them on their
deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr. Piddel, of
(Jlenriddel, in his collection of Border tunes, respecting an air called tlu;
' Dandling of the Bairns,' for which a certain ( iallovidiau laird is said
to have evinced this strong mark of partiality. It is ]»opularly told of a
famous free-booter that he composed the tunc known liy the name of
Macpherson's Bant, wdiile under sentence of death, and played it at the
gallows-tree. Some sjiirited words have been adapted to it by lliirns.
A similar story is recounted of a ^^'elsh ])ard, who coiujiosed and played
on his deathbed the air called Dafijddij Gnrnjy IVt n. P.ut the most
curious example ia given by I'rantome, of a maid of h.itiour at the Court
of France, entitled ^lademoiselle de Bimeuil " (Scott's note).

battle of Beal' an Duine. "A skirmish actually took place at a
pass thus called in the Trosachs, and clo.sed with the remarkable inci-
dent mentioned in the text. It was greatly ])OSterior in date to the
reign of James V.

"In this roughly-wooded island* the country people secreted their

That, at the eastern extremity of Loch Katrine, no often mentioned in the text.
20

.300

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[(\VN'1(>

wives niid cliildrcii, and their lUd.st v;iliial)l«! ('(ffcts, from tlic I'aitafity
of ( "rininvcli's soldiers, during tluir inroad into tliis country, in tlie time
of tho re[»uldic. Tiiese iinaders, not venturing to ascend by tin; ladders
along tlio side of the lake, toi)k :i more circuitous road, through the
lieart of the Trosachs, tiie most frequented patli at that time, Avhieh
penetrates tho wilderness about half way between Hinean and tho lakt-
by n tract called \'ea(;hilleacli, or tho Old Wife's I>og.

" In one of the defiles of this by-road, tho men of tho country at that
tinu! hung upon tho rear of tho invading enemy and shot one of C'roin-
well's men, "whose grave marks tho scene of action, ami gives name to
that i»ass. In revenge of tiiis insult tho soldiers resolved tt) plundir
the island, to violate tlie Avomen, and put the children to death. With
tliis brutal intention one of tho party, more exjiert than the rest, swam
tiiward the island to fetch tho boat to his oon\rades, which had carried
tho woiiiiu to thi.'ir asylum, and lay inooi'ed in one of tho ei'et ks. ]\'i<
companions stood on tho shore of the mainland, in full view of all that
was to pass, waiting anxiously for his riturii with the lioat. l^ut just as
tho swimmei' had got to tho nearest point of the island, and was laying
hold of a black rock to get on shore, a heroine, who stood on tho very
point ■where he meant to land, hastily snatching a dagger from be-
l(t\v hoi' a])ron, with one stroke severed his head from the body.
His party seeing this disaster, and relin([uishing all future hope f>f
revenge or conijuost, n.ade the best of their way out of their perilous
situation. This amazon's great-grandson lives at Bridge of Turk, who,
besides others, attests tho anecdote.* Sketch of the Sccno'i/ near Caldtn-
(h r, Stirling, 1800, j). *2(). I have only to .add to this account that the
heroine's name was Helen Stewart" (Scott's note).

o77. erne. Eagle.
.S92-3. Cf. IV, 152.
.*}!»(■>. boune. See note on IV, 36.

404. barded. Covered with defensive armour; a word a])plied
properly only to ht)rses ; cf. the Laij, I, 312 :

Searce half the char^'cr's neck was epen
For lie was itarded fruin counter to tail
And the rider was armed complete in mail.

4U5. battalia.
Vi, XX, 20 :

An army^ in battle array ; cf. Scott's J^ord of the Ib'^i,

And in tho pomp of battle bri}?ht
The dread battalia frowned.

Snakespeare uses the word in lUchdrd 111 ., V, iii, 1 1.

[Canto

till' I'iiDacitv
', ill tli«; tiim
y tlu! laddi'i's
tliridi^li tilt!
tiiiii', whioh
uud the lake

untry at tliat

one of C'roiii-

^ivea name to

cl to plundtT

loath. With

10 ri'st, swam

h had carried

(Tot ks. His

ow of all that

, lint just ;»s

lid was hiyiiig

I on the very

'er from he-

in the body.

tare hope of

hoir perih>u.s

f I'lirk, who,

>i<'ar Callan-

ount that tin;

word applied

rd of i/ic Ili.'<,

Tllh LADV OF THK [,AKK,

307

HI. vaward. N'aiiwanl or vanguard; Mk; furin in used hy Shake-
s|MMir, »'.;/ , ll.inii v., \\\ iii, i:{0. Mli/.X'nf/if'.^ Dnniii, !V, j.. ||l), etc.

4i'!i. As. < f. II. ;)•;.

443. twilight wood. (.'f. 40.3 ahove, "The meaning (.f the opithot
can hardly ho, a.s has heeu suy^osted, that 'the appearance of the spears
and i)ike,s was suoh that in the twilight they might have hecii iiiistaktii
at a distaiKH) for a wood.' It means only that the spoars wore so close
aiid numerous as to «hukoii the air for the men who hold thorn up'"
(Miiiti.).

4r)-. Tinchel. " A circle of si)ortsmon, who })y aurrounding a great
space and gradually narrowing, lu'ought imiiionsc ([uantitifs of deer
together, which usually maile desperate etlorts to break through the
f'uirhd" (Scott's note).

See tlu! description in Wmrrli'i/, chap. xxiv.

47'S. lightsome. " Li'jli/soiin' seems here to ip'icate t]w .s|(irit in
which the ai^tioii is perfoniied : i.i'., lightsomely, easily, freol}', in a
light-hearted nuinnor " (Stuart). 'J'his seems a very (hmhtful explana-
tion. Perhaps " lightsome " is used as in the Lai/, II, 3 :

For the f,Tiy bt'iuns of livlitsoiiio day
Gikl, bill to tloul, the ruins ^'ray.

The light is let in among the masses of men, as the deer lot tin; light in
among the hroom-hushes ; cf. 403, and 443 above.

4S7. Bracklinn. See note on II, 270.

488. linn. This word, which means ])i'o]»orly a pool, is used in I, 71,
for ravine, here for the cataract which Hows through the ravine.

514. For this sense of jiart, ef. IT, 94, and note thereon.

olt). passing. Cf. the phra.^e pas.suxj-hell, the bell that is rung at the
hour of death, and Lear, V, iii, 313 : " (), let liim pass,"

538. wont. See note on I, 408.

~)'V.). bonnet-pieces. These wore gold coins issued by James V^., on
Miiieh tlie king's head was rei)resentod covered by a bonnet, instead of
a crown.

stof*.. See 1 , 548, and Jiote.

54-2. Lightly. Cf. 194 above.

. J

SOS

NOTKS (>\ SCOTT.

[Cant<i

rt(]:^. cf. Hi, 4'2s. ir.

r)7<». elenieutal rage. Tln' stdini; f. 'tVni/nst, I. i, IlM : "if you
CHii eomiiiiuiil tlir.si! t Iriiiciit.s t<» hil«'ii('«'," uml l.ini\ III, i, I : " ooiitrud-
iiig with tilt! fn'tful olriiit'iit. "

GIO. Breadalbane. Sco note on I, Ml).

Oil. requiem. 'I'lic M;iss for tin- htaij Ittcaii with the words 7iVf/i//V///
(((li run III t/oini » /'s' Ihiiii'iin' ; liclici: tlic use ot tiu' Word ?vvy/aV//t in this

GM8. storied pane. NN'intlows with scenes depictutl ii[»on them in
atiiiuetl ^lass ; ef. Mm'in'ion, \. Ititrod. IS| :

As llio micii'tit art could sljiiri
Achieveiiu iits on tliu hloricd patii-.

and Milton's // Pi iisi rnso : "storied wiiidoMs richly dight."

Gl'J. collation. I'l-opcrly 'a light nie;d,' also used loosely for any sort
of meal. 'I'lio i^at., citUdlio, means *a luinging together,' 'a conference.'
"The .sense of a light repast t<imes from convents, in ■which the monks
made a d.iily col/n/iun, or reading and discu.saion on Holy^ Writ. This
conference was followed hy a light meal, which accordingly took the
name of cofhi/h)."

0(5.'). of perch and hood, ('.'., of idleness; for "hood," see note on
II, 5-J3-5.

077. The onnssion of /o of the inllnitive after imnf w;is connnon in
Elizahethan English, c.;/., Othello, II, iii, IIIO.

707. at morning prime, llarly in the morning ; properly ]>rinif' is
the lirst canonical hour of ])rayer, G a.m.

7-0. the presence, i.e., the prosence-chamhei-, ef. IJntrji I'll/., III.
i, 17 : " the two great cardinals wait in the presence."

7:57. sheen. Cf. I, 208 and note.

7 to. "This discovery Avill pro])al)ly renniid the reader of the ])eautiful
Arabian tale of Jl linndocititi. \ et tlu; incident is not borrowed from
that tdi'gant story, Imt from Scottish tiadition. James V., of whom we
are treating, was a monarch whose good and benevolent intentions often
rendered his romantic freaks venial, if not respectal)le, since, from his
anxious attention to the interests of the lo\ ^er and most oppressed cLiss
of his subjects, he was, as we have seen, p )pularly termed the Ki)Kj of

I Canto

I : "if von
■ ' roiittrid-

tls Jkd/iliriil

nil in ill this

)ii tlinii ill

■ fui- any sort
confureiice. '
li tlio monks
Writ. Tliis
3'ly took tht'

SCO note on

i c'onmiou ill

irly ]H'ime. is

/ 17//., Ill,

the befvutiful
rrowed from
of wlioni -vvt'
-'iitions often
lee, from his
pressed class
. the Kiuij of

'I III; LAItV OK Tlir, I.AKK.

301)

thr Commons. Kor tho imri)(..so of seeing that justice wf.s re^'iilarlv
udmiiiiaten-d, and fre((ni'ntly from tlie h•^.s justifiaKlo motive of gallan-
try, lio usecl to traverse the vicinage of his Heveral iialaccn in varioun
disguises. The two excellent comio songs entitled, ''ihe (lalierhiii/.io
Man,' and * \N'i;'ll (iae Nao Mair a lloving,' are said to liave huen
fuiindcil upon the succ(!SS of his ainoious ativeiitui-t^s whtn 1 la v.IIing in
the disguise of a hcggar. 'I'hc latter is pcrliaps thr l)c«t coinii; haliad in
any language" (Scott's note).

Scott, in Ins note, given at length some traditional adventures of
James in di.sguise. One of these stori-s as told in TnU'ii of (t, Ih-tind-
father, chap, xxvii, parallel,, the .situation in tho text: "I'pon
another occasion, Jung .laiii' s, Ix ing aloiic and in disguise, fell into
a ((uairel Avith some gyi>sies, or other vagrants, ami ^vas assaulted by
four or hve of them. 'J'iiis clKiiie.tl to he very near tlic l)rid"c of
Cramond ; so the King got on the hridge, uhieh, as it Avas i'igh and
nari'ow, cnahh'il him to defend hiinself \\\i\\ his .swonl agaiiitit the
numher of jxrsoiis l)y -whom he Mas attacked. 'J'hcre Mas a [toor man
threshing corn in a barn n<ar l»y, wlio came out on hcaiing the noise of
the scuillc, and seeing one niin (U'feiiding lui!!self against numhei.-.,
gallantly took the King's pirl Mith his Hail, to such g(»od purpose that
the gypsies were obliged to ily. 'J'hc hiisl)audman tluii took the King
into the barn, brought him a towt 1 and Mater to M;ish the blood from
his face and hands, and (in.illy Malked Avith him a little way towards
Edinburgh, in case he should be again at^n'.'kcil. On the May, tho
King asked his companion M'hat ami Miio he M'as. 'i'l-.e labourer
answered, that his name Mas John lIoMieson, anti that he Avas a bonds-
man on the farm of Braehead, near Cramond, Mhich belonged to the
King of Scotland. James then asked the peor nian if th.cre was any
Avish in the M'(M'ld Mhich he Avould particularly desire should be
gratified ; and honest John confessed he should think himself the
hapi)iest man in Scotland were he ])ut proprietor oi tlic farm on M'hich
he M'i'ought as a labourer. He then a^ked the King, in turn, Avho A«
M'as ; and .lames replied, as iisual, that he mils the tloodmun of J'allen-
giech, a poor man M'lio had a small appointment about tlie jialace ; but
he added, that if John Jlowieson M'ould come to S(^e hiin on the next
Sunday, he M'ould endeavour to repay his manful assistance, and, at
least, give him the pleasure of set ing the royal apartments.

" John put on his best clothes, as you may suppose, and appearing at
a postern gate of the pabicc, in(|uircd for tie (!oo:liiian of I5allengiecli.
Th^ King liad given orders that he should be admitted ; and Johutound

• »■

;Pt

310

NOTES ON SCOTT.

[Cant

his friend, the goochnan, in the same disguise Avhich he liad formerly
worn. 1'lie King, still preserving the eluiracter of an inferior oiUcer of
the household, c(>nd noted John llowieson from one apartment of the
palaee to another, and was amused m ith his wonder and his remarks.
At Icngti. James asked his visitor if he should like to see the King ; to
M'hich John replied, nothing would delight him so nuich, if he could do
so without giving of^\'nce. Tlie Goodmau of Ballengiech, of course,
undertook that the King would not be angry, ' r)ut,' said John, 'how
am I to know his Grace from the nobles who will be ail about him?' —
' ^visily, ' replied his c(mip;inion ; * all the others will be uncovered — the
King alone will wear his hat or bonnet. '

" So speaking, King James introduced the countryman into a great
hall, which was filled by the nobility and otlicers of tlie croMJi. John
was a little friglitened, and drew close to liis attendant ; l)ut was still
unable to distinguish the King. * I told you that you should know him
by his wearing his hat,' said the conductor. 'Then,' said John, after
he had again looked round the room, 'it must be either you or me, for
all but us two are bare-headed.'

"The King laiighed at John's fancy; and that the good yeoman
might have occasion for mirth also, he made him a present of the farm
of Braehead, which he had wished so much to possess, on condition that
John Howieson, or his successors, should l)e ready to present a ewer and
basin for the King to M'ash his hands, when his Majesty should come to
Holyrood Palace, or should pass the bridge of Cramond. Accordingly,
in the year 1S'J2, when George IV. came to Scotland, the descendant of
John Howieson of Braehead, who still possesses the estate w hich was
given to his ancestor, api)eared at a solenui festival, and offered his
Majesty water from a silver ewer, that he might perform the service by
which he held his lauds."

741. wrrath oi' snow. In Scotland icreath is often applied, even in
common j)arlai:ce, to heaps of drifted snow.

783. read. Cf. V, 334, and note.

7S9. "William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the

fifteenth century, calls Stirling Gastle Snowdoun. Sir David Lindsay

l>estows the same epithet u[)on it in his coniplaint of the Papingo : — •

' Anion, fair Sna\v(lonn, with Ihy towers liig^h,
Thy chai>le-ruyal, jtark, and taUIo round ;
May, .Iinic, and July, would 1 dwell in thee,
Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound,
Whilk doth againe thy royal rock rebound.'

[CAN-r

()

1(1 formerly
ur ollicer of
ncnt of the
is remarks.
3 King ; to
he could (In
of courpe,
lohn, ' how
>ut him?' —
)vered — the

into a great
DWii. John
)ut was still
I know him
John, after
a or me, for

10(1 yeoman
of the farm
ndition that
■j a ewer and
luld come to
^ccordindv,
ascendant of
! ^\ Inch was
offered his
e service by

lied, even in

iddle of the
vid Lindsay
,pingo : —

VI]-

TFIK LADY OF TIIK LAKK,

311

"Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of Sir David Lindsay's
works, has refuted the chimerical derivation of Suowdoun from Sixd-
(Umj, or cutting. It ia probably derived from the romantic legend
which connected Stirling with King Arthur, to which the mention of
the Rouml Table gives countenance. The ring within which ju.sts were
formerly ijractised, in the castle park, is still called the Hound Table.
Snawdoun is the otJicial title of one of the Scottish Heralds, whose
epithets seem in all countries to have been fantastically adopted from
ancient history or romance.

*'It appears (see note on 1. 740) that the real name l)y which James
was actually distinguished in his private excursions, was the Goodman
of Balknguich ; derived from a steep pass leading up to the (^astle of
Stirling, so called. Bat the epithet would not have suited poetry, and
would besides at once, and prematurely, have announced tlie plot to
many of my countrymen, among whom the traditional stories above
mentioned are still current'' (Scott's note),

84S. vespers. Properly the evening service in churches, as matins ia
the early morning service.

31 'i

NOTES OX WOKDSWORTH.

WORDSWORTH.

WiiJJAM Wordsworth was of York.iiiro lineage; lie himself tella
us that cho Wordsworths "liml ))ecu settled at renistoti iu Yorkshire,
near the sources of the Don, probahly Ix-forc the Nonnan Conquest."
For manygenerations at least his pat(!riial ancestor& had dwelt there as yeo-
men, or small laudeil ]>roprictors. On his mother's side lie was descended
from an old Westmoreland family, fi is northern origiiisliowed itself very
clearly both in his pliysical ai.d mental fi-an)e. On those were strongly
stam2)ed many of the well-detinetl peculiarities associated with that
sturdy and sterling race, doubtless largely Norse in origin, which
inhabits tlie noithcru counties of l^ngland aiu'. the Lowlands of Scotland.
As the life of his ancestors, so was liis own individual life closely boimd
up with the northern £;liires to Avhich he belonged, and more especially
with that part of them known as the Lake District. This covers an
area of some 80 by 25 miles, and iu'ludes Avitliin its limits sixteen lakes,
tarns and streams innumerable, sea coast, river (istuaries, and moun-
tain.s rising to the height of r>(tOO fi et. Here graceful beauty and wild,
rugged grandeur are closely inteiiningled. "Indeed, nowhere else in
the world, perhaps, is so much varied beauty to be found in so narrow
a space." In Wordswortli's time it was scarcely less exceptional in
the character of its inhabitants. " ])rawii in gi-eat part from the strong
Scandina\ian stock, they dv.rll in a lainl solemn and beautiful as Norway
itself, l)ut witl'.out Norway's rigour and ])enui'y, and with lakes and
happy rivers instead of Noiway's inarming melancholy sea. They ai'e
a mountain folk ; but their mountains are no precipices of insuperable
snow, such as keep the dwellers of some Swiss hamlet shut in ignorance
and stagnating into idiocy. These ])arrici's divide otdy to concentrate,
and environ only to endear ; their guardianship is but enough to give an
added unity to each group of kindred homes. And thus it is that the
Cumbrian dalesmen have alloi-dcd perhaps as near a realization as
human fates have yet allowed of the ruial society inch statesmen
desire for their ciumtry's greatness. They have given an example of
su))stantial comfoi't stri'nuous'y won ; of home afl'ections intensified by
in(lei)endent strength ; of isolation without ignorance, and of a shrewd
simplicity; of an heriditary virtue Ashich iukmIs no su^iport from fan-
aticism, and to which honour is more than law." (Myers' Wonisioortli.)

On the northern borders of this district, at ( 'ockermouth, Cumberland,
William Wordsworth was born April 7th, 1770. His grandfather h:i 1
been the lirst of the race to leave Yorkshire and buy for himself a

himf3elf tella
ti Yorkshire,
L Conquest,"
; there as yeo-
as descended
ed itself very
rerc. strongly
i with that
rigin, which
5 of Scotland.
;losely bound
ire especially
lis covers an
dxtceu lakes,
i, and moun-
ity and wild,
vhere else in
iu so narrow
xoeptional in
mi the strong
tulas Norway
Ih lakes and
!a. They are
>f insuperable
:, in ignorance

concentrate,
igh to give an
it is that the
realization as
ch statesmen
u example of
intensitii'd by
1 of a shrewd
)ort from fan-

Wordsicorth.)

Cumberland,
jidfather hail
for himself a

III

THE LAKE DISTRICT,

To PACE PACE 3ia

LIFE.

313

small estate in Westmoreland. The poet's father was an attorney aiul
law-agent to Sir James Lowther, afterwards Karl of Lonsdale. In 1778
the poet's mother died, .and William, along uith an elder brother, Avas
sent to the uncient Grammar School of llawkesliead, a secluded and
primitive village in the midst of the Lake District. 'I'he conditions at
this simple and old-fashioned schof)l were very different fi-om those
surroundMig boys either at any of the great public scIiodIs or at
])rivate boarding-schools. Freedom and simplicity particularly charac-
terized Wor;lsworth's school days. Tiiere was neitlier pressure of work
within the class-room nor*that of'tradition and public opinion outside of
it, such as belong to the English public schools ; on the other hand, the
close supervision and conlinement which usually belong to a private
school, A re absent. The boys loilged with the cottagers of the village,
and grew inured to the simplicity of their lives. After school hours
each boy must have been, in the main, free to follow his own devices.
No conditions could have been more suitable to Wordsworth's tem-
perament, or more favourable to the development of his strong indivi-
duality. Finally, and most important of all, liaA\keshead lay in the
midst of a ])eautiful and varied country, with whose diffVirent aspects
their favourite amusements must have made the boys very familiar.
Their sports were not of the elaborate, competitive character of later
times, but took the form of raml)les on the mountains, boating and
skating on the laVes, nutting and fishing. In these Wordsworth, a
vigorous and hea ..liy boy, greatly delighted. There was probably
nothing aboiit him, at this period, which Avould mark him out, either to
himself or to others, as diff'erent from, or su})erior to, his school- fellows.
(Jue peculiarity he did, however, possess to a vury extraordinary degree
— sensitiveness to the aspects of nature. Not that he went mooning
.about, a'ter a precocious fashion, in search of the picturesque. The
.irdinary round of daily life kept him in contact with nature in sonic of
her most beautiful and impressive forms, and produced upon his, in
this regard, receptive mind etFects of a most potent ami })ei'nianent kind.
It kept him in close contaet, too, Mith the common people, with the
"statesmen," the shepherds, and peasants of the district; and from
these two sources, nature and the life of the people, he drew the
material of his later works.

In October, 17S7, Wordsworth entered the University of Cambridge
thromrh tlie kindness of his uncles, for his father had been dead some
years. His collegiate life contributed but little to his development.
His character was at once strong and narrow, only pliant to congenial

r.\\

iii'-^t

lii

311

NOTKS ON WORDSWORTH.

iiifluences. He himself said that his p"culiar faculty was geniua — hy
which he meant creation and production from witliin — not talent, tlio
capacity of assimilation and appropriation from without. Wordswortli's
fruitful knowledge came to him direct from observation and meditation.
He seems, accordingly, to have gained little from the regular studies and
teaching of Cambridge ; nor did he find any special stimulus, as many
have done, in the social opportunities which it atl'ords. In colicgc society
his powershad no opportunity to show themselves ; nor did he form
any very intimate or influential friendships. Not that he was, during
this period, a recluse ; he took his share in ordinary college life ; l)ut at
college, as at school, he would probaldy not have impressed an onlooker
as being in any respect superior to the average student. By degrees,
however, he himself became aware of his special powers, and felt the
call to the poetic vocation. In 1784 he Avrote his first poem, An J'Jrming
]V(iIk, which was not published until 1793. Among the most important
events of his external life may be inimbered his pedestrian tours.
"Wandering, he tells us, was with him an inborn passion ; and it was one
in which he indulged throughout his life. In 1790 he with a fellow
collegian made a three months' tour of France, Switzerland, Northern
Italy and the Rhine. These were stirring days on the Continent ; the
year before, the Bastille had fallen, and Wordsworth sharetl, as did
most intelligent young Englishmen of his time, in the joy which
welcomed the new birth of liberty. As yet, however, natural scenery
exercised over him a more powerful influence than hunuin affairs. The
impressions of tiiis journey are recorded in Descriptive Sketches, a poem
which was not written, however, until two years later.

In the beginning of 1791, he took the B.A. degree. His friends
wished him to enter the church, but he was reluctant, although he had
no definite views of his own. He lingered in London for three months,
noting men and things in the keen, meditative fashion natural to him ;
he made a tour in Wales ; he tliought of writing f(jr the newspapers.
At length he determined to spend a year in France, in order to master
the language, with the idea that he might turn it to account in the
ca])acity of a travelling tutor. This stay in France had a very important
influence on the poet's development. To escape English society, he
went to Orleans. His chief companions there were some French oflicers
who were, most of them, partisans with the old regime. One, however,
(leneral Beau[)uis, was a lofty aiul enlightened sympathizer with the
Ke volution ; and through him Wordsworth soon came to take a iimt'ound
interest in the great struggle going ou about him. He was in Paris

tIFK.

:nr)

(jrniun — l)y

t talant, tho

'onlswortli's

meditation.

r studies and

Ills, as many

lle^c society

did he form

was, during

life ; l)ut at

an onlooker

By degrees,

and felt tlie

, An Ercnhuj

st important

itriau tours.

id it was one

'itli a fellow

d, Northern

ntinent ; the

ired, as did

3 joy whieh

ural scenery

ailairs. The

'.ches, a poem

His friends
lOUgh lie had
iree montlis,
ural to him ;
newsjjapers.
or to master
ount in the
ry important
, society, he
ench ollicers
lie, however,
;er with the
e a jirofound
Yas in Paris

shortly after the September Massacres, and fo^t so deeply the importance
of the crisis that he was on the point of throwing himself personally into
the contest on the side of the moderate republicans ; but he was under
the necessity, prol)ably through lack of money, of returinng to England.
Change of place did not cool his sympathies. The bloodshed and out-
rage which accompanied the Revolution and which alienated many of its
admirers, Wordsworth with clearer insight perceived to be not the out-
come of the new spirit of freedom, but of the oppressions of ages. But
when, in the spirit of the era which was supposed to be forever past,
the new republic proceeded to embark on a career of conquest : abroad
crushed the liberty of Switzerland, and at homo began to develop into a
military despotism, Wordsworth lost his hope of tho future and faith in
liumanity. A period of deep depression followed, from which he at
length, though slowly, recovered. In fact, he passed through a crisis
such as befalls many thoughtful men, such as is recorded in the biogra-
pliies of Carlyle, and of John Stuart Mill ; and such as in familiar life
often takes the religious form popularly styled " conversion." Faith in
onci's own future or the future of the world is shattered, and new truths
li.ive to be apprehended, or old truths more vitally realized, in onler
that the man may once again set out on h' j life's cour.se with some ch si
and with some aim. The peculia' iy of Wordsworth's case is that his
crisis took place in connection with the greatest event of modern
history, not with a merely individual experience ; and, secondly, in the
])eculiar source where he found healing — not in books or tho teachings
of others, not in what would be ordinarily called a religious source,
but in a revelation and healing that came to him direct from visible
nature, and from contemplating the simple lives of the "statesmen '' and
aliepherds of his native mountains. The poet's hopes ceased to centre
around any great movement like the French Revolution, and he per-
ceived that, not in great political movements, but in the domestic life of
the simple, unsophisticated man, is the true anchor for our faith in
humanity and our confidence in the future of the race.

Meanwhile, his life had been unsettled, and his prospects uncertain,
ruexpectedly, early in 1795, a solution of his difficulties as to the choice
of a profession came in the shape of a legacy from a young friend,
kaisley Calvert, who had insight enough to perceive the genius of
Wordsworth, and left hini £900 to enable him to follow out the jjronipt-
ings of this genius. With the strictest economy and utmost plainness of
living, Wordsworth judged that this wouhl suffice to maintain him ; and
he determined to devote himself unreservedly to what he felt was his

V 1

111

■Hf

1 !

1 ^

Mir

an;

NOTFS ov wonnswouTn.

true vocation— poetry, lie combined his scanty means with those of
Ilia sister Horotliy ; they reckoned from all sources upon a joint income
of £70 or ,CSO a year. Dorothy Wordsworth merits, even in tlu; briefest
sketch of her brotlier's life, at least a passinj^ notice. She shared all his
tastes and much of his genius. She was one (»f the " dund) poets."
She had all her brotlier's insight into nature, all tlie feeling's "vvhich
belon^"'(l to his poetic cndownu'ut ; but 1 he instrunu'iit of verse she never
ni;'stered, oi-, ](erhaj>s, did not seek to master; for she devoted licr whole
]'*'. unsellishly to him. His sist(!r Dorothy and the poet Coleridge were,
11* tells us, the only persons wlio exerted a profound influence on hia
*n>i' Mial and poetical developnuuit.

Tt vs-.n in WM'} that Wordsworth l)ecanic acquainted with Coleridge ;
the two nu'ii had many interests and opinions in common, and a close
friendship sprang u}) between them. Jii order to be near Coleridge the
WordsAVorths rentcnl a house at Alfoxden, in Somcrsetsiiire, in July,
171)7. The two mem exercised an iulluence upon each other highly
favourable to their intellectual and poetic activity. They planned a
volume of poems to wliich each sliould contril)ute. The result was the
L>iri'-nl ItalUidx, one of the most notable publications in the history of later
English ])oetry. Coleridge fuinished four poems, — TJw Ancient Marinery
and three smaller pieces. The bulk of Wordsworth's contriljutions was
nnich greater ; and tliis vohim'e was the lirst of his writings to tnanifest
the peculiarities of his gmiiis and the greatness of hia power. It
'n\c\\\i\M\t\\o, Lines Com po.^id itliorc Tiiilcrn Ahhei/, The Thorn, Expostu-
lation and f^epfi/, The Tnhlis '/'iiiiifd, Lines Written in Earhj Sprinij, etc.
It was in ITOS that the Liirical lUtlJads were issued ; in autunni of the
same year Wordsworth, bis sister, and C'oleridge sailed to (iermany.
The visit had no s})ecial iulluence upon Wordsworth, Avhose time was
mainly en'ployed in writing poems thoroughly English in character. In
the following spring they returned home. In December, 17D9, the
brother and sister settled down in Dove Cottage, Crasmere, and Words-
worth entered upon a course of life which varied but little during the
many years that remained to him. Poetic composition and the contem-
plation of nature formed the staple of his regular occupations. Of the
character of his daily life, the best idea is to be obtained from his
sister's diaries, from which large excerpts are given in Knight's Life of
the ]»oet. Tlie following extract may serve as a sample; it is dated
Saturday, May 1st, 1802:

"A clear sky. ... I sowed the tlowcrs, William helped me. We
went and sate in the orchard. ... It was very hot. William wrote

LIFE.

317

'ith thoan of
j<»int iiu'oino

Um! l)fi(lf(!St

i.'irod all liis
mill) I)(H;t8."
'liii<,'.s -whicJi
SI! .she never
'<1 lier whole
L'ridge were,
lence on his

1 Coleridge ;
, and a eloso
'oleridge the
re, in July,
'tiler highly
y idanned a
suit was the
Kt(»iy of later
cut Mariner,
ibutions was
i to Tiianifest
power. It
ru, Expostu-
^pr'nKj, etc.
tunin of tlie
o (Jerniany.
se time was
iracter. In
, 171)9, the
and Words-
during the
the conteni-
is. Of the
d from his
[ht's Life of
it is dated

I me. We
lliam wrote

Tli(\ Celnndh)e. Wo planned a shed, for the ann was too mu'h for us.
After dinner wo went again to (»iir oM reHting-[)!a';e in tlie liulliin under
the rock. We lirst lay under tlie holly, where we saw notliing but the
trees, and a Itudding elm nio.sserl, Avitii the sky ah()\': f)ur heads, liiit
that holly-tree had a l»eauty about it more tlian '"s , wn. . . , When
the sun liad got low enougli we went to the roek ah dj. Oh, the over-
whelming beauty of the vale below, greener than g.i'n. 'I'wo ravens
flew higdi, high in the sky, and the sun shone ujm.ii their bellies and
their wings, long aft<;r then; was none of his light to be seen but a little
space on the top of Loughrigg i''ell. Ileanl the eui.'koo to-d;iy, tiiis lirst
of May. We went down to tea at eight o'clock . . . and returned after
tea. 'i'ho landscape was fading: shetip and l.unlis (juiet among the
rocks. We walk(!d towards Kini,''s, and l)a(;kwards and forwards. The
sky M'as ])erfectly cloudless. . . . 'i'hree solitary stars in the middle of
the blue vault, one or two on the points of the high hills."

In 1802 he married ^la. ^ H chinson, whom he liad known since
childhood; l»ut this even sea ly interrnpteil tlie even tenor of his
way. He had a few inti. '.a. > fncads, such as Coh-ridge and Sir (Icorgc
Beaumont, and in time li:' wiitirigs drew younger men to visit him,
DeQuincey, Wilson (" 'Jhn.^topiier North"), and even to take up their
residence in his neiLd) i^' ood. lUit, on the whole, his life during his
prime was the life of a recluse. Nor, with his humbler neighbours,
though interested in their welfare, wis he on terms of genial interccnirse
such as marked the relations of Scott to those al)out him. He was,
in short, self-centred, wra[)ped ui) in his own thoughts —a reserved
man, with a cold and absent-minded extetii»r. "He wasn't a man as
said a deal to common folk," said one of these eommon folk to an
eiKjuirer, " })ut he talked a deal tohissen." "He was not a man that
folks could crack M'i','' sai<l another, " nor not a man as could crack wi'
folks." In old age, when ho became famous, he saw sometliir.g of liter-
ary society in London, and tiie impression which he nuide on a very
keen, but in this case not very favoural)le, observer, may be quoted : —
" During the last seven or ten years of his life, Wordswortlv felt himself
to be a recognized lion in certain considerable I.oiiilou circles, and was
in the habit of coming up to town "with his wife for a month or two
every season to enjoy his quiet triumph and collect his bits of tribute
tales (fuiles. . . , Wordsworth took his bit of lionism very (piietlj',
with a smile sardonic rather than triumphant, and certainly got no harm
by it, if he got or expected little good. For the rest, he talked well
in his way ; with veracity, easy brevity, and force, as a wise tradesman
would ()f his tools and worksho[), and as no unwise one coidd. His voice
was good, frank and sonorous, though practically clear, distinct, and for-
cible rather than melodious ; the tone of him busiuess-like, sedately con-

318

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

] W

fulent ; no discourtesy, yot no anxiety about Iteing courteous. A fine,
w liolcHonie rusticity, frcsli as liis mountain 1»i'co/ch, .sat well <»n tlu;
stalwart veteran, and on. all he said and did. You would have said In;
was usually a taciturn man ; glad to unlock liiinsclf to audicuice sympa-
thetic and intelligent, when such offered itself. His face bore marks of
much, not always peaceful, meditation ; the lof)k of it not bland or bene-
volent so much as close, inipregnal)le and hard, a man multa tarerc
Inqidrc j>ar<(fiis, in a world where lie had experienced no lack of contra-
dictions as he strode al(»ng. The (^yes were not very brilliant, but tluy
had a (^uiet clearness ; there was enough of })row, and well-shaiu'd ;
rather too much of cheek ("horse-face," I have heard satirists say);
face of scjuarish shape, and decidedly longish, as I think the head itself
was (its "length" going horizontal) ; he was large-boned, lean, l)ut still
tirni-knit, tall, and strong-looking when he stood, a right good old steel-
grey figure, with rustic simplicity and dignity about him, antl a vivacious
strength looking through him which might liave suited one of those old
steel-grey markgrafs whom Henry the Fowler set up to ward the
'narches' and do battle with the intrusive heatheu in a stalwart and
judicious manner." (Carlyle's Jienihiiscences.)

Wordsworth was a philosopher in the antique sense of the word,
shaping his life according to his own ideals, and little regarding the fact
that these ideals were very different from those of men in general. He
found his ha])piness in easily attainable sources — in nature, in his own
work and thoughts, in literature and domestic life. He cared notliing for
wealth or the luxuries which it affords. ' ' Plain living and high thiidcing "
characterized liis life ; his daily fare and home surroundings were but
little superior to those of the peasantry about him. 1'lie only luxury in
which he indidged was travelliug ; he made tours in Scotland, Ireland,
and the Continent, of which his works contain memorials, and the^e,
with frequent visits to friends in England, were among the chief events
of his quiet life. The sinq)licity of the tastes of the household and Mrs.
Wordsworth's careful management enabled the poet to subsist with
comfort upon an income which would have meant harassing poverty to
most men of his class. His works brought him no money ; but the pay-
ment in 1802 of a debt due his father's estate added something to his
resources, and when these proved inadecjuate through the increasing
expenses of his family, he fortunately obtained (1813) through the
influence of the f'arl of Lonsdale the office of Distributor of Stamps for
Westmoreland. This afforded him a sufficient income and did not make
claims upon time and energy inconsistent with his devotion to poetic

>na. A fine,

"••II (HI tlu'

i.ivo H.'iid li((
it'iice syiupa-
orn nijirka of

.unlor Innie-
DiultAi tdcen

k of coiitra-
Liit, but they
vvull-sliaiH'd ;
tirists say) ;

liu.ul itself
an, l)ut still

)<)(l old sLeei-
d a vivacious
of tlioso old
to ward the
jtalwart and

\ the -word,
tling the faet
jeneial. He
}, in his own

1 nothing for
,di thinking"
gs were jjut
ly luxury iu
nd, Ireland,

, and these,
chief events
•Id and JNfrs.
ubsist with
f poverty to
)ut the pay-
thing to his
! increasing
hnnigh the
Stan)ps for
id not make
n to poetic

MI'F..

.•^19

Mork. Tn the fiarao year, iMl,?, he removed from Clrasmcro, wliore In-
had resided for soui<! fduit'-'ii y«'ara (nine of thetn in I)<)V(; ( '■ ttage) 1 >
IJydal Mount, at no great distanei; ; this was his home during the remain
ing tliirty-sevon years of his life.

We have noted the appearance of the first great j)roduct of Words-
uortli's poetical genius, the Lijnral JialUulH, in 17!>8. Tliis volume tc;!!
almost dead from the press. Wonlsworth struck out in new poetic
fields, and marked originality in poetry, clashing as it does with pre-
conceived ideas, is rarely welcomed. In ISOO he published a new and
enlarged edition of the Itttl/iu/.f nm\ prelixt!(l a prose statement of hiaowu
jioetic theory so fuutlamentally ditlerent from accepted notions as to ex-
cite the intense hostility of all the regular critics. The consetpience was
thab each new work of his was received with a chorus of disap[irol)ation
or contempt. The general public were thus prejuiliced ; and the poems
themselves possessed no striking and attractive qualities such as might
liave counttM-acted, among ordinary readers, the influence of accepted
judges, 'j'he neglect of his work was keeidy felt by the poet, who,
however, continued steadily on iu his own fashion, or even exaggerated
the peculiarities which were offensive to the prevalent taste. Meanwhile
these works were read and greatly admired by a discerning few, and
began quietly to gain a hold upon a wider public, until in the poet's old
age this unnoted development suddenly manifested itself in a wide-
s[»read recognition of his genius, " Between the years 1830 and 1840
Wordsworth passed from the apostle of acli(jueinto the most illustrious
man of letters in Englaml. The rai)idity of this change was not due to
any remarkable accident, nor to the appearance of any new work of
genius. It was merely an extreme instance of what must always
occur when an author, running counter to the fashion of his age, has to
create his own public in detiance of tlie established critical prowess.
The disciples whom he draws round him are for the most part young ;
the established authorities are for the most ])art old ; so that by the
time the original poet is about sixty years old most of his admirers
will be al)out forty, and m(jst of his critics will be dead. His admirers
now become his acoredited critics ; his works are widely introduced to
the public, and if they are really good his reputation is secure. In Words-
worth's case the detractors had been unusually persistent, and the
reaction, when it came, was therefore unusually violent." (Myers'
Wordsworth.)

The change in feeling was manifested in inany ways. In 1839
Wordsworth received the honorary degree of D.C.L. from Oxford, and

3-20

NOTES ON WORDHWOHTTT.

on the occasion of its })estnwftl was ■welcoiiunl with great enthiiHiasm.
In 1842 a ju'nsion was oll'cieil to him ; in 18i.S he was niatU^ Port Laure-
ate. 'I'huM full of yuar.s ami honours, and in that saine tnuKiuiliity whidi
marked his life, Wordsworth passed away April 'J.Srd, 1850.

" Every ^-reat ixH't," said AVordsworth, " is a teacher ; T wish to he
consideretl as a tcacluT or as notidng." Wordsworth has, therefore,
a didactic aim in his poetry. Hii|)pily, however, his conception of
teaching was no narrow oiif ; lie did not think that poetry in order to
he didactic, nuist directly jjresent some ahstruet truth, or ho capable of
furnishing' fome moral application ; if a poem kindled the iuiagination, or
stirred the nohler feelin<,'s, it eoMtril)uted in ids opiinon even more to
the (iducation of the reader. His atuiso of the unity and harmony of
things was strong. As in T'nitern Ahhci/, we lind him giving ex[)ression
to his sense of tlie unity of all existi-nce — the setting suns, the round
ocean, and the mind of man being all maiuftstations (tf one and the same
divine spirit — so he believed in the unity and close interconnection of all
the faculties of man. No one faculty could bo stimuhited or neglected
without a corres})oiiding effect ujion the rest. The deliglit, for example,
afforded by the contem})lation of scenery (juickcned, he thouglit, the
moral nature ; wliile tiie man whoso imagination or sense of l)eauty had
remained und»!velope(l must sulfer also from limitations ami weakness
in his ethical constitution. Therefore Ins work is not generally didactic
in tlie ordinary sense, though n(»t infie(piently so ; his poetry may
merely stinndate in'.agination and feeling, and thence educative effects
will steal uimoted into heart and brain.

He was a teacher, tlien ; ])ut Iris teaching did not mainly aim at impart-
ing any particular system of abstract truth, thou>:h this also it may some-
times attempt. It rather sought to elevate and ennoble the whole
character by exhi])iting, and making the reader fei 1, the sources of high
audgeuuine pleasure. It teaches l>y revealing, by stimulating, by elevat
ing. Wordsworth thought that the fountain of the puri'st and highesi
joys lie about us, within the reach of all. The child iinds them every-
where :

Spont.'iiH'OUs joys, wlicri' iiiih.re luts its jiluy,

The .soul udnpts, and <nviis tlieir lirst-lioni .^wuy.

But as we grow older the world imposes on us with its lower allure-
ments — wealth, luxury, and)ition — A\hi(h didl our jierceptions and de-
grade our will until we become blind and indifferent to the fountains of
the highest happiness and the truest culture. To these, it is Words-
worth's aim in his poetry to lead us back.

OENEnAL f'lTAIlAfTKinMTirs.

321

•MiiliuHirtsni.

I '"ft Ji.-iurc-

iiiliity which

r wish to he
M, therefore,

M(!{!|»ti()U of

y in onhiv to
>o capable ot

at,'ination, or
veil ujoro to

l"iriii(»iiy of
ig rxprt'ssioii
^, tho round
md the same
ncction of all
or neglected
f'>r example,
i-hoii^^rht, the
I beauty had
n<l •weakness
rally didactic
poetry may
jative eli'ects

m at im part-
it may some-
le the whole
iree.s of higli
g, by elevat
and highesi
them overv-

ower allure-
ona and de-
fountains of
t is Words*

The nourooH of tluH happint'Ms and thiM higher eulturn the po. t had in
hirt own porHonal experierieis, when his heart was siik and his behets
Hhatttircd, found in nature, in the liomely round <>f uidinar> dutieH, in
tho domestic afleetions, in tho contemplation of the life of men in its
simplost and most natural form -imong the p(!asantry (»f his native moun-
tains. These things, aeeordingly, are what ho depicts to us in his
poems ; they afl'ord his ])oetic material ; and with all these things his life
titted him to deal. 'J'hey an; not, however, ])resented aimply and for
their own sakis, as the more purely artistic method of Shakespeare oi
Scott would present them. Wordsworth was of strongly meditative and
reflective bent ; what he saw and felt, lie naturally made the basis of
tin, ;ht. Ho was not carried away by his joys ami sorrows, as liurns
and Shelley. His temperament was eool and self-eontaine<l, not emo-
tional and impetuous. Kt)r was he markedly Hymi)atht,tic, forgetting
himself in the life of others. So his po<!try niiithtsr gives expression .sim-
ply to feeling, nor docs it all'.ird puiely objective pictures of men and
women ; it usesthesi; things as nuiterial or .stimulus to thought. Words-
worth does m)t forthwith set down what he has felt or seen ; ho broods
over it and shapes it to moral rather than artistic ends. He is not pas-
sionate or animated ; his jtoems appeal, not to the active ami impe-tuous
man, but to the contemplative and thoughtful — to age ratli(;r than to
youth. In this respect, as in others, he is unlike Scott. Tho latter
centres our attention iipon the i)ietures of men and things which he
unrolls befoi'e us, and rarely intrudes himself or his reflections. lUit
Wordswoith is always in his own poems ; sometimes illegitimatidy
speaking througli the mouths of his characters, more often lurning .'isidi-
to reflect or comment.

With the earnestness of ^\'ordsworth's temperament and the serious-
ness of his aim, playfulness of fancy and deligiit in mere ornament
were scarcely com})atible. Unlike Keats, he had not tlie purely artistic
and sensuoua nature which could solace itself with such things. Sul)-
stance with him was all-inn ortant, and this substance must be truth.
His poetry was based ou the facts of life, and showed

How \orsc may build a throno
On humble truth.

One merit he especially claimed for himself, th vh he kept " his eye on the
subject." Nothing in the ])oets who preceded him irritated him more
than their inaccuracies, — for exa) iple, in the del 'leation of natural scenes,
their conscious sacritice of truth for the sake of what they considered

I) p ) 1

li'l

NOTES ON WOK DS WORTH.

poetic effect, as exeinpliliod, for instance, in their pastoral ymetry. Tin
same spirit wliich demanded truth in matter called for simpliuity
and directness in style. He aimed at keeping the reader's eye also on
the subject, and did not blur the clearness of the outline of his theiiK
for the sake of the charm of ornament and of technical display. Hence,
his style, at its l)cst, is marvelloiisly direct, chaste, and effective ; and, ut
its worst, tends to prosaic baldness and triviality. So simple, so fn c
fnmi every needless excrescence, st) perfectly adapted to tlie thought,
is VV^)^dsworth's expression in his happier moments, that Matthew
Arnold has affirmed that he has no style, i.e., the words are so perfectly
appropriate that they seem to come from the object, not from the writi i'.
"Nature herself seems," says Matthew Arnold, "to take the pen out
of his hand, and to v/rite for him with her own bare, sheei% penetrating
jiower. This arises from two causes : from the profound sincereness
with which Wordsworth feels his subject, and also from the profoimdly
sincere and natural cliaracter of the subject itself. He can and will
treat such a subject with nothing but the most plain, lirst-haud, almost
austere naturalness."

The greatness of \Yoidsworth and the siguiticance of hi& poetry can
only be adecjuately conceived v/heii his position in the development ct
llnglish literature has been examined. The tyjncal and accredited
])oetical style of the preceding age is represented by I'ope. That poetry
sought to instrui ' or to please the intellect, rather than to stimulate t]ir
imagination or to touch tlie emotions. It put greater stress upon stylo
and form than upon matter ; and, in style, it aimed at elegance, poli^sli,
and epigrammatic force. It took much thought for dignity and pro-
priety ; and its ideas of dignity and propriety were narrow. Thus it
limited the range of its themes, and feared especially the "low" ainl
commonplace. 'I'his tendency affected not only its matter but its
language. It avoided, as far as possible, the language of real life, and
to escape ordinary words had recourse to vapid periphrases. One result
of the narrowness of the range of vocabulary and imagery was that botli
became utterly hackn'-yed.

Against all these peculiarities the genius of Wordsworth natnrallv
revolted. He found his model, in as far as he had one, in lUirns, a ]><ii t
outside recognized iiteraiy circles -a man of the people. But the fiut
that existing taste was lormed ujton such poetry as has just been char
aeteri/(;d, and that stan(lar<ls based up(tn it were being constantly
applied to his own poetry, intensilled his dislike oi the elder fasliioii,
and led him to intensify the novel peculiarities of his own poems.

cjk\p:ral charactehisttcs.

323

•ill poetry. 'I'li,
I for siinplicjiy
er's eye also uu
lie of liis tluiii.
li splay. Heiur
Hective ; and, ;it
r> simple, so f?-. v
to the thoTiutit,
that Matthew
are so perfectly
from the writu',
ike tlie pen out
eei', pelletrat^Il^
luul sincereiicss
tlie i)rof()uii(lly
\c can and will
st-liand, alniust

his poetry can
development ot

and acereditcd
e. That pocti\
to stimulate tlir
ress upon style
ilegance, polisl:.
ignity and pn.-
irrow. Thus it
;he "low" aii,l
natter but its
f real life, aiul
jes. One result
' was that bdtli

lie M.'iH a cotiHt'ious f(.'lifl against autliority, and naturally gave tin- less
weight to considerations whieh mighl ])e ui'ged in favour of the old and
against the new. Hence, in his theory, and not schhtin also in practice
he carried these peculiarities t><> extremes.

In conclusion, two or three great s«'rvices of Wordsworth as a poet
may l>e enumerated. He opened the eyes of his own generation and
still continues, in a lesser degree, to oi)en the eyes of readers t)f the
present day to the l)eauties of nature, and to the fund of consolation
and joy that may there be found. He showed that we do not need to
go to distant lands and remote ages for poetic material, that ])oetry lies
aliout us, in our own age, in ordinary lite, in eommon»)lace men and
women. And he overthrew the stilted conventional style of the poetry
which was in the ascendant, and showed that tlie highest jioetry might
be simple, direct, and plain.

BlBLlOGUAPiTV. — Tiife by Christopher Wordswortli ; a fuller one by
I'rof. Knight ; excellent shorter sketch with criticisms by Myers {Etuj.
M' n of Lettrr.'i) ; Wordsworth's autobiogi'aphical poem, 77/r J'n hu/c, is
of the highest value for ])i(>graphical jjurposes ; much use is made of it
liv Legouis in his excellent Etrrii/ Life of Word.ncorlh. Works — full
critical ed. by Knight, 8 vols.; ed. by Howdeii, 7 vols.; in one vol.,
with introd. by Morley (Macmillairs Glul/e Libranj). Critical essays
are very numerous ; Wordsworth's prose preface to the Lyrical Bidhuh
sliould be read in connection with Coleridge's Biographic Lifirarid,
cha[»s. v., xiv., xvii.-xxii. ; among best essays by other writers are those
hy M. Arnold (Introd. to Select, from \VordsvH)r(]i), \.o\\e\\ {A)noiiij Mij
/loiiLs), K. H. Hutton {EsHCHjfi on Literary Criticism), Leslie Stephen
\ Hours in a Ijihrary, iii), Caird {Essays on Literature and Pliilosoj'hii),
Principal Shairp, Masson, etc.; Wordsworthiana is a vol. containing
{)apers by members of the Wordsworth Soc. ; the one vol. ed. of Avorks
mentioned above has a bibliography. The best volume of Selections is
that by iJowtlen, with introduction and notes {(iinn & ('o,).

r^orth natural 1\
u Burns, a po. t
Hut the faet
just heen char
'ing con.stantl\
i elder fashion,
lis own poeni.s

324

NOTES ON >VOI{1)SWOHTH.

'|0 MV SISTKH.*

This poem was f()iiii)<).sf(l in the. s|>riii<^ <»f ITl'N, in front of Alfoxdou
House (seep. .SKi al)()V(0, near Nttlur Stout v; it was inchuletl in the
Liiriral Ba/ldds pul)lishe<l during tlie same year. The poet notes:
"My little boy-messenger on this oceasion [the JCdward of 1. 13] was
the son of Basil Montague. Tiie larch mentioned in tlie first stanza was
standing when I revisited the place in May, 1841, more than forty years
after." The sister addressed is, of course, Dorothy \\'ordsworth (see
p. *il6 above).

The poem exemplilies Wordswor'th's sense of tlu; eonnnunity between
Uian and naturt; ; the aii", tlie trees, the fields seem to feel as man feels.
It also exhibits his sense of the power of nature in moulding and elevat-
ing character, and proclaims the value of a passive enjoyment of hei
spirit and l)eauty. Such enj lyment may seem idleness, but it is idle-
ness more productive thiui is the I'estless analysis of mere intellect
(which the world at large calls useful, employnu'Ut) inasmuch as it in-
duces a proper temper and frame of miiul, — more needful, in the poets
o])inion, for right thinking than are logic and reasoning power.

IS. Our calendar shall not be a conventioiuil one, but shall be deter-
mined l)y the actual course of nature ; this is exenqtliiied in the next
two liu'.s.

'2(). In the edition after IS.'U this line is amended into

"Thiin years of tnilinj,'' reason."

o3. Cf. the passage in ThUoru A>il>< y i\\wteK\ in the note on NuttiiKj,
below.

KXroSTTLAI ION AND KEIMA .

The dates of composition and })ul)licatioa are the same as in the
preceding i)oem. "The lines entitled Erfiostulathin and Jt'phf, an4
tlu)se which foli(jw, arose out of a conversatitui with a friend who was

*The text of Wordsworth printed in this voliuue is that of Matthew Ariiold'.-i
Si'lectiotis, l)iU, the interestiiitr and inijHirtant variants (and in tlie course of his loriii
life, the poei fre(|uently aUered his text) are ^dven in the notes. Professor I lowden
says (Preface to I'ln'ni.s hi/ Wordi^irorth): " Matlhrw .Arnold's choice of jioenis uas
excellent ; his choice of texts was not judicious ; jirohahly liis own early associations cf
plea-^ure was with that inferior text. In some instances he did what wiis illeyitiinnic
he silently nianufaetiiiid a text of his own, such as Wordsworth had iie\er sain
tinned or seen, hy piecinu' toL,'ethi r readinirs from more editions than one." An exam
inatioii of the various readings fii.en in the present \olunie. will prohahly convince the
reader that the poet's later ciia i^'es were nearly always, though not invariahlj,
iinprovenients.

it of Alfoxdeu
icluded in the
3 p<M3t notes :
. of 1. 13J was
rst stanza Ava.s
an forty yeaiK
>rclsworth (set

unity between
1 as man feels,
ng and elevat-
)ynient of her
)»ut it is idle-
niero intellect
nueli as it in-
[, in tlie poet's
)wer.

shall he deter-
d in the next

e on NuttiiKj,

aine as in the
ul licphj, ail' I
I'ieud who w.is

latthew Arnold'.s
oiwse of hin loni;
'rofessor Powilrn
ce of jioenis was
rly associations if
- was ilk'L;itiiiiaif
had never saiir
one." An txaii!
ably convince the
I not invarialil),

THK T.\nLKS TURXED.

325

somewhat unreasonably attached to modern hooks of moral philosophy."
(\yordsworth.)

The 'expostulation' i.s })ut in the nnnith of " .Matthew." a Dersonarre
who appears in other poems also, and seems to ho modelled upon the
[)oet's old schoolmaster at Haweshead, William Taylor ; it i.s addressed
to "William," who is the poet himself,— at least the 'reply' e)n])odies
Ids peculiar ideas.

This poem is a sort of defence of the "idleness" which is recom-
mended in the previous piece.

13. Esthwaite Lake. A lakelet, about Imo miles long, west of
Windermere, and in the immediate neighbourhood is Jlawdieshead,
where Wordsworth went to school ; see map.

THE TABT.E8 TlTR^^KD.

'''om}>osed and pu])lished, as the previous poems, in 1798.

These lines are addressed by 'William' of the preceding poem, to
' Matthew,' and continue the same argument. The point emphasized
here is the superiority of the temper and general character l)egotten
\)\ intercourse with nature, to that produced by a purely intellectual
attitude of mind which is always busied with pulling things to pieces
in order to find the way they arc put together, or with seeking reason
for their existence ; but which does not look at things as they are, or
have any time for feeling about things. The thought which Words-
worth here and elsewhere utters, is partly the outcome of a widespread
reaction against the hard, dry intellectualisni of the ISth century ; an
example of a parallel movement in another sphere is the ujirisal of
Methodism against the pui'cly ethical and logical trend of theology in
the earli-^r part of the century.

9. "Of making many books there is no end ; ami much study is a
weariness of the tiesh " {Et'cle.na.ites, xii, 12).

l',> 20. Truth, the poet believes, is not to be attaiiu-d ])y mere logic ;
it IS the result not of merely mental processes, but of tlie whole nature
of man ; so Tennyson, in fn Meniorinin, cxiii, puts knowledge, which is
tile product of the ihJikI^ beneath wisdom, the outcome of the soul ; cf.
J{>hn, vii, 17: "If any man will ilo liis will, Ik; shall know of the doc-
trine, whether it be of (Jod,"

326

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS.

Written in 1700; lirst published in Coleridge's jx'i-iodieal, The Frieiul,
for Oecemher 28th, LSOO, whoro it follows ('oleridge's ])rose descrijjtion
of skating on the lake at Ratze])urg. Tlie title in The Friend was
ih'ou'th <jf C'niusfrom the iiifliieiices of 2\^(itiiral Ohjecfs on the IiiKnjiii-
((tion, in Boi/hnod and. Enrli/ Youth. This poem forms a part of Words-
worth's long autobiographieal poem, 77m' Prelude (Bk. 1, 11. 401, fi'. ).
It is a reminiscence of the poet's school-days ; the lake is P^sthwaite,
the village, HaMkshead.

"Wordsworth and Nature. Nature, i.e., man's ilwelling-place — the
woi'ld of mountains, fields, lakes, sky, trees, etc. — was a more important
factor in Wordsworth's life than in that, perhaps, of any <<ther poet.
He spent a great part of his time in the contemplation of it, and it
shaped his philosophy in a quite pecidiar way.* In his own experience,
this communing with nature liad couifurted and soothed him even in his
time of greatest need, and seemed to i.Cimulate and instruct the higher
man within him. Such expei'ience is not, in every respect, uni<|ue.
Many persons in that day, and itill more in ours, have foiind intense
and elevating i)leasure in beautiful scenery. But Wordsworth had
these feclini's to tin extraordiuR' ' dei.'ree, and the circumstances both of
his boyhood and of his later life were sir'h as to develop them to tlie
utmost. He possessed, therefore, very unusual cjualitications for speak
ing upon 'AWii matters ; and, being master also of the gift of poetic
e^.pressiou, 'wri.neone of the greatest of nature-poets. He utters for
others, with marvellous truth and felicity, what they themselves have
vaguely noted or felt in regard to nature ; his keener observation and ap-
preciation enable him to open the eyes of his readers to nnich of beauty
that would have escaped their attention. But, further, Wordsw<)rth's
enj<»yment of the world about him was n(»t confined merely to pleasure
in vaiiety and beauty of form and colour. These things which
a(hlress themselves to the bodily eye seemed to him the outward main
festations of an indwelling spirit,— a spirit akin to his own, and in
harmftny with it. 'I'he dirini', in short, lay behind these outward shows ;
in tliem God was mainfesting himself, and through them man nught
come into closest relations with (Jod. Hence, fo' \V<»rdswoiih, there
gathered about nature a deep sensi; of mystery ami of re /erence ; in his
breast it excited feelings of a profound an. I leligious character — far

* See the extract from Dorothv Wonlsworlh'.s Diary, p. 31G above.

INFLIKNCK OF NATURAL (»1}J1-:«TS.

32 :

, The Frietx/,
se <li'S('ripti(>ii
e Friend was

//■ f/lC Jt/Klijiii-

art of Wonls-
11. 401, ft-.),
is Kstliwaite.

ng-place — the
ore important
y <*tlier pot-t.
of it, and it
'n experience,
ini even in his
let the higher
'pect, iinicpie.
found intense
rdsworth Iiad
tances both of
p tlieni to the
ons for speak -
gift of poetic
fte utters for
■niselves havr
/ation and aj)-
uch of beauty
^Vordawotth's
ly to pleasure
things which
utAvard mani
own, and in
tward sliows ;
II man might
worth, there
rence ; in his
liaracter far

l»eyond mere delight in sensuous beauty. It is the (inphasis that he
lays upon tliis aspect of nature, and upon the feelings derived fioui it,
that gives the most distineti\-e (|uality to }n's nature; jioetry.*

The poem in Avhieli Ave lind the most a<le<piate account of Words-
wortli's characti-ristic view of natui-e, is tin; Lhn'S itirlUm ahort- 7"nt/(rii
,|/(Ar//, where he also ex[)lains tliat this full appreciation of Ik r si^nili-
caiice was a gradual gi-owth. \n the iioeni befon; us, and in the pfxini on
Xuttintj, which follows, we have an exem))liiication of one of the earliei'
stages, when N.iture takes him in hand,t as it were, and licgms her
course of instruction. Through no lofty motive, Imt in tht; jiursuit of
boyish pleasures he is brouglit into close contact with some of the most
beautiful aspects of tlie material world ; these are tV.; background of
his daily life and are intertwined with his keenest enjoyments and
most vivid ex])eriences ; aiul, at favourable momencs, as i.. those re-
corded in these two poems, there steals upon his bojdsh heart some
vague conscio'isness of her beauty, and of her powei .

1-4. The i)oet addresses the Spirit of Avhich we have S[»oken above.
I'liis Spirit or Mind gives form and energy to mere niatei-uxl things ; cf.
the passage from Tintcrn Ahhctj cited in tlie uoto on Nutl'nuj.

G-10. So in tlie Pn^face to the L]irh'cl BaUcufs in which lu '•xplain.i
his theory of ])octry, one of the reasons that lie gives for jucferi'ing
" huml)le and rustic life " as a su])ject foi pc^etry i.s, " in that condition
tlie passions of men are incorporated with t'c" beautif d and ptirnuinent
forms of nature."

9. Not, for example, with tlie mean aiui ]!eris]';ilile surroundings of
the poorer classes in an ug^ . maiuifa(3turing town, but with magnificent
mountains and valleys of e Lake country.

10-11. Association with these nobler things el^'vate;'. the ])eguminga
and soui'ces of our feeling and thought ; cf. Pcrmnal Tulk, ronfhnird,
11. 2-4.

12-14. Through the elevation and insiglit thus attained (viz., by
association with what is noble in life and nature) we learn to find, even
m pain and fear, sources of consolation and strength, and a proof of the

* We may eontrasf, him with 8cott and Tennyson, who dcJiirht in natural sconery rind
phonnrncna, hut only for tli.ir ltc:uity and cliarni, without 'ho sense of m:.steriou3
sympathy, of the deep iinpoi aIhcIi lies hcnealh what presents itself to the hudily eye.

t(,'f. the poem "Three years she };i

I'W,

;

i '

1 i , ;

328

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

greatness of huninii nature even in the intensity of fmr emotions. This
is a eiiaracteristic thouglit Avitli NN'ordswoith ; it lies at the basis of tlie
Eloj'uic Stanzas aiujijixtid Jni a rirtiin' nf Peeh' Castle ; cf. also the close
of the Odn on lutiinaliini.-t of I iiniini titlUij ;

W'v will i;rii'\ (' not, I'liilirr I'md
Strenj,'tli in what rciiuiiiis licliiiid:
III tilt' jn'imal s\ nij>aili_\
Which haviiij,' Ixcti must ever lio ;
In the soothiiis; ihou-hts ihal Hjirin^
Out (if hiiinaii siilfi riiii::.

i!l I

Tliaiiks to ttu' human heart by which wo live ;
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, au^X fears.

20. trembling lake i-efeis to the «iuivering of the water, noticeable
through the motion of the retlectious, even in very calm weather.

2.S. Words worth, in the (Hlition of 184."), ciianged this line into "Mine
was it in the lields."

27. In Tht' Pi-'huh' (1S'»0) this line reads: *'The cottage windows
blazed through tlic twilight gloom."

37. loud bc'Dwing'. Changed in 1840 to "loud-chiming."

40. Meanwhile. Changed in 18.SG to " smitten."

41-2. Coleridge, in The Friend, says : " When very many are skatnig
together the sounds and the noises give an impulse to the icy trees, an<l
the woods all round the lake tiii/iic,"

Cf. also Tennysoiv'a description of a wintry night in Morte d' Arihur :

Tlie bare, black cliff clang'd round him, as he based
Ills feet on juts of slippery cra^ that ran^
Sharp-smitten with the dint of iron heels.

50-2. The reading in the text dates from 1827. At Hrst the lines

stood :

To oat across the ima),'e of a star

That ^deani'd upon tlic ice ; and often times

in 1S20:

in T/u Prelth!:'

To cross the britrtit- rctlei'tion of a star

Thai ^leanu'd upon the ice ; and often times

To cut across the reflex of a star,
That lied, and Hyiiif,' still, etc.

08-OO. Refers to a common experienci; : when continued and Hwift
motion is stopped, we feel for a time as if the nwj^ou were continued in

otiona. This
e l)asis of the
also the close

r, noticeabk-
ather.

i into "Mine
ige wintlows

r are skating
iy trees, an<l

(e W Ari.hur :

at the lines

1 and swift
(jutinued in

NUTTINfl. 329

things about ns ; of. the sensation of <li/ziiiesa. In 1. (JO tli.< f»ni|ihasia
is on " visil)le."

63. In The Prflnde : "Till all was tranquil ;is a dreamless sleep."

NUTTINd.

Written in (Jermany in 170P, pLd)Iished in 1800; intended to form
part of The Prelude, "but struck out," says Word.swortii, " a.s not
bi ing wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows, J was an imi)as-
sioned Nutter. For this pleasure, the Vale of Esthwaite, abounding in
coppice wood, furnislied a very wide range. These verses arose out of
the rememl)rance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and particu-
larly in the extensive woods that still [1843] stretch from the side of
Esthwaite Lake towards (Jraythwaite, the seat of the ancient family of
Sandys. "

"The ])oera — a fragment of autobiography — illustrates the processes
and incidents by which Wordsworth's aninud joy in nature in boyhood
was gradually purified and spiritualized." (Dowden. )

The first five selections all have to do with the one theme — the
influence of nature as an educator of man. In X idling the poet dwells
with fond delight upon a remembrance of boyish years, when, by mere
animal activity and childish pleasures, lie was drawn into contact
with nature in her beauty and repose ; yet, even then, he was half-
conscious of her charm, and already vaguely felt a MpirU in nature, and
a sympathy with that spirit — things of which he made so much in his
later philosophy, life, and poetry.

The poem is in the main descriptive, and we feel that, to some extent,
the poet elaborates and lingers upon the details for their own sake, and
because they are associated with a glow of youthful life and the faery
charm that haunts the fresh experiences of children, ((.'f. Od't on f.he
Iidimationi^ of Immortality mnH To the Cuckoo.) But it is characteristic
of Wordsworth that the poem is (1) not a mere description of nature as
it presents itself to th*" V)odily eye, but of nature as inlluencing man ;
and (2) that the picture serves to lead up to an interpretation of nature
— to the statement f>f something which is the outcome, not of mere
()bservati(*n by the bodily organs, but of the imaginative and philosophic
faculty : —

330

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

A sonao flii])liine
Of aomothirv^' far more dci'ply intrrfiisi'd,
Whose (hvelliii^; is tin- li^rht of sottiti},' siins,
And the round ocean, and the livini,' air,
And the bhie sicy, and in the mind of man ;
A motion and a spirit, that im|)el9
All tliinkinyf thinprs, all ohjccts of alt (liouiihi ,
And rolls tlu-ou'jfli all tliin;4;s,

-(/w'nf.v Citmpmi'd ahiirr Tinti'rn Ahhry.)

4. This line was added in IS'27

5. Up to 1S27, the line read : " When forth I sallied from our eottago
door." The co/ta'jr was that of Anne Tyson ("the fnij^al dame" of
1. 11), where Wordsworth lodged (see p. 313, above).

6. "And with a wallet" was the reading Vjcfore 1815.

9-12. Before 181")

of IJpjifijar's weeds
Put on for the oei'a><ion, hy advice
And exhortation of my frugal Dame.

M-K). In 183<> these lines \ver«! amended to read :

O'er i)athless rocks,
Throuifh heds of malted fern, and tangled thickets
Forcing my way, ! came.

20. milk-white clusters. Chanued in 1S45 to "tempting chistfirB,"
perha])S because "milk-white" seemod au i-xaggeration.

33. water-breaks. Hippies or wavelets ; cf. Tennyson's Brook:

With many a sihcry water-break
Al)o\e the golden gravel.

3fi. beneath changed to "under" in 1845.

.")(), In 1S3G this line became " Kre from the mutilated bower T
turned." Dowden suggests that the alteration was nuide " to avoid the
thrice-repeated 'en' sound in the oi)ening words."

53. Tn 1830 "saw" was inserted before "the intruding sky."

intruding sky. The epitlut is a}>plied because the sky was only
made visible through the breaking of the lnaiu'hes, and its light
seemed at variance with the previous seclusion of the spot.

MICHAEL.

331

I Ahhry.)

>nr rottagc
ilanu'. "' of

; olustera,"

Brook :

il bower I
o avoid the

Y was only
1 its light

MiriTAEL.

Written at Town-end, Crasinere, 180O. !n I (omtliy Wordsworth's
journal, undtT date Oct, U of that year, oceurs the entry: " We wjilkeil
up (Ireen-head (Jhyll in search of a sheepfold. . . . The sheepfold is
falling away. It is built nearly in the form of a luart uncMiually
divided." In the diary thei-e follow numerous references to Words-
worth's working upon the poem, usually at the sheepfold. On |)(c. <»,
there is the entry : "W. iiuished his poem to-day," tlie reference bciuL,'
j)robably to MIc/kuL Mir/nni was included in the edition of the Lyrical
iialldda diilod 1800, but actually published in Jan. ISOl.

In Professor Knight's edition, and in Dowden's Ahlinc edition, will l)e
found a number of fragments, interuled for MlrJtarl, recovered from a
MS, book of Dorothy W^ordsworth's. "The gicater portion of tlicse
fragments are occupied with an episode judiciously omitted, which t<lls
of the search made iu late autumn by Michael and liis son foi- a stray
sheep " (Dowden).

"The character and circumstances of fiuke," said Wordsworth,
"were taken from a family to whom had belongt^l, many years before,
the house we lived in at Town-end, along Avith some fields and Avood-
lands on the eastern shore of (irnsmere. " On another occasion he said :
" Mkfitul was founded on the son of 'an old couple having become dis-
solute, and run away^ from his parents ; and on an old slicpherd having
been seven yeai's in building up a sheepfold in a solitary valley." On
April 1>, ISOi, Wordsworth wrote to his frieud Thomas Poole: " Tn
writing [Mic/kw/], I had your character often l)efore my ey(!S, and some-
times thought that I was delineating such a man as you yourself Avould
have been, vmder the same circumstances ;" again, " I have attempted
to give a picture of a man of strong mind and lively sensibility, agitated
by two of the most powerful att'ections of the human heart, -parental
affection and the love of property, landed property, including the feel-
ings of inheritance, home, and personal and family independence." To
(Charles James B^ox he wrote: "In the two poems. The Brothers diid
Michael, 1 have attempted to draw a picture of the domestic atFections,
as I know they exist among a class of men who are now almost confined
to tlie iu)rth of England. They are snjall independent proprietor.H of
land, here called 'statesmen,' men of respectable education, who daily
labour on their own little [iroperties. The domestic atlections will
always be strong amongst men who live iu a country not crowded with

332

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

population; if these men arc jdaiM'd above jmve-ty. Rut^ if thfy are
proprietors of sjiiall estates whicli liave deseeiided to them from their
ancestors, the power wliich these athu-tions will ac(|uire amongst such
men, is inconceivalile l)y those who have only had an oppoitiiniiy of
observing hired lahoiirers, farmers, and the manut'aetuiing pctor. 'I'lieii-
little tract of land serves as a kind of permanent i-allying point for their
domestic feelings, as a tablet on which they are written, wiiich makes
them objects of memory in a thousand instances, when they would
otherwise bo forgotten. . . . Tiio two poems that I have mentioned
were written with a view to show that men who do not wear iine clothes
can feel deeply. . . . The poems a?'e faitiiful copies from nature ;
and I hope whatever etfoct they may have upon you, you will at hiast
be able to perceive that they may excite prolitablc sympathies in many
kind and good hearts ; and may in some smail degree enlaige our feel-
ings of reverenc*; for our species, and our knowledge of hunuui nature,
by showing that our best qualities are possessed by men whom we are
too a})t to consider, not Avith reference to tlie points in which they
resemble us, but to those in which thi^y manifestly differ from us." Of
this class of landed-proprietors, tlie last survivors t»f the yeomanrif of
Kngland, Mr. Myers says "they have afforded as near a realization as
human fates Avould allow of the rural society which statesmen desire for
their country's welfare." It was the contemplation of their virtues
which was one of the chief sources of healing for Wordsworth's dejection
and loss of faith in human nature (see p. 315 above).

Wordsworth and Man. We have luul several examples of Words-
worth's attitude towards nature, and of the poetic use that he makes of
the material derived thence. But Wordsworth's poetry also treats of
man and human life, and in this s])here, as in the other, his work pre-
sents marked peculiarities. In contrast with the majority of j)oets, and
es[)ecially in contrast with the school of ])()ets who had been dominant
in England during the greater part of the century, Wordsworth Lakes
his themes from hund)le, rustic, connnonplace life. lie thus, at once,
abandons the advantages which a dignified or romantic theme, or one
which treats of remote times and places, yields. Tliose veiy sources of
charm which lie u])on the surface in the case of the Ladij of the Lake —
varied and romantic incidents, jiicturesque manners and costume, plot
interest, the stimulus of mystery and curiosity — are usually, as in
Michael, excluded by the poet's very selection of subject. Nor does he

MKMIAKL

3:;;i

if thry are
from their
longst sui'h
loitiiiiity of
»or. 'I'lK'ir
lit for tlu'ir
liicli ni.ikt'H
blu'y would
! iiitMitioufd
line clotlifs
1)111 naturo ;
rill at l(!aHt
it'S in many
•ge our Utvl-
nan nature,
horn we are
whic^h they
)ni UH." Of
leomanry of
jalization as
Ml desire for
lu'ir virtues
i"s dejection

s of Words-
he makes of
so treats of
is work pre-
if jioets, and
•n dominant
worth lakes
ins, at onoe,
tine, or one
y sources of
'■ tJti' J J (the —
)stnme, plot
lally, as in
Nor does he

attempt f.o inlrodiice tlu'se attra<'tifMis in any adventitious wjiv, to invr^st
his poems l»y his siyhi and tniitnient with s(.iiif of i hcse «)iialitics
which do not natuifiHy aicompany Ins tlicine.* Wh.it tlun are llic
souiTcs f)f his poetic power? \\ li.it is it that nia^.s smii ;i, poem as
Mii'/nit'f a work of extraordinary heaiity and chnnii '!

There are two main points wliich should l»c notid in tin' poem l)«;fore
us as partifulaily distinctive of Wordswortli's j,'(nius and art. (1) He
chooses his theme for the nohilily, intensity, and K'/mty of tlie emotion
involved, not hecause of the strikin<i;iiess of the external facts that form
the environment of this emotion. In (his r(;s[(eet lie is unlikt; S. ott ; he
cares nothinif for ])ictiir('si|iii' prrsonat^es and tiveiits, provided he linds a
suhjeet which presents soiiu; nol»le, atVectiiig, important truth of human
nature. + So in Micfuicl the fatlierly hive which is the centre of the
whole is a heautiful and nohle trait of human nature in wliatever sur-
roundings exhihited ; and its tragic; disapjuiintmeiit is naturally jittcd
to awaken intense sympathy in tin? rcadei'. Kvidcntly these are two
great merits even p(,'rhaps the greatest- that a poetic theme could
have ; so great, at least, that the poet is able to <liapense with nuiiiy of
the more superlicial attractions which TJic Liuli/ af thr l.^il-i' aflui'ils.
Wordsworth, accordingly, neglecting all adventitious and (;xtetii,d
ornanu'iits, gives his whole energy to bringing this fatherly love
home to our own hearts and symi»athics. If the student/ will examine
the ])oem from this ]ioint of vicM', he will sec; that it has a unity which
The Ltu/i/ of the Lake cannot boast ; every ]niition contributes some-
thing to make us feel and understand how tender and d<i:[) was Michael's
love, or else to comprehend that otluT feeling— Michael's profound
attachment to his home and prop<!rty — which is also essential as leading
to the l)oy's departure from home, and to the tragic conclusion of the
■story.

(2) The second point to be specially noted is that the poet does not
present the series of events simply for their own sake, as Scott and as
Shakespeare do ; but that, further, although in a very unobtrusive
fashion, he teaches a lesson. (See p. 321 above.) He himself, in his

* As TeiHiysoii continually does, f.ii., in Enoch Ardcit, which aflfords a very interest
iniT parallel ami contrast to ^l/iV/ja*?/.

t " Another circumstance must lie merit ioneil which distinguishes these poems from
tlie popular poetry of the day ; it is this, that the feclinj,' therein (leveloi)ed gi\es im-
portance to the action and situation, and not tlie action and situation to the feeling."
(Wordsworth, Preface to the Second Edition of the Lyrical Ballads.)

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334

NOTKS 0\ Wf)KI)SW()I{TH.

meditative fasliimi, Iimm fi'iiini illnmin.ition and solaec^ in this simple
tale ; lit; weaves iiis feeliiii^ ami his thoULflit tlinm^li tin; whole textuic
(>? the work, and hriii^^'S it home, if unobtrusively, yet none the less
effectively, to the reader. 'J'iie truth that Wordsworth drew from this
picture of Inuuble life, the feelinj,' wliich it aroused in him, was that of
the innate dignity and worth of human nature ; and tiirough the poem
he intensities our sense of reverence for the race, our hopes for the
future of mankind. It is noteworthy that though the story is a sad one,
the eiTecit of the poem is not depressing — (juite the contrary. We are
touched and sulxlued, not harrowed, as by the wretched sensational
realism of so much of our jtresent-day literature ; we hear

The Btill, sad luusie of huinanily

Nor liiusli, nor ^nntiii',', thoujjh of ample power

To chustiMi and sul)duc.

Nor is this a chance peculiarity of MicIkhI ; it is a pervading note in
Wordsworth's philosophy and poetiy. The great event of Words-
worth's life was the crisis produced by the PVeiu;h Revolution. (See
p. 31(5 above.) In emerging fi'om tliis he discovered sources of happiiu ss
and consolation open to all, "which raised him fiom the depth of dejectii ii
and pessimism to a permanent level of cheerfulness, and sometimes to
heights of ecstatic joy. I'o reveal these sources of happiness to mankind
was his chosen task. And so, whether he treats of nature or of mar,
Wordsworth is eminently the conscder. " WordsAvorth's poetry is
great," says Matthew Arnold, "because of the extraordinary power
with which Wordsworth feels the joy offered to us in nature, the joy
offered to us in the simple primary alFections and duties; and because
of the extraordinary power with which, in case after ease, lieshoMsxis
this joy, and renders it so as to make us share it. The source of joy
from which he thus draws is the truest and most unfailing source of joy
accessible to num. It is also accessible universally. Wordsworth brings
us, therefoie, according to his own strong and characteristic line, word

Of joy ill widest coninioiialt y spread.

Here is an innnense advantage for a poet, ^\'ordsworth tell us of what
all seek, and tells ns of it at its truest and })est sourer, and yet a source
where all may go and draw for it."

From this point of view at which we now are, it will be noted that
the selection of lnind)le personages and lunnble life is a positive advan-
tage, l)ecause line feeling and line character in a situation where the

^^^■■'

AlICMAKL.

335

lis smiplo
lo tt'xturc
e the k'ss

from this
•as that of

the poem

!S for the

a sad OIK',

We are

lensatioual

ing note in
(»f Wonls-
tion. (See
[ happiiu ss
(f dejecti'ii
o'tinics to
niaiikiuil
r of mar,
poetry in
ary power
•e, tlie joy
u\ l)i'cause
shoAvs \is
roe of joy
roe of joy
ith l)riu.us
ine, Avonl

IS of what
>t a source

noted til at
ive advan-
where the

casual advantages of the few — wealth, high enltnre, etc. — are absent,
seem to be inherent in human nature itself, and do not seem to be the
outcome of surroundings. Note also that here, in some measure, as in the
Lady of the Lake, we have a picture of manners, customs, and life as
developed by special circumstances in a particuhir locality. But in the
case of Scott, the introduction of this element has its ground in the
j)ictui'es(|uenes3 of the life depicted, in its remoteness and romantic
character ; in the case of Wordsworth, in the fact that the simple,
wholesome manner of life is a pleasing s[»ectaclc in itstdf and begets
cheering views as to the actual and possible develo])ment of the Hner
elements of human nature iinder quite attainable conditions. If the
picture is poetical, it is poetical because the homely details are ennobled
(as they would eipially be in real life) by elevatiou of character and feel-
ing in the persons concerned. The only accessory in the poem possessing
externa] beauty, is the scenery of mountain, glen, and storm which
forms the background of the human interest. But this, too, is of the
essence of the story, because, in the first place, it forms the actual
surroundings of the Noi'th-country she})herd whose life the po».t is
realistically depicting ; and in the second place, because, according to
Wordsworth's belief, some of the essential traits of Michafl's character
are in part due to the inlluence of this impressive scene. Michael has
heen educated, as Wordsworth descri]>es himself as being etlucated, by
mountains, and storm, and sky.* So that the landscape is also an essen-
tial of the situation. Again w^e have a contrast with Scott ; he describes
the scenery of the Trosachs, merely on account of its beauty, as part of
the picture for the sensuous imagination. Such set descriptions as are to
he found in Scott's poem, are wholly absent from Micliad; nature is
t)uly introduced as intluencing man, and as explaining the action.

Since the main eflects, then, of the poem depend upon the intensity of
the sympathy aroused in the reader with the central emotion, and upon his
belief in the possible existence of such persons, feelings and situations,
it is evidently incumbent upon the poet that he should be realistic and
should avoid the fanciful, idyllic beauties which we noted in the JauIij
of the Lake. Accordingly, W\)rdsworth keeps close to actual facts;
he shuns no bare or liomel

^'ly

iple shep

horrowed charm from poetic fancy. The'e is none of the improbable
jjrettineas of Tennyson's May (Juciii.

In unison with the simplicity of the theme and the realistic sincerity

* See opening of lujluences of Xatural Objects.

1' =.!
(

33C

NOTKS ON WORDHWOUTH.

of the trcatnient, the style is simple and direct, sometimes even to tlie
verge of Italdness, 'I'liere is no needless ornament, no seeking for archaic
or distinctively poetical language, yet there is no banality or childish
simplicity. Wordsworth's expression, here as elsewhere, is marked by
directness, sincerity and aptness, accompanied by dignity, beauty and
harmony to a degree unsurpassed in the English language. "Nature
herself," as Mattliew Arnold says, " se. ins to take the pen out of his
hand and write for him, with her bare, sheer penetrating power."

2. Ghyll. "In the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, a short
and, for the most part, a steep narrow valley with a stream running
through it" (Wordsworth).

18-U». In KS.S() c-han^'ed to :

And Id tliiit siiiiple object appertains

A story -uneiiriched with strange events.

2438. In Tiutern Ahhrij Wordsworth refers t() the same fact, that
nature interested him before men ; see 11. 7*--93.

4{)-r)2. Note the fine cadence of this passage.

51. subterraneous music. "I am no,; sure that I understand this
aright. I)()cs it mean the sound of the wind under overhanging clitta
and in hollows of the hills ?" (Dowden).

61-77. Here, as in Nuffimj, beautiful nature, accidentally, as it were,
associated with daily employments, obtains a hold upon the imagination
and moulds his character. With this passage may be compared the
following lines from the rejected fragments of Micluxel referred to in
the introductory note : —

No doubt if you in terms direct had asked
Whether he loved the mountains, true it is
That with hhmt repetition of your words
He mifjht have stared at you, and said that they
Were friglitful to behold, but ha(l you then

Discoursed with liim

Of his own business, an<l the goings on
Of earth and sky, then truly liad you seen
That in his thoughts there n'ere obscurities,
Wonder and admiration, things that wrought
Not less than a religion in his heart.

G7-8. In 1S3G changed to :

hills, which with vigorous step
He had so often climbed ;

even to tlie

^ for arcli.iif

or childish

marked by

Ijeauty and

. "Nature

sn out of his

kver."

lud, a short
am running

e fact, that

srstand this
mging cliffs

as it were,
imagination
inpared the
erred to in

MICIIAKL.

X]7

73-74. Before 1832, Uw i)asHag.> road :

So K-raleful in flu-iiisrlv,.M, f li.« ocrtaiiily
Of hoiioiirablo -:ii„>. ; t lies,, ilflds, t lies,. hillH
Whirli were his liviny; HfinK, I'voti nion>
Than his own Wood.

.1 "I'.rf ,?"'''^*;" '"'"^' ""^' '"''••'^^ "'^'••■'^^•'^" ^^'>''>''^ f<'i''>^« «''"WH

that the helds and hills were not more a part of Mi<,haei\s l.einu than
was his own son."

78-9. Before 1815 as follows :

lit- ha<l not, i)as.se(l his da.VH in sin>,d.MR'8s,
He had a Wife, a comely Matron, old -

89-90. The poet seems to regard "With one foot in the grave " as a
local expression.

99. their amended to " the " in 1836.

112 Amended in 183G into - With huge and hJack projc-tion over-
nrowd.

115. utensil. The stress is on the first syllahle-a i.ronnn.Mation n.,w
almost obsolete.

134. Easedale. To the north of (irasmere.
Dunmail-Raise. The pass from (irasmere to Keswick.

139. "The name of the Evening Star," tlie poet tohl Miss Fenwick
"was not in fact given to tliis house, but to another on the same side
I't the valley, more to the north."

144-5. Before 1827 as follows :

Eflfect which might perhaps have t)een produti'd
By that instinctive tenderness.

145. In 1836 changed to :

Fond spirit that blindly works in the hloo<l of ail.

One of the few cases in which the later reading seems .leci.ledly not an
miprovement.

146. After 1836 the following line was inserted between 146 and 147 •
"That earth can offer to declining man"; again a very doul)tful
improvement.

151, ff. It will be noted how many circumstances the poet inserts in
order t^o^make the fatherly affection especially intense in the case of

338

Notes ox v.okd.swouth.

MidjiU'l : lit- li.is hut, DIM' cliiM, tin- son of his olil a^o, in constantly in
hia coniiiany, etc.

157. In 18.% ohjingtMl to :

His cradle, as with a woman's jfontle hand.

l(;'2-.">. In 18.S6 changed to :

Wrou^^ht in the fiolrt, or on hisshejihcni's stool
Sate with a fctter'tl sheep l)cfore him strftchod
t'lider the larjj^o old oak, that iiciir his door
Stood sinifle, and, from matchless depth of shade

IGS. Clipping Tree. "Chpping is tba word used in the North of
England for shearing" (Wordsworth's note).

199-203. Admirable expression of a common experience : through
sympathy with the feelings of others — the fresher, imaginative feelinjjs
of childhood, for example — familiar objects and experiences win a new
impressiveness and power.

200-2. Compare the elevation, beauty, and suggestiveness of diction
and rhythm here with their simplicity in such lines as 17-4-6 ; in <'acli
case the style is in admirable keeping with thought.

206. This reading was introduced in 1815. In the first issue of 1800
the reading was

While this jfood household were thus livintf on

in the second issue

While in this fashion which I have described
This simple Household thus were Vn'my; on

220-2. In 1836 changed to

As soon as he had armed himself with stjenffth
To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
The shepherd's sole resouice to sell at once

245-6. Even his atfection for his son intensifies his attachment to the
land.

257. "The story alluded to here is well known in the country. The
chapel is called Ings Chapel, and is on the right hand side of the road
leading from Kendal to Ambleside" (Wordsworth's note).

282. " There is a slight inconsistency here. The conversation is
represented as taking place in the evening (see 1. 226) " (Knight).

289. In 1836 corrected to " Last two nights."

instantly m

Mini A EL.

339

e North of

•' : through

ive feelings

win a new

of diction
■6 ; in <'acli

3ue of 1800

lent to the

itry. The
•f the road

^raation is
ht).

297. Often di.stiiictioii is given to a i)a.ssiige l.y a reininiscoiice, lialf
unconscious it may he, of Scrii)tural language ; hen;, f(,r exaniple, is
a suggestion of the touching speech of Judah to Joseph (see Genesis, xliv,
especially vv. 22 and ;^1).

303. "With (hiylight" in 1820 replaced "Next morning" of the
earlier editions.

.323. a sheepfold. "It may he proper to inform some readers that a
slieepfold in these mountains is an unroofed l)uilding of stone walls,
M-ith different divisions. It is generally placed hy tlie side of a hrook,'
for the convenience of washing the sheep ; but it is also useful as a
shelter for them, and as a place to drive tliem into, to enal)le the shep-
herds conveniently to single out one or more for any particular purpose."
( Wordsworth's note. )

326. by the streamlet's edge before 1815 read "close to th^ brook
side."

337-8. speak Of. Changed to "touch On" in 183(5.

339. Oft changed to "it" in 1827.

372. threescore replaced "sixty" in the cd. of 1827.

375-7. This also M'ould increase his attachment to the land.

386. A dramatic suggestion of action on the boy's part.

405-9. Before 1802 these line*? read :

let this sheepfold be
Thy anchor and thy shield ; amid all fear
And all temptation, let it be to thee
An emblem of the life thy fathers lived.

413-14. After the fashion recorded in Scripture, the covenant is
ratified by an external sign ; of. Genesis, ix, 13 : "I do set my bow in
the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the
earth"; Exodus, xxxi, 16: " Wherefore the children of Israel shall
keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sal)bath througiiout their generations,
for a perpetual covenant " ; and /. Samuel, xviii, 3-4 : " Then Jonathan
and David made a covenant, and Jonathan stripped himself of the robe
that was upon him and gave it to David," etc.

423. This line was added in 1815 ; previously the following line had
read :

Next morning, as had been resolv'd, the Boy

:mo

NOTKS <»N WOUDHWOUTU.

s^'
.,*•*

447. Notice liow Wonl.swoith p.'iHscs lightly over the cri.''i.s of aiigiuHh
and sorrow (as he does alwo at I. 4lit) inatead f>f liarrowing the feelingH
by detailing it ; the lirst W(»rd here is of comfort, not of sorrow, that
springs from strength of love. This is characteristic of NVordsworth's
attitude. Cheerfuhuss is with him a <luty, a mark of a wholesome
nature, the frame of mind needful for the attainment of truth. (Cf. Tln'
Tdlilcs Turiu^l, 1. 20.) Wordsworth wouUl fain believe that in the world
there is notliing in which there is not an overd)alance of good ; if there
is such an experience, he certainly shuns presenting it in his poetry,

449. Before 18l*0 this line read :

Would l)rf!ik \\w. heart : - Old .Muihael found it ho.

453-4. There is a eeitain charm in the repetition of these lines (see
11, 43-4), as in the lepetition in 11. 2, S'il, and 481.

TO THE DAISY.

This is one of three j)ocms addressed to the same flower, which were
written in I80'2 at Town-end, (jrasmere ; it was first published in 1807.

1-3, The reading in the text, adopted by M. Arnold, is that of the
edition of 18-7 ; the iirst edition differetl in 1. 3, reading :

And ill! the loii^^ year throuf,'h the heir

In 1837 we find

Coufiditiy Flower, by Nature's care
Made bold, who, lod;,'iM>j here and there,
Art all the louj; year throu^^h the heir

The reading linally adopted in 1840 is :

Urifrht p-lower ! whose honie is everywhere !

15old in niatcmal Nature's care.

And all the lon^ year through the heir

4. or changed to "and " in 1850.

0, Some concord. In IS.*^?, "communion"; but all earlier and later
editions road as in the text.

8. thorough. Thoronijh and thromjh are variants of the same word ;
cf. Midsummer Nhjlifs Jhntm, II, i, 3: "Thorough brush, thorough
brier."

AT THK (JRAVK OK HUUNS.

341

o fee lings
t'cm', that
dsworth's
holesonie

(Cf. ri„'

thii world
; if there

•etry.

liuea (see

licli were
in 1807.

it of the

9. This is the reading of the edition of 1827 ; tlic earlier editions, and
those of 1837 and sub8e(pient years, road: "Is it that man is soon
depreat? "

A third stan/a is found in all the editions except those of 1827 and
1832 :

Tho\i waiidor'st the wifle world nlmiifc
rii'")u'i;ke(l by i)ri(le or scrupulous doubt,
With fricudato jjri'cb thee, or without,

Yet ploaHcd and willing' ;
Meek, yieldiiit,' to the occasion'H call
And all thiiif,'3 suffcrini,' from all,
Thy function ai)ostolical

In i)eace fulfilling.

The omission may have l)een due to the criticism to which Words-
worth refers in the following : "1 have l)een censured for the last line
but one — ' thy function apostolical ' — as being little less than profane.
How could it be thought so ? The word is adoj^ted with reference to its
derivation, implying something sent on a mission ; and assuredly this
little Hower, especially M'hen the subject of ven nay l)c regarded, i.i
a huml)le degree, as administering both to moral and to spiritual
purposes."

" To Shelley," says Professor Dowden, "a flower is a thing of light
and love, — bright with its yearning, pale with pa-ssion. To Thomson a
Hower is an object which has a certain shape and colour. To Words-
worth a dower is a living partaker of the common spiritual life and joy
of being."

md later

e w^ord ;
borough

AT THE (illAVE OF BURNS.

Composed 1803 ; published 1842. "For illustration," says Words-
worth, "see my sister's journal. It may be proper to add that the
second of these pieces, though felt at the time, was not composed till
many years after. " The account in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal is
as follows : " Thursday, August 18th. — Went to the churchyard where
Burns is buried. A l)ook seller accompanied us. He showed us the out-
side of Burns'a house, where he had Ifved the last three years of his life,
and "where he died. It has a mean appearance, and is in a bye situa-
tion, whitewashed Went on a visit to his grave. He lies

at a corner of the churchyard, and his second sou, F'rancis Wallace,
beside him. There is no stone to mark the spot ; but a hundred guineas

342

NOTES ON WOUDSWOIlTn.

have been collected, to l»«! cxjM'iidcJ on some Hort of iiioiiument.
We looki'tl at the gravf with nu'lanoholy aiul painful n'thfctions, repeat-
ing to each other IiIh own verses [from A Jidnl'.'i Ei>itn})h\.

\h there a man whoHo jmlir'n'-nt clear,
Can oOierH leach the way to Htcer,
Yet niM3 himself life's mad career,

Wild as the wavoV
Here let him i>ause, and IhrciiRh a tear

Survey this yrave.

The poor Inhahitant hclovv

Was (luiek to learn, and wise to know,

And keiidy felt the friendly ^'low.

And softer flame ;
But thoui,'htless follow laid him low

And stained his name.

I cannot take leave of tlie country wliich we i)assecl through to-day
without nieiitioniiig that we saw the Cuniherland mountaina, within
half-a-mile of Kllisland, jiurns's house, the last view we liad of thera.
Drayton has })r«ttily de.scril)c'd tlie connection which this neighbour-
hood lias with our.s whi-n In; inakcht Ski<ldaw say —

Suurfcll [CrifTel] from the sky.
That Anadale [Annandale] doth crown, with a most amorous eye,
Salutes me every day, or at my pride looks f,'rim.
Oft threatcninj,' mu with clouds, as I oft threatening him !

These lines recurred to William's memory, and we talked of Hums, and
of the prospect he must have had, perhaps from his own door, of Skid-
daw and his companions, including ourselves in the fancy, that we might
have been personally known to each other, and he have looked upon
those objects with more pleasure for our sakes."

Robert Burns, son of a ]>oor Scottish farmer ; wrote songs -'.nd other
poems (in Scottish dialect for the !nost part) for his own amusement ami
that of his immt-diate neighbours, depicting with great sincerity and
I)ower his own feelings and the life about him ; failed in farming, and was
about to emigrate when the unexpected success of a little volume of his
poems (17S()) drew him to Edinburgh, wh(;re he was for a time a great
literary lion ; returned to farming and married ; again unsuccessful ;
obtained a small post as an ex.cise-otlii^cr at Dumfries, his tendency to
dissijjation increased, health failed, died .hily 1st, 179r). (For an esti-
mate of his character and genius, see ( 'arlyle's essay. )

AT T!IK (iHAVK OF lU'llNS.

343

», repeat-

;h to-day
1, within
of thein.
;ighl)our-

irns, and
of Skid-
we mirjht
ed upon

nd other
nent ami
rity aiid
and was
ne of his
B a great
jcessful ;
dency to
' an esti-

Wordsworth was drawn to BiirnM l»y the (lualititjs of his poetry (see
11. 31-6 and note thereon), hut, in ohanicter, one ooidd Hcareely find a
greater contrast than httwee.i the si.if-containcd, almost asceticr, emin-
ently * respeetahU) ' Kiiglislnnan, and the pleasure-loving, reekless,
Scottish poet. It is a testimony to the bread tli of symi)athy of tlu!
former that at a time when Burns' position was by no means ho well
assured as it is at present, Wordswoi th was able to do justice, not
merely to the gt^nius, hut to the better eh-nitiits in the eiiai-acter of his
predecessor. Tiic tonic and bracing tone of these two poems, notwith-
standing the nature of the theme, is markedly Wordsworthian.

The stanza of tlds piece was doubtless suggested l)y the lines (juoted
from Burns in Dorothy Wttrdsworth's .Journal ; it was a favourite form
with Burns.

17-18. augfht that hides, etc. His high (pialities, genius, etc., which
overlie his lower (qualities.

19-20. The reference is to Burns' well-known lines To a Mountain
DaUy ; the word "glinted," meaning 'glanced,' 'gleamed,' is quoted
'rom the third stanza of that poem :

Cauld blew the Itittor biiffhtinp north
Tpon thy t-iirly, hiiinblo birth :
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm.

So "modest worth'' is suggested by the opening line ;
Wee, modest, crimson -tii)i)6d flow'r.

31-34. In 1845 changed to

I mourned with thousands, but as one
More deeply grieved, for He was gone
Whose light I bailed when fir^t it shone
And showed my youth.

3I-.36. Wordsworth refers to the directness and simplicity of Burns'
style, and the fact that his ])octry trt^ated of humble, actual life about
him, as contrasted with the artificial style and themes of fashionable
poetry of the day ; cf. the sonnet beginning "A Poet ! he hath put his
heart to school " (p. 210 }>elovv).

39-40. Criffel, or Crowftll ; a mountaiu 1,S00 feet high, close to the
shore of the Solway, near Dunit'ries, is visil»le from Skiddaw, a
mountain in (Aunberland, nctt vei\ tar ivmn Wordsworth's residence.

344

NOTES ON WORDSWOUTIf.

4t)-r)0. Stc tilt' liiU'H from iWinirt' .1 litii'tiH K/tUo/t/i ijuoted in Dorothy
\Vor<l.s\\ ortli'M .lour'Miil .alutve.

r».'{. gowans. Tlic Scotdi nanu' for h.uHifH.

()7. he. '\'\\v HUH.

7't-H. "'riiiH iii;iy rcffi- to liuriiH' poi'iii, J Prayer in the Pronpertof
Jhat/i" (Dowdin).

83. Cf. S. John iv, 18.

Tlio j)()i't characteriHticjvUy cloHes, not in HatlncHH, hut with an rxpres-
nioii of faith tliat, in lUirn.s' case, evil and Horrow ure tinally lout in
the triumph of good.

TEIOUOIITS STKKJKSTKD ON THE DAY FOIXOWING.

Pubh-slu'il in 1842; for time of uoniposition see introtluctory note
on previous poem.

•'Left tlie Nith aljout a mik; ami a half, and reached Brownhill, a
lonely inn, avIilto we sU'pt. The view from the windows was pleasing,
though some travellers might have been disposed to (quarrel with it for
its general nakedness ; yet there was abundance of corn. It is an open
country — open, yet all over hills. At a little distance were many
cottages among trees, that looked very |)retty. Brownhill is about
sev(;n or eight miles from Ell island. I fancied to myself, while I was
sitting in the parlour, that Burns might have caroused there, for most
likely his rounds extended so far, and the thought gave; a melancholy
interest to the smoky walls." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal.)

3. The reference is to Burns' poem. The Vision, where he imagines
himself l>eing crowned with holly by the Scottish muse.

10. social grief. Grief which we shared with one another.

28. wont. Were wont ; past tense of the verb won, ' to be accus-
tomed' ; see note on Ladif of the Lake, I, 408.

32. "Refers probably to the road to Brownhill, past EUisland farm-
house, wher3 Burns lived " (Knight).

42. That puts to shame poetry written by those who liad enjoyed the
highest academic training, and followed academic models.

TFIE SOLITARY RKAPEIl.

nii

n Dorothy

ProM/wrt of

ati oxpres-
Uy lout iu

INO.
story note

•ownhill, a
3 pleasing,
with it for
is au open
*'ere many
1 is about
hilo I was
i, for most
u'laiicholy
xl)

! imagines

be aecus-
and farm-
ijoyed the

61. In a letter flatcd !)(•«'. 'J3, \H'M), Wonlswoith wrote : "The other
(lay J chanced in \k<, iookiof^ ovi-r a MS. poem hi'longing to the ytar 1S<>.'{,
though not actually coMipoHcd till iruiny yt-ai-s afttirwards. It wa.s nw^-
gested by viHitiiig the neighbourhood of hunifriesin whicii Ihirns had
resided, and where ho died; it coiuiludefl tlui.s: 'Swcut mercy!' etc.
I instantly added, the otlier day, 'lint why to him conline,' etc. Thi;
more I reflect upon thi.s, the- mon; I feel ju.stilied in attaching small
importance to any literary monument that I may be enabled to leave
behind."

THM SOLI TAUV IIKAPKH.

Written between Sept. 1 3th, iSO.'i, and .May, 1805, wlien Dorothy
Wordsworth copied it into her journal ; first published 1807. The
following entry is from Dorothy Wonlswortli's .Journal luub'r date
Sept. 13: "As wo descended [they were near Loch Voil] the scene;
became more fertile, our way being pleasantly varied — through coppices
or open fields, and pas.sing farm-houses, though always with an inter-
mixture of uncultivated ground. It was harvest-time, and the fields
were (piietly — might I be allowed to say pensively ? — enlivened by small
companies of reapers. It is not unconnnon in the more lomly parts of
the Highlands to see a single person so employed. The following poem
was suggested to William by a beautiful sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's
'Tour of Scotland.'" The following is the sentence referred to:
"Passed a female who was reaping alone ; she sung in P]rse as she
bended over her sickle ; the sweetest human voice I ever heard ; her
strains were tenderly melancholy, and felt delicious, long after they
were heard no more."

Mr. A. J. (xGovgc ( Selections from iron/awor//* J thus comments on this
poem : —

** What poet ever produced such beauty and power with so simple
materials ! The maiden, the latest lingerer in the lield, is the mediuni
through which the romance of Highland scenery, and the soul of solitary
Highland life is revealed to us ; even her voice seems a part of nature,
so mysteriously does it blend with the beauty of the scene. It is to
such influences as this that the poet refers in the lines, —

An(f impulses of hi<,'her birth
Have come to iiim in solitude."

10. In 1827 changed to :

More welcome notes to weary bands.

346

NOTES ON WORDkSWOUTH.

" Wordsworth l)elieve<l that he had used the word 'sweet' to excess
throughout his poems, and in 18'27 he removed it from ten passages ;
in later editions from rifteeu additional passages " (Dowdeu).

13. The reading of the text was introduced in 1S37 ; in 1807 this line
read :

No sweeter voice was ever heard.

In 18'J7:

Such tlirilhii}^ voice was never heard.

14. " In liis Gu'ule to tlw Lakes Wordsworth speaks of ' an iniaginativr
inHuence in the voice of the cuckoo, when that voice has taken posiies-
sion of a deep mountain valley ' " (Dowden).

Cf. also his poem To the Cuckoo, and the opening lines of his sonnet to

the same bird :

Not the whole warlihng yro^e in concert, heard
When sunshine follows shower, the breast can thrill
Like the first sunniions, cuckoo ! of thy hill.

1."). ('{. i'olevidges And' lit Mitrbier :

And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea.

18. numbers. The stock poetical word for 'poetry.'

19. Professor Dowden (juotes from Dorothy Wordswojth's Journal for
the day, whicli includes tliis poem : " William here conceived th'^ notion
oi writing an ode u|>on tlie affecting sul)ject of those relics of human
society found in that grand and solitary region."

27. Note that the 3rd lino of the stanza does not rhyme here, as it does
in tlie previous stanzas.

20. Changed, in 1820, to

1 listened, motionless and still.

30. when. *• As " except in the editions 1827-32,

Professor Dowden notes the peculiar character of Arnold's text of
this jioem : " It may be noted tli.-it in his selections from Wordsworth
Matthew Arnold mainifactures a text from several editions, assuredly
not a legitimate process. He retains ' So sweetly to jcposing bands'
from 1807-20 ; adopts ' .A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard ' from 183()- 1!>;
retains ' f listcn'd till 1 had my iill.' from 1807-ir>; and gives 'when' in
1. 30, which is found <.nly in 1S27-32."

to excess
passages ;

)7 this line

niaginativp
cen posnes-

s sonnet to

Journal for
I th'^ notion
js of human

e, as it does

)ld's text of
kVords worth
5, assuredly
ising l)an(ls '
•oml8.S<)-4!>;
9 'when' in

ODE TO DUTY.

ODK TO DUTY.

347

Written 180") ; first puhlishetl 1S07. Wordsworth says: "This ode
is on the model of (Iray's Ode to Adiu'.rKitij,' which is, in turn, an imita-
tion of Horace's Ode to Fortane^^ [Odes I, 8a.]

This is one of the finest examples of Wordsworth's power to elevate the
homely and commonplace into the hii'liest poetic sphere. In this case
he throws the charm of imagination and sentiment, not about a person,
or object, or incident of life, but about a feeling — a commonplace and,
to the poetic temperament especially, a painfid and oppressive feeling
— that of moral obligation, that something ought to be done. But for
Wordsworth this ever present element of life is desirable and beautiful,
— a source of happiness and strength. Nor is there anything (as is often
the case with the views of poets) fanciful, or overstrained, or abnormal
in his conception ; it is based upon sound sense and upou daily
expvjrience. The Ode is an example of what Matthew Arnold held to
be the true function of poetry, — ** the criticism of life/' — " the powerful
and beautiful application of ideas to life " ; it is not didactic in tone, it
does not preach ; it f|uickens the moral nature by the contagion of
noble enthusiasm, by the power of insight am' of truth.

It will be noted that in the poem, three possible attitudes towards
duty seem before the writer's mind : ( 1 ) when what is right is done,
not upon reflection and because it is right, but from natural impulse,
because it is the congenial thing to do ; this condition characteristically
associates, especially with ycnith, when the innate tendencies (which he
regards as good) have not yet been weakened and corrupted by the
experiences of life ; but this, though a delightful, is also but a transient
and uncertain condition ; 2nd (the ordinary state of things), v/hen right
is done with struggle and against the grain ; 3rd — the highest con;li-
tion as hinted in the Lat:n motto — when through custom, through the
C()ntinue(' obedience to duty based upon reason and upon the perception
ohat to do right is true happiness, tluty has become second nature ; when
what we would do and what we ought to do are the same, when service
liecomes perfect freedom, t

*This Ode is the third selectioti in the Appendix to this vohune.

tCf. Teniiyson'a Ocnmie :

thf fnli-j,'rowii will
Circled through ;ill cxpi riciiff, piiie law
Conuueasure perfect freedom.

! I

348

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

llii I

The Latin motto maybe translated: "Good no longer by resolve,
but brought by habit to such a point that I am not merely able to do
right, but am not able to do otherwise."

1, Cf. the opening line of Gray's Ode, "Daughter of Jove, relentless
|)Ower."

2. Cf. the opening of ParadUe Lod, III. (See Selection '2, in
Appendix.)

7. vain temptations. Temptations to vanity, i.e., to what is empty,
not real, but only apparent good.

8. The reading of 1815 and subsequent editions ; in 1807 the lino

stood :

From strife and from (ies]iair ; a jj:lorious ministry.

9. There are who. An imitation of tlie familiar Latin idiom,
cunt qui.

0-14. Sometimes what is right is performed, not under any sense of
restraint, or because it is our duty, but from natural good feeling.

12. Wordsworth habitually glorilied the early natural impulses and
feelings, Cf. Ode on Jnlhnatins of Inunortaliti), and "It is a beauteous
evening," p. 206.

genial. Inborn, belonging to rature.

15-16. Tlie reading is that of the . dition of 1827; in 1807 the lints

stood :

May joy he theirs while life shall last !
And thou, etc

in 18.37 the final reading was introduced :

Oh, if throntrh confidence misplaced

They fail, thy saving arms, diCiul Power, around them cast.

19-20. riefening iw the condition of things described in tiie previous
stanza, when the right is done because it is detiirahle and plea-mrohle to
us. "Joy is its own security," because joy (pleasure) leads us to do
that which in its turn begets pleasure, and not pain, as would be the
caF,e if our impulses led us to do evil.

21-22. The reading of 1807 was :

An<l Mess'd arc they who in the main
Tills faith, even ::'^^"v, do entertain.

The later reading wa.s adopted in 1827.

^gfMm--^^^^'*'^-*-

by resolve,
/■ aV)le to do

e, relentless

jction 2, in

at is empty,

807 the line

[>atin idiom,

any sense of
"eeling.

mpulses and
3 a beauteoua

1807 the lincH

the previous
pleasiirohle to
iads us to do

would be the

ODE TO DUTY.

349

24. This reading introdivced in 184") ; in 1S07 the reading was : " Yet
find that other strength " ; in 1837 : "Yet und thy firm support."

25. Cf. The Prelude, vi, 32-35 :

That over-love of freedom
Which encouraged me lo turn
From reticulations even of my own
As from restraints and bonds.

29-31. This reading was adopted iu 1827 , in 1807 tlie lines stood :

Resolved that nothinj? e'er should presa

Upon my present hapi>iness,

I shoved unwelcome tasks away ;

in 1815:

Full oft, when in my heart was heard
My timely mandate, 1 deferred
The task imposed, from day to day ;

37. unchartered freedom. Unrestricted freedom ; cf. As You Like

It, 11, vii, 47-8:

I must have liberty
Wltbil, as lar^'e a charter aa the wind.

Prof. Knight compares Churchill's line: "An Englishman in char-
tered freedom born," and doubtless the word was suggested to Words-
worth in conr ection with political freedom; an Englishman's freedom
is not power to do just as he likes ; it is constitutional, or chartered
freedom.

38. Even the very young know something of this weight in holiday
times, when there has been, during a prolonged period, an ttbsence of
iixed employments, and of calls which must be attended to.

39-40. I have become wearied of pursuing, now one hope or aim, now
another, and desire the calmness which comes from seeking a single
object — to do right.

At this point in the edition of 1807 there follows a stanza omitted in
all subsequent editions :

,Yet not the less could I throughout
Still act according to the voice
Of my own wish ; and feel past doubt
That my submissivencss was choice :
Not seeking in the school of pride
For "precepts over-dignified.
Denial and restraint I prize
No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.

till

.S50

NOTES ON WORDSWOKTII.

II Mil!

1 I

44. Tho. .s.'vtisfjiction tli.it .'icoompanu's tho (loii.si-iim.snos.s of liavin^'
done right.

40. The idea of llowers .s|)riiiging up beneath the foot is a eoninion one
with the poets ; the editors cite Persius, Satire, ii, 38 : Quidc^uid
calcaverit hie, rosa fiat, and Hesiod, Thfogovif, 194-5 : n'//<,')t i^e ttoi?/
TTonalv i'TTn pamnaiv (u^arn, ' thick sprouted the grass beneath the slencU'i-
feet ' (of the goddess) ; so Tennyson's Oenone, 1. 94, and Maud, I, xii, 5.

4")-48. The idea of duty is here extended from obedience to moral, to
obedience, to natural law an identification especially natural to a pool
who finds so close a kinship l>etMeen man and nature about him. Weljb
compares Wordsworth's Gi/paic.^, 11. 21 -'2 :

Oh l)L'tter wroiiif and strife
(H)' nature transient) than this torpid life ;
Life which the very stars reprove
As on their silent tasks they move.

An earlier text of this ode has been discovered in a proof copy of the
sheets of 1807. It is interesting to note the great improvement Words-
worth made while tho poem was ]jassing through the press ; the earlicf
version also serves to throw light upon the meaning of the later. The
following are the first four stanzas :

There are who tread a blaincluss way

In purity, and love, and truth,

Tliou{,'h rcstinj,' on no l)etter Rtaj'

Than on t he genial sense of youth :

Glad Hearts ! without reproach or blot,

Who do the riffht, and know it not :

May joy be theirs while life shall last.

And may a genial sense remain, when youth is past.

Serene would be our daj's and bright,

And happy would our nature be.

If Lo\e were an imerrin<; light ;

And Joy its own security.

And bless'd are they who in the main,

This creed, even now, do entertain,

Do in this spirit live ; yet know

That Man hath other hopes ; strength which elsewhere must grow.

I, loving freedom and untried ;

No sport of every random gust,

Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust :

Resolv'd that nothing e'er should press

Upon my present happiness,

I shov'd unwelcome tasks away :

But henceforth I would serve ; and strictly if I may.

H of havirijj

cnniiiion one

Qui(l((uid

n/i(pl (U iroUj

h the slender

U(l, I, xii, 5.

to moral, to
iral to a poet
him. We])h

f copy of tlie
ment Words -
i ; the earlier
e later. The

It.

here iimst ^ro« .

ay-

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

<» Power of Duty ! sent from fJod

To enforce on tuirth liis \\\)i\\ Ix'lieHt,

And keep us faithful to tlie road

Which conscience liath pronounc'd the best :

Thou, who art Victory and Law

When empty terrors overawe ;

From vain temptations dost set free

From Strife, and from Despair, a t'lorious ministry I

351

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

Written 1805; published 1807. The form of stanza adopted is that
usually termed Elegiac, familiar through (J ray's Elegy ; the matter is also
in some measure elegiac from the constant reference to the death of the
poet's brother John. He was drowned while in command of the East
India ship, The Earl of Abergaveuui/, which through the incompetence
of the pilot, on leaving Portland struck upon a reef and was lost, Feb. 6,
1805. The previous autumn he had visited his brother at Grasmere.
See To the Daisy ("Sweet Flower, belike one day to have") for an
account of the disaster and also the Elegiac fillanzas in Memory of My
Brother. Wordsworth says in a letter : " The vessel ' struck ' 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 hail takea so much water, in
spite of constant pumping, as to be water-logged. They had, however,
hope that she might be run upon Weymouth sands, and with this view
continued pumping and bailing till 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 ; he was standing at the
point where he could overlook the whole ship the moment she went
'own — dying, as he had lived, in the very place and point where his
duty called him. ... I never wrote a line without the thought of
giving hun pleasure ; my writings were his delight, and one of the chief
solaces of his long voyages. But let me stop. I will not be cast down ;
were it only for his sake I will not be dejected."

The Peele Castle referred to is not the well-known one on the Isle of
Man, but another, the name of which is usually spelled PieL on the
coast of Lancasiiin , near Barrow- in- F'uriiess, an(^ opposite the village
of liampside, where tiie poet spent four weeks of a vacation in 1794
(see 11. 1-2 of the poem). Sir George Beaumont, an intimate friend
of Wordsworth, and in his own day a landscape painter of some note,
painted two pictures of this castle, one of which was designed for
Mrs. Wordsworth.

352

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

4. sleeping. Ci. Merchant of Venire, V, i, 54: "How sweet the
nioonliglit sleeps upon this bank."

8. It trembled, ('f. Influence, of Natural Objects, 1, 20.

14-10. The reading in the text is that of the first edition as well as of
1832 and subsequent editions. In 18'JO, however, for these masterly
lines the poet substituted :

iuid add a gleam
Of lustre, known to neither sea or land
But borrowed from the youthful pool's dream.

which were retained in 1827 with the change, "the gleam The lustre."

What the poet refers to, is the element that is added by the artist to
every object he artistically depicts ; he does not represent it exactly as
it is, but contributes something from his own imagination — gives a
charm, a beauty, a meaning to the object which he feels and puts there,
and which is not present in the ol)ject itself.

20. Here a stanza is inserted both in the earliest and latest editions,
but omitted from 1820-43.

Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house* divine
Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; —
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine
The very sweetest had to thee been given.

22. Elysian quiet, ('f. Tivo Oentlemen of Verona, II, vii, 37-8:

And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

25. illusion. In 1807 "delusion."

32. Cf. Tintern Abbey, 1. 88, flF. :

For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless yoiith ; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.

also the Ode on Intimations of Innnortality, 17G, fF.

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ;

*" A mine" in 1807.

iiweet the

well as of
masterly

lustre."

3 artist to
exactly as
1 — gives a
)uts there.

it editious,

37-8:

THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 353

We will fjrieve pot, rather find
Strength in what remains behind ;
In the primal simpathy
Which havinjf been must ever be ;
In the soothinf^ thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering ;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

49-60. Of. Tennyson's Palace of Art, where tho life of sympathy with
men is placed above the life that is devoted wholly to beauty, knowledge,
and self-culture.

the Kind. The human race.

THE HAPPY WARRIOR.

Published in 1807, with the followin,, note appended :

"The above verses were written soon after tidings had been received
of the death of Lord Nelson in the battle of Trafalgar, October 21st,
1805, which event directed the author's thoughts to the subject." But
the poec elsewhere dates them 1806, and there is other evidence to
show that they were at least not finished until early in 1806.

Wordsworth ss 7s that while ' * many passages of these lines were sug-
gested by what was generally known as excellent in (Nelson's) conduct,
I have not been able to coimect his name with the poem as I could
wish" on account of "one great crime," his connection with Lady
Hamilton; the poet adds that "many elements of the character here
pourtrayed were found in my brother John."

5. childish replaced by "boyish" in 1845 — a manifest improvement.

9. This line is an Alexandrine, i.e., consists of six syllables.

15-18. "One of the lessons which Wordsworth is never tired of en-
forcing, the lesson that virtue grows by the strenuousness of its exercise,
that it gains strength as it wrestles with pain and difficulty, and
converts the shocks of circumstances into an energy of its proper glow "
(Myers).

30. Webb quotes Bomans, III, 8 : "Some affirm that we say, Let us
do evil that good may come, whose condemnation is just."

31. And where what, etc.

354

NOTKS ON WOIIDSWOUTII.

33. ( 'haugeil in 1837 to " He labours good on gootl to fix."

38. Cf. Milton's sonnet To L<uli/ Manjaret Lri/ :

Daiifjhter to that >,'oofl Earl, once President
Of Kii^jrlaiid's Council iuid licr Treasur} ,
Who lived in both nnstairi'd with j;old or fee,
And left them both, vwre in hiwuel/ content.

49-50. With the old pronunciation of "joined," now obsolete except
among the uneducated, the rhyme would l)e perfect.

51-2. Cf. Southey's account in chap, vii of his Life of Nelson : "No
sooner was he in battle, where his stpiadron was received with tho fne
of more than a thousand guns, than, as if that artillery, like music, had
driven away all care and painful thoughts, his countenance briglitencd,
and his conversation I >i'carae joyous, animated, elevated, and delightful."

54. " His anticipations are justified by the event " (Web))).

70. AVords worth, in a note on this line, cpiotes from Tho Flowre and

tho Loafo :

For knightes ever should be perseverinj^,
To seek honour without f eintise or slouth.
Fro wele to better in all manner t.hinge.

78. Webl) quotes (Joldsmith's Tak'nKj of Qnohcr .-

Yet shall they know thou conciueiest, thouj,di dead !
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

79. The reading of 1807, changed in 1837 to

Or he nuist fall and sleep without his fame,
and in 1S40 to

Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame.

8?, mortal mist. The dimness of sight that accompanies tho
approach of death.

"() NKJHTINGALE! THOU SURELY ART."

Wordsworth himself said that this was written at Town-end, Gras-
mere, in 1800, but Mrs. Wordsworth corrects this statement in a note,
and says it was written at Coleorton. The latter was Sir (Jeorge Beau-
mont's place in Leicestershire, wlierethe Wordsworths passed the winter
lSO'5-7. There are no nigntingales at (irasmere, but they abound at
C'oleorton, l>ut would be absent in winter. The poem was published
iu 1807.

TO THE RKV. 1)U. WOHUSWOUTll.

31)5

,e except

((

No
1 tho fire
iisic, had
uhteiUMl,
ifflitful."

oivra and

Wordsworth's prefert'iiee for the song of the stockdov*! jvhove tliat of
tho nightingale (which luia always been a favonritt! of the po* ts) \n highly
significant of the MJiole character and gcniius of tlu- man, II is own Hong
is not that of passion, of tiunult, and overmastering ins[)iration, hut of
peaceful and pc^rnianent solace, of serious thou^Mit and inner harmony.
The date of this poem 8e[)aratea it from those contained in the Stjicctions
hitherto; and, in this connection, the prominence givcjii to tin; syndnd-
ism of the two natural ol)jects delineated, should be noted. (See intro-
ductory note to 77te Primrose of the. Jiock).

2. fiery heart. Wordsworth in his text marks these words as a ((no-
tation ; see 3 Jlenry I'J , I, iv, 87 : "What, hath thy liery Insart so
parch'd thy entrails ? "

4. ** lu his modernization of TIu ('iirkoo and Ni{ihtin<jiiU', Words-
worth speaks of the hmd rlitl'iutj of the nightin«,fale's voice ; nothing
corresponding is found in the oi-iginal " (Dowden).

11. stockdove. "Mr. Wintringham in TIip liirda of Wordsworth,
maintains that the jmet here and in licxolution and /ndejx'tidenrc, ("Over
his own sweet voice the stockdove broods") confused the wood-[tigeon,
or ringdove, with the stockdove. The stockdove's voice has been com-
pared, he says, to a grunt ; the wood-jugeon's is tin; sweet coo rdn, coo
coo" (Dowden). Cf. Scott, Lady of the Lake, HI, ,S(>-40 :

In answer cooM the cushat dove [i.e., wnrKl-i)i^,'(;on]
Her notes of poadc an<l rest and love.

inies the

jnd, Gras-
iu a note,
irge Beau-
the winter
abound at
published

TO THE REV. Dli. WOliDSWOIlTH.

Written and published in 1820, addressed to the poet's broth (!r
Christopher, at that time rector of Lambeth, sul)ac((uently Mast(!r of
Trinity College, Cambridge. The poem refers to tlio familiar English
custom of the village choir singing and playing antliems from house to
house on Christmas eve.

5-6. An example of the poet's close oltservation of nature.

42. Cf the children.

49-50. The fields and streams about Cockerm(»uth .and Hawkshead.

51. Cytherea's zone. " Cytherea, a name for Venus, who was said
to have sprung from the foam of the sea near Cythera, now Cerigo, an

r '^

1 1

' ! (

; I

■ r

' , ; •

' i, ■

356

N0TE8 ON WOUDSWOKTII.

island on tlie soutli-eaHt of the Mort'a. On her zone, or cestus, M'ere
represented all things tending to excite love " (I)owden).

52. the Thunderer. Jupiter.

5.")-()(). In his later life Wordsworth grew strongly conservative.

(Jo. Lambeth's venerable towers. Landjcth palace on the banks of
the 'J'lianies in greater London, the ollicial residence of the Archbishops
of Canterbury.

73-4. A line example of the poet's masterly diction.

THE PKLMROSK OF THE RuCK.

Written at Rydal Mount in 18.31 ; published in 18.35. "The Rock,"
says Wordsworth, "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."

This is a poem of Wordsworth's old age. With Wordsworth, as age
advanced, the objective fact, — the picture, incident, the concrete subject
— counted for less, while the abstract truth, the lesson of the fact counted
for more. Mr. R. H. llutton (Oh Wordsworth' h Two Sfi/fes, Wonlnoorth-
iana, p. 6.3, ff. ) in order to exemplify the poet's Inter style contrasts this
poem with Duffodils. "The great beauty of Daffodils," he says, "ia its
wonderfnl buoyancy, its purely objective way of conveying that buoyancy,
and the extraordinary vividness with which 'the lonely rapture of lonely
minds ' is stamped upon the wliole poem, which is dated 1804, Now turn
to The Primrose of the Rork, which M'as written twenty-seven years later,
in 1831. We find the style altogether more ideal — reality counts for
less, symbol for more. There is far less elasticity, far less exultant
buoyancy here, and yet a grander and more stately movement. The
rescrre of power has almost disappeared ; but there is a graciousness
absent })efore, and the noble strength of the last verse is most gentle
strength. It will be ol)served at once that in The Daffodils there is no
attempt to explain the delight which the gay spectacle raised in the
l)oet's heart. He exults in the spectacle itself, and reproduces it con-
tinually in memory. The wind in his style blows as the wind blows in
The Daffodils, with a sort of physical rapture. In the later poem the
symbol is everything. The mind pours itself forth in reflective grati-
tude, as it glances at the moral overthrow which the humble primrose

i^^~

TIIK I'HIMI{<XS|.: OF TIIK H()("K.

357

; gentle

grati-

of the rock — ainl many things of liuiiian luouM as humlilr ami faitliful
as the primrose of tliu rock -has oiitliviMl. In point of mere expression,
I sliouhl call tlio later poem the moP; perfect of the two. The enjoy-
ment of the first lies in the intensity of the ftieling whicli it someliow
indieati's without ex[»ressing, of which it merely hints the fon;e l»y its
eager and springy movement." Tlie calm, lucid serenity of thouglit
and style in tlie poem heforo \is is doul)tless admirahle ; 1)ut the whok;
eonceptitui and art of The Dnjoi/lls sc^enis to tlio present cditoi', some-
thing, from the purely ]ioctie point of view, altogether rarer and lini r
than anything in the later [)oein.

7-10. The ])rimr()se had l)een noted hy tlie poet in 1802 ; under date
April 24tli of that year, his sister writes in her .Journal : " Wo walked
n the evening to Ilydal. (Joleridije and I lingered behind. Wo all
stood to look at (Jlow-worm Rock -a ]»riinrose that grew there, and
just looked out on the road from its own sheltered howiT." In his not«
Mr. Webb gives a long list of wars and battles between 1802 and 1831,
e.(/., the Naj tleonic wars, the war (»f 1812, the (J reek insurrection,
1821, the dissolution of the Holy Ilonuin KmjMre (ISOC), second French
Revolution, 1830, etc.

11-12. Cf. Bacon's AdvancpmetU of LcdriniKj, I, i, 3: "When a man
. . . seeth the dependence of causes, ^id the works of Providence,
then, according to the allegory of the poets, he will easily believe that
the highest link of nature's chain nnist needs be tied to the foot of
.Tupiter's chair;" so Faery Queen, I, v, 25. Milton, Paradixe Lost,
TI, rei)resents the earth as lit«;rally hanging from heaven by a goMen
chain, and King Arthur, in Mortc d' Arthur, speaking of prayer, says :

For so the wliole round earth is every way
Bound l>y ^rold chains ahoiil the feel of Go<l.

37-42. One of the poet's favourite themes— evil and suffering ulti-
mately the sources of good.

41, Genesis, iii, 17-18 : "Cursed is the ground for thy sake ; in sorrow
shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life ; thorns also and thistles
shall it )>ring forth to thee."

49-50. This prevision of immortality comes to those who are humble
in heart.

Professor Dowden 'Compares this poem with Tennyson's " P'lower in
the crannied wall " ; Tennyson's mood, he says, is one of awed
inquisition, Wordsworth's, of faith.

358

N(»TI;H (IV WoIlDSWOUTIf.

" KAiii sTAi; (U'" i:\i:NiN(i."

First puldislu'd in 1807. 'r.ikiii;^ a<lv;mta^»( (»f tlui Prjic*! of AinieiiH,
Wordsworth and his sister visiti il I'niiico in tho suiuiik r of IH02. 'J'iio
following extract is from Dorothy Wordsworth's .Tourii;d : "Wo arrivccl
at Calais at four o'clock on Sunday niornin<,', tho 31st of July. Wo had
d(!liL,ditful walks after tho heat of tho d.iy was passiid sccini,' far ofT in
tho wost tho coast of Knt,dand, liko a cloud, crcstKl with Dover Castle,
tlio evening star, and tho glory of tho sky ; the reflections in tho water
Were nioro heautiful than tho sky itself ; purple waves brighter than
precious stones, forever molting u[)on tho sands.''

10. The reading was amended in 1S.'{7 into "that is l'jnglan<l ; there
she lies."

"IT IS NOT TO HE TlU)ir(;ilT OF."

Written ISO'Jor 180.'^, at a time; when an invasion hy Napoleon was
expected ; piinted in The Muni'iiKj Pi).st, April Hi, ISO.'i, and included in
tl ^ 1807 edition of Wordsworth's i)oenis.

4. The quotation is from Daniel's CirU, Wki', II, vii.

")-C. Tho lines in the text were sul>stituted in 1827 for

Uoad hy which all might come .ttkI go that would,
And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands.

* * The opposition between * British freedom ' and what ho deemed its
'salutary bonds ' would naturally occur to Wonlsworth in days not
long })ef()re Catholic Emancipation and the iKoform Bill" (Dowden).

"IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING."

Composed on tho beach near Calais in August, 1802 ; first published
in 1807.

1. Changed in 1837 to :

Air sleeps, — from strife or stir the clouds are free ;
in 1840 to

A fairer face of evening cannot he ;

in 184") the poet returns to the earliest reading, the one in the text.

\ J^i,..

Amiens,
2. The
arrived
Wo li.ul
ir off ill
• Castlo,
10 water
bor than

I ; tliere

leoii Avaa
liuled in

cmeil its
lays not
ien).

I'KKHONAf, TAr-K.
C. In 1837 changed to " hroods o'er tlio sea."

359

11-16. Cf. thi) Oii: on Intlmatiom of /inmnrtn/Ui/ for the i(h-ji of eliild-
hood's openness to the inlhiencu of the divine in nature.

12. Abraham's bosom. See Lukr, xvi, ll>.2r).

)u])li8hed

I'KIISONAI. TAI-K.
Written KSOOC.'); published 1807.

6. maidens withering: on the stalk. ( 'f. MUlnnmrnfr Nofhr.s Pmnn
I, i, 70-8 :

Kilt ciulhlitr hiipiu U tho nwu distill'd,

Th.iii iluit which williitrinK on tlu- vir^'in tliorii

GriiWH, lives, and dit-s in sinj^le lilesHodneHH.

7. forms of chalk to guide tin; dancers.

9-12. Webh (ionipares C'owper, Tad; \v, 277-1)7: —

Not undolif;htful is nn hour to mo
So spent in p.'irlour ts\ili;,'lit ; hucIi a ^looni
Suit,3 woll tho tlioui^litfid or uiilliiniviii;,'- iniiid,
Till! mind (!ontomi)l;ili\e, with s .luo now tiiome
I'roynant, or indisiMisod alike toull.

'TiH tiiim tlic lUKhTstandiii;,' takes repose
In indolent \ acuity of thou),'ht.

12. Wonlsuortli .siys th.it this lino "stood, at lirst, li^itter and more
characteristieally, thus :

By my half-kitchtui and half-parlour fire.

My sister and T we.'e in the habit of having the tea-kettle in our little
sitting room : and wa toasted the bread ourselves." This was in Dove
(Cottage.

Here follows in the original text the second sonnet of tlu; series,
which is, however, omitted in Arnold's Selections.

bext.

(H)NTlNUEn.

1. Wing's have we, ir., we have mental powers which enable us to
rise above our immediate surroundiuirs.

2-4. The grand aspects of nature strengthen th(> tendency to see the
great and noble aspects of commonplace things ; to .sec and register in

360

NOTES ON WORDSWORTH.

poetry these nobler aspects is Wordsworth's great aim ; he attempts by

"Verse to build a princely throne on luimble truth" (At the Grave of

Burns, 35-6). Elsewhere he describes the poet's work :

The outward shows of sky and earth
Of hill and valley, he has viewed ;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him from solitude.

In common thin{,'s that round us lie

Some random truths he can imi)art :

The harvest of a (piiet eye

That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

— <4 PoeVa Epitaph.)

9-12. This reading was substituted in 1827 for the earlier one :

There do I find a never-failing store

Of personal themes, anci such '". I love best ;

Matter wherein rij;ht voluble I am :

Two will I mention, dearer than the rest.

13-14. The gentle Lady. Desdemona in Shakespeare's Othello.

Una. The heroine of the first book of the Faery Queen, who in the
opening stanzas is described as leading a lamb.

" Wordsworth pronounced Othello, Plato's record of the last scenes of
the career of Socrates (the Aj)olo<jy), and Walton's Life of Oeoryt'
Herbert, the most pathetic of human compositions " (Dowden).

AFTP]RTHOUGHT.

This is the concluding sonnet of a series of twenty-four, which follow
the course of the river TJuddon from its source to its mouth. They
were written at various times and published in 1820.

3. Duddon. "The river Duddon rises upon Wrynose Fell, on the
confines of Westmoreland, Cumberland and Lancashire ; and, having
served as a boundary to the two last counties for the space of about
twenty-five miles, enters the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Walney and
the Lordship of Milium" (Wordsworth).

5. and shall not cease to glide. This is the reading of the 2ii(l
edition of 1820 ; in 1840 tlie poet returned to the reading of the 1st ed, :
" au<l shall forever glide."

Cf. 77/*' Fountain:

'Twill munnur on a thousand years
And flow as now it flows.

SCORX NOT THE SONNET.

3G1

bempts by
Grave of

Epitaph.)

lello.

i^ho in the

; scenes of
of Oeorgc

and Tennyson's Brook :

Men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

7-10. There is a reminiscence here, as Wordsworth in a note hints, of
a passage in Moschus' Epitaph upon Bion, 11. lOG-lll :

atai Tai fxaAa^^at ixev errav Kara ko.itov oKmfTai
r)Se TO. x^i^pa. (TtXifa to t' fv9aKe<; ovKov dvqOoi',
varepov av ^Movrai /cal et? eros dAAo (^Jorrai
o^^es 5' oi fify6i\oL (cat KaprepoL, ol (ro(l>o'i ai'Spts,
OJTJTOTe TTpara Odvuifit^ dfOLKooi ev \6oi'i. (coiAo
evfio^es ev fidKa ixaKp'of dripfiova friyperov iinvof

thus translated by Lang: "Ah nie ! when the mallows wither in the
gar :en, and the green parsley and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a
later day they live again, and spring in another year ; but we men, ^^e
the great and mighty or wise, when once we have died, in hollow darth
we sleep, gone down into silence; a right long, and endless, and
unawakening sleep."

9, fol. Note how the poet turns from what is depressing, to a comfort-
ing and bracing thought.

14. Wordsworth quotes, in his note on this line, Paradise Lost, viii,
282: "And feel that I am happier than I know."'

ich follow
:h. They

11, on the

d, having

of about

alney and

.f the 2ntl
e 1st ed. :

SCORN NOT THE SONNET.

Published in 1827, and composed perhaps in the same year, "almost
extempore in a short walk on the western side of Eydal Lake."

1-2. The sonnet was introduced from Italy into English literature by
Wyatt s,nd Surrey, in the reign of Henry VI II., and became an ex-
tremely popular form. After the Restoration (IGGO) it, however,
practically ceased to be written, and only grew into favour again with
the new movement in literature in the latter part of the ISth century;
Wordsworth and Coleridge w^re the lirst great poets tc employ it
frequently. Accordingly, conservative criticism looked coldly upon this
form.

3. Shakespeare wrote a long connected series of sonnets, which, by
the majority of critics, are licld to express certain experiences and
feelings of his own life.

' 1 : ■

362

NOTES ON" WORDSWORTH.

4. Petrarch. (1804-74.) Italian poet, one of the earliest of the
great names in modern literature, and the lirst to give vogue to tlu^
sonnet. His sonnets chiefly treat of his unrequited passion for a
certain lady named Laura.

5. Tasso. (1544-95.) Italian poet, author of tlie epic La Gerustt
hnnitie L'lherata, on the sul>ject of Godfrey de I'ouillon and the;
Crusaders ; his sonnets are addressed to the sister of the Duke of
l^'errara.

(). Changed in 1837 to " With it Camoens soothed."

Camoens. Portuguese poet who, in 1556 was banished to Macao, a
Portuguese settlement in China, and there wrote many sonnets and
lyrics. His chief work is the Lnmul.

7-9. Dante. (1265-1.321.) A Florentine, the greatest of Italian
poets, and one of the greatest of all poets ; his chief work is the Divine
Comedy, in which is presented a vision of Heaven, Purgatory, and Hell
(hence "visionary brow") ; many of his sonnets are found in his Vitu
Xuova, written in his twenty-eighth year, at a happy epoch of his life
(hence "gay iinjrtle leaf," the myrtle being embhnnatic of joy, as the
" cj'press " of sadness and death). His later life was passed in exik'
from his native city, and in .sadness.

9-11. Spenser's sonnets, like Shakespeare's, form a series, and narrate
the story of his love and marriage ; they are not by any means his mny:
successful work, and, while possessing chanu and beauty, are greatly
inferior in power to those of Sliakespcare or Milton j hence, presumably,
"mild glow-worm lamj). "

Faery-land. The scene of his great poem, [I'he Faerii Qhvok

dark-ways. A reference to the misfortunes of his actual life ; In
was under the necessity of living in Ireland — which then meant an
almost total l)anishment from society and the advantages of cultivatt ■!
life ; his house was sacked and burned, and he died in poverty in London.

11-12. Milton's sonnets, chietly Avrittcn between 1638 and 1G5S, ''ai-
the few occasional stiains that coinuut as by intermittent trunipt '
blasts through twenty years, the rich minor poetry of his youth .".mi
early manhood with the greater poetry of his declining years. " (Massom.
The word ' damp ' is appropriate because the eonilicts between king an^
parliament enforced him *a} quit the more congenial paths of poetry for
the work of political and religious controversy.

^^^S«-»i--

ON THE DEPAUTUHK OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

3G3

arliest of the

vogue to tlu!

passion for a

ic La Gerusa-

lion and tin;

the l^uke of

1(1 to Macao, a

y sonnets and

2st of Italian
k is the JJiriiK
tory, and Hell
nd in his !'//(/
•och of liis life
of joy, as tlic
i)assed in exile

es, and narrate
means his mu>^\
ty, are gruatiN
H', presuniabh ,

actual life ; In
Llien meant an
cs of eultivati '!
o'ltyin London.

and IGilS, '" ai'
ittent truiupt ;
his youth nml
irs." (Massoiii.
tween king auii
IS of poetry for

14. soul-animating strains. See, for example, those On Jii^ Bliu'l-
ness, On the L<t(e Mdi^sacre in Piedwont, To Croimodl (in Appendix to
this volume).

ON THE DEPAHTURE OF SIU WALTEll SCOTT.

Written in 1831, and included in Ycrro^o llpoWih'd and Other Poema,
1835. Wordsworth says : " I first became ae(iuainted with tliis great
and amiable man -Sir Walter Scott — in the year 1803, wiien my sister
and I, making a tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in
Lasswade, upon the banks of the Esk, where he was then living. vVe
saw a good deal of him in the course of the following week ; the parti-
culars are given in my sister's Journal of that tour." In regard to the
circumstances which occasioned this scmnet, Wordsworth says: "In
the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from T\\y. . to visit Sir
Walter Si^ott before his departure for Italy. This journey had been
delayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time
appointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive us
without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and
reached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my
eyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man so
healthy, gay and hopt ful a few years before ! . . . . On Tuesday
morning Sir Walter Scott accompanied us and most of the party to
Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted from the carriage
he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in revisiting those
favi)urite haunts. Of that excursion the verses Yarrow Jtfrisltrd are a

memorial On our return in the afternoon Ave had to cross

the Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of the carriage
grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream that there flows some-
what rapidly ; a rich but sad light of rather a purple than a golden hue
was spread over the Eildon Hills at that moment ; and, thinking it
probable that it might be the last time Sir Walter woidd cross the
stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in
the sonnet beginning — " A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain."

According to the old legend, the hill originally had only one ])eak, but
was cleft by the wizard, iMichael Scott ; cf. LaiioJ'tlie Last Minstrel, II,

144:

And, warrior, T could say to tliee

The words that cloft Eildon Hills in three.

14. Soft Parthenope. Parthenope, the ancient nanie of Naples ; soft
in reference to the climate.

364

NOTES OV WORDSWOHTII.

"A POET!— HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO SCHOOL."

Published in 1842; written "perhaps between 1838 and 1842"
(Dowdeu).

"I was impelled to write this sonnet," said Wordsworth, "by the
disgusting frequency with which the word artistical, imported with
other impertinences from the (iermaus, is employed by writers of tht;
jtresent day ; for artistical let them substitute artificial, and the poetry
written on this system both at home and abroad, will be for the most
part better characterized."

Cf. with this sonnet the descriptidn <»f the true poet in A Poet's
Epitaph.

SCHOOL."

8 and 1842"

rth, "l)y the
mported witli
vriters of tht;
nd the poetry
B for the most

; in A Poet's

VPPENDIX

s-S5«U».„.

APPEiN^DIX.

SELECTIONS yon "SKUJT" ]{EAJ)TN(>.

l.-SIR PATIUCK SPENS.

The king sits in Duufennline town,
blinking the Wude-red wine ;

" O wliure will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this new ship of mine ! "

up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee, —

"Sir Patrick Spens is tlie best sailor.
That ever sail'd the sea."

Our king has written a ])raid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking r)n the strand.

" To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faenv ;
The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis thou maun bring her liame."

The first M'ord that Sir Patrick read,

Sae loud h)ud laughed he ;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,

The tear blinded his e'e.

'* wha is this lias done tliis deed,

And tuuld the king o' me.
To send us out, at tliis time of tlie year,

To sail upon the sea 'i
3

APPENDIX.

" Be it wind, he it weet, be it hail, })o it sleet, 26

Our ship must sail the faeui ;
The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tie we must fetch lier hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,

Wi' a' the speed they may ; 30

They hae landed in Noroway,
Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,

In Noroway, but twae>
When that the lords o' Noroway 86

Began aloud to say, —

*' Ye Scottishroen spend a' our king's goud,

And a' our queenis fee."'
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud !

Fu' loud I hear ye lie. 40

*•■ For I brought as much white monie,

As gane my men and me.
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud.

Out o'er the sea Avi' me.

*' Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a' ! 46

Our gude .ship sails the morn."
'* Now, ever alake, my master dear,

I fear a deadly storm !

'* I saw the new moon, late yestreen,

Wi' the auld moon in her aim ; 50

And, if we gang to sea, master,

1 fear we'll come to harm. "

They hadna .sailed a league, a league,

A league but barely three.
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 55

And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap.

It was sic a deadly storm ;

And the waves cam o'er the broken ship.

Till a' her sides were torn. 60

w loud, 55

1. Slli I'ATUICK SI'KNS.

"0 where will T get a gudo sailor,

To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall top-mast,

To see if I can spy laud 'i "

** O here am I, a sailor gude, 65

To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall top-mast ;

But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step,.

A step hut .»arely ane, 70

When a bout Hew out of our goodly .ship,

And the salt sea it came in.

*'Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith.

Another o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side, 75

And let na the sea come in. "

They fetched a web o' the silken claith,

Another of the twine,
And they wapped them round that gude ship's side.

But still the sea came in. 80

O laith, laitii, were our gude Scots lords

To weet their cork-heel'd shoon !
But lang or a' the play was play'd.

They wat their hats aboou.

And mony was the feather-bed, 85

Tiiat flattered on the faem ;
And mony was the gude lord's son,

That never niair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white.

The maidens tore their hair, 0<

A' for the sake of their true loves ;

For them they'll see na mair.

O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit,

Wi' their fans into their hand.
Before they ste Sir Patrick Spens 95

Come sailing to the strand I

'IHP

APPKNDIX.

And lang, lang, may the maiilcns sit,
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,

A' waiting for tlieir ain dear h)veH !
For them they'll see na mair.

(> forty miles ofF Aberdeen,

'Tis llfty fathoms deep.
And there lies gude iSir Patrick Spens,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

100

-Old Balliid.

•)

-INTRODUCTION TO THE Tmill) BOOK OF "PARADISE

LOST."

Hail, holy Light, oflfspring of Heaven liist horn !
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed ? since Clod is light,
And never but in uuapproach6d light

Dwelt from eternity -dwelt then in thee, 6

liright ettiuence of bright essence iucreate !
• ( )r hear'st tliou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who sluill tell? Before the Sun,
Before the Heavens, thou wiit, and at the voice
Of (iod, as with a mantle, didst invest 10

The rising World of waters dark and deep,
Won from the voi'" and formless Infinite !
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing.
Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my Hight, 15

Through utter and through middle Darkness borne.
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,
Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, 20

Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe.
And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou
P^evisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To tind thy piercing ray, and lind no dawn ;
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orhs, 26

Or dim sutfusiou veiled. Yet not the more

^^^^^t^mht^

100

Ballad.

lRADISE

3. — HYMN TO ADVKKHITY.

Cease I to wandor where tlu; Muses liainit

Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny liill,

Sniit with the l(»vu of sacrud song ; hut cliiuf

Thee, Sion, and the (lowery brooks l)»'ncath,

That wash thy lial lowed foet, and warl)ling fhiw,

Nightly 1 visit : nor sometimes forget

Those other two eciualled with me in fate,

So were I eoualled witli tliem in renown,

Blind Thamyris and blind Ma'onides,

The Tiresias and Thinens, prophets old :

Then feed on thouglits that voluntary move

Harmonious num])ers ; as the wakeful bird

Sings darkling, and, in shadi(!st covert hid,

Tunes her noetun.al note. Thus with the year

Seasons return ; but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn

Or sight of vernal bloom, or sunnner's rose.

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ;

But cloud instead and over-during dark

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men

Out off, and, for the book of knowledge fair,

Presented "vith a universal blank

Of Nature's works, to me exjiunged and rased,

And Avisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

So nuicli the rather thou, Celestial Light,

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers

Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence

Purge and disperse;, that 1 may see and tell

Of things invisible to mortal sight.

■Milton.

3.— HYMN TO ADVERSITY.

Daughter of Jove, relentless Power,
Thou Tamer of the human breast.
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour

The Bad aflfright, atUict the Best !
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The Proud are taught to taste of pain,
And i)urple Tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

AI'l'KNDIX.

WhtMi liiHt thy Siro to hcikI on earth

N'irtiu', hiH darling ( liild, deHigned, 10

To theu ho gavo tlio ht-av'idy Hirth,

And hade to form hv.v infant mind.
Stern ruggtid Nurse ! tliy I'igid h)ro
With patienou many a year she bore ;
What sorrow was, thou had'st hi'r know, 15

And from her own ahc learned to melt at others' woe.

lSca»'cd at thy frown terrilie, lly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle hroo*!,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and tlioughtless .loy,

And leave lis leisure to Ite good.
Light thtiV disiujrse, an«l with them go
The Hunnner I'^riend, tlie llatt'riug Foe ;
By vain Trosperity reciivcd,
To her they vow their truth, and Jire again l)elieved.

2()

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed

• mmersed in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melanelioly, silent maid

NVith leaden eye, that loves the ground.
Still on thy solemn steps attend ;
Warm Charity, the general Friend,
NVith Ju 'tice to herself sevei'e.
And Pity, c ^^ping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

oh, gently on thy Suppliant's head,

Dread (ioddess, lay thy ehast'ning hand ! '
Not in thy ( Jorgon terrors elad.

Nor eireled with the vengeful Band
(As by the Impious thou art seen)
With tliund "ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form l^enign, oh (ioddess, wear,
Tliy milder inHuenee impart.

Thy philoso})hic train be there

To soften, not to wound my heart,
8

^iSkiU.

IT)

\H)

;^o

;{.■)

5. —CONCLUSION OF " TilK VANITV UV HUMAN WhSHKS '

Th<8 gon'rona Apark oxtiiiot revive,
'IV'iich me t»» l(»ve and tf) forgive,
l"]xact Miy own (lefci-t.s to Hcan,
What others are, to le.l, and know niyHelf a Man.

— '/'. (hui If.

4.-W()I.SEY.

KHOM THK "VANriV (iF HUMAN WlMUEM."

In full-hlown diginty see "Wolsey stand,
liJiw in lii.s voire, and foituno in liis hand :
To him the churoli, the realm, tlieir pow 'ns eonsign,
Thro' liim the rays of regal bounty whine,
Turn'd hy liis nod tlio stream of honour th)ws,
His .smile alone security bestows :
Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r,
Cliiim leads to claim, and i)(»vv'r advances pow'r ;
Till concjuest unresisted ceas'd to please.
And rights submitted left him none to seize.
At length his sov'reign frowns ;~the train of state
Mai-k the keen glance, and Avatch the sign to liate.
Where-e'er ho tuins he meets a strangei-'s eye ;
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers ily :
Now drops at once the jiiide of awful state,
'I'lie golden canoj)y, the glitt'riug plate,
'J'he regal palace, the luxurious board,
'i'he liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, -with maladies oppress'd,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest,
(irief aids disease, remember'd folly stings.
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

— Samuel Jo/i/i.it>n.

120

5. -CONCLUSION OF "THK VANITY OF HUMAN WISHKS."

Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects tind ?
Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate

II \^

appp:ndix.

1 1

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, 5

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? —

Enquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain,

Which Heav'n Tuay hear ; nor deem religion vain.

Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice ; 10

Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar

The secret anil)ush of a specious pray'r.

Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,

Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.

Yet when the sense of sacred presence lires, 1")

And strong devotion to the skies aspires,

i*our forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,

C)bedient passions, and a will resign'd ;

For love, which scarce collective man can fill ;

For i)atience, sov'reigu o'er transmuted ill ; 2()

For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,

Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat ;

These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain ;

These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain ;

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind.. 25

And makes the happiness she does not find.

— Samad Johnson.

6.— THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL.
A PICTURE AT FANO.

Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave

That child, when thou hast done with him, for me !

Let me sit all the day here, that v/hen eve
Shall lind performed thy special ministry,

Aihl time come, for departure, thou, suspending

Thy Hight, may'st see another child for tending,
Another still, to '-.iet and retrieve.

Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more.
From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,

— And suddenly my head is covered o'er

With those wings, white above the child who prays

5t«*>o~..

7.-

-A SLUMBEK DID MY SPIRIT SEAL.

hnson.

Now on that tomb— and I shall feel thee guarding
Me, out of all the world ; for me, discarding

Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.

I would not look up thither past thy head 15

Because the door opes, like that child, I know.

For I should have thy gracious face instead.

Thou bird of God ! And wilt thou bend me low

Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together,

And lift them up to pray, and gently tether 20

Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread ?

If this was ever granted, I would rest

My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands

Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast.

Pressing the brain which too much thought expands, 25

Back to its pro2)er size again, and smoothing

Distortion down till every nerve had soothing,
And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed.

How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired !

I think how I should view tlie earth and skies 30

And see, when once again my brow was bared

After thy healing, with such different eyes.
O world, as God has made it ! All is beauty : "
And knowing this is love, and love is duty,

What further may be sought for or declared ? .S5

— R. Brooming.

A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL."

A slumber did my spirit seal ;

I had no human fears :
She seemed a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force ;

She neither hears nor sees ;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course

With rocks, and stones, and trees !

WonUivorth..

'i ;'!:

■i:!
ss

APPENDIX.

8.— THE SCHOLAR.

My days among the Dead are passed ;

Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,

The miglity minds of ohl :
My never-failing friends are they
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,

And seek relief in woe ;
And while I understand and feel

How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been ])edewed
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them

I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,

Partake their hopes and fears,
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead ; anon

My place witli them will be,
And I with them shall travel on

Through all futurity ;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

B. SoiUhey.

9.— OLD JANE.

I love old women best, I think :

She knows a friend in me, —
Old .Jane, who totters on the brink

Of God's lOteruity ;
Whose limbs are stiff, whose cheek is lean,

Whose eyes look up, afraid ;
Though you may gather she has been

A little laughing maid.
12

i.S?*?>*l.^

10. — BOADICEA.

Once had she with her doll what times,

And with her skipping-rope !
Her head was full of lovero' rhymes,

Once, and her heart of hope ;
Who, now, with eyes as sad as sweet,—

I love to look on her, —
At corner of the gusty street,

Asks, "Buy a pencil, Sir ? "

Her smile is as the litten West,

-Nigh-while the sun is gone ;
She is more fain to be at rest

Than here to linger on :
Beneath her lids the pictures Hit

Of memories far-away :
Her look has not a hint in it

Of what she sees to-day.

—T. Ashe.

Soutkey.

10.— BOADICEA.

When the British warrior queen.
Bleeding from the Roman rods.

Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods ;

Sage beneath a spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief ;

Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.

" Princess ! if our aged eyes

Wee]) upon thy matchless wrongs,

'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.

" Rome shall perish— write that word
In the blood that she has spilt ;

Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep ill ruin as in guilt.
13

HP^

-,.|„r-

1 "

.1 1

:'i\l ,

APPENDIX.

*'Rome, for empire far renown'd,
'I'raiiiples on a tliousand states ;

Soon her pride sliall kiss the ground —
Hark ! the (xaul is at her gates !

"Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless ot a soldier's name ;

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.

" Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings.
Shall a wider world command.

" Regions Caesar never knew

Thy ]>osterity shall sway ;
Where his eagles never tiew.

None invincible as they."

Such the l)ard's prophetic words,
Pregnaut with celestial lire

Bending as he swept the chords
Of liis sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in lier bosom glow ;

Rusii'd to l)attle, fought, and died ;
Dying hurl'd them at the foe :

"Ruffians, pitiless as proud.
Heaven awards the vengeance due ;

Empire is on un ])estow'd.
Shame and ruin wait for you."

W. Cowper,

11.— PKOUD MAISIE.

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so ^arly ;
Sweet llobin sits on the bush

Singing so rarely.
14

12. — MY LAST DUCHESS.

Coivper.

" 'I'ell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me ? "

*— " When six l)ra\v gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye."

" Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly ? "
— " The gray-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly.

"The glowworm o'er grave and stone

Shall light thee steady ;
The owl from the steeple sing

*\V^elconie, proud lady.' "

12.— MY LAST DUCHESS.

FERFiARA..

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. 1 call
'J'hat piece a wonder, now : Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
W' ill 't plt.'ase you sit and look at her ? I said
" Fra Pandolf " by design : for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst.
How such a glance came there ; so, not the lirst
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 't was not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps
Fra Pandolf chaiu^'ed to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too nuich, " or ' ' Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat" : such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that sjiot of joy. rdie had
A heart— how shall I say ? too soon made glad,

~Sco(l.

APPENDIX.

Too easily impressed ; she liked , hate'er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, 't was all one ! My favour at her l)?'ea8t, 25

The dropping of tlie daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some oliicious fool

Lioke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace — all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 80

Or blush, at least. She tlianked men, — good ! l)ut thanked

Somehow — I know not how— as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame

This sort of trilling ? Even had you skill 35

In Hpeech — (which I have not) — to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, ".lust this

Or that in you disgusts mo ; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark " — and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,

— E'en then would be some stooping ; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene'er I jjassed her ; but who passed without

Much the same smile ? Tliis grew ; I gave ooinmands 45

Then all smiles stopped togethei'. There she stands

As if alive. Will 't please you rise ? We'll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master's known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretence 50

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed ;

Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go

'J'ogether down, sir. Notice Neptune, though.

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity.

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me I

-J^. Bronmimj.

i»p|S»»4*~^

13.

UP AT A VILLA — DOWN IN TUE CITY.

b thanked

mds 45

Bruionlmj.

13.— UP AT A VILLA-DOWN IN THE CITY.

(AS l.I.STINiJUlSMK,. i'.V AX ITALIAN PERSON (,F QUALITY.)

Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spafe,
Ihe liouse for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-s(,uare •
Ah. such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there'i

11.

Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least '

rhere, the wliole day long, one's life is a perfect feast ; 5

While up at a villa one lives, I n^aintain it, no more than a beast.

III.
Well now, look at our villa ! stuck like the horn of a bull
.Inst on a mountain edge as bare as tiie creature's skull,
Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull ! '
-I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the luiir's turned wool. 10

IV.
But the city, oh the city— the square with the houses ! Why '
They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there's something to take the eye'
Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry ;
Vou watch who crosses and gossips, who saunteis, who hurries by •
Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets lii.rh' . 15
And the shops with fanciful signs whicli are painted properly ° '

What of a villa ? Though winter be over in March by rights
'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well ofl'the heights •
You've the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen steam and'
wlieeze,

And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive-trees. 2;)

VI.

Is it better in May, I ask you ? You've summer all at once ;
In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns.
'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well,
The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell
Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell '>5

trWT

APPENDIX.

VII.

la it ever hot iu the square ? There's a fountain to spout and splash !
In the shade it sings and springs ; in the shine such foam-bows flash
On the liorses with curling iish-tails, that prance and i)ad(lle and pash
Round the lady atop in her conch — iifty gazers do not abash,
Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of
sash. 30

VIII.

All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger,
Except yon cypress that points like death's lean lifted foretiuger.
Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix i' the corn and mingle,
Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle.
Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill, 35

And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill.
p]nough of the seasons, — I spare you the months of fever and chill.

IX.

Ere you open your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin :
No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in :
You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin. 40

By and by there's the travelling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws

teeth ;
Or the Pulcinello-trumpet })reaks u]) the market beneath.
At the post-ofhce such a scene-picture — the new play, piping hot !
And a notice how, only this morning, three liljeral thieves were shot.
Above it, behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes, 45

And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of the

Duke's !
Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so
Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, St. Jerome and Cicero,
"And moreover," (the sonnet goes rhyming,) "the skirts of St. Paul

lias reached,
Having preachetl us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he

preached. " 50

Noon strikes, — here sweeps the procession ! our Lady borne smiling

and smart,
With a pink gauzi gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her

heart !
Banff -irhang-ichaiig goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife ;
No keeping one's haunches still : it's the greatest pleasure in life.

d splash !
W8 Hash
and pash

in a sort of
30

;er,

iger.

ingle,

I, 35

1 on the hill.
L chill.

If.-

-ESTRANCfF.MENT.

Rut bless you, it's dear-ifs dear ! fowls, wine, at doul.le the . .te ,.
1 hey have clapp a new tax upon sal, and -vhat oil pays .^^ th'e'

It's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the eity .
B ggars ean scarcely be choosers : but stiU-ah, the pity, the pity -

Ami the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-hohling the yoHow candles

Bang-wlang-whanu goes the <lruin, tootle-te-tootle the tife

Uh, a day m the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life !

—Hobert Browninfj.

begin :

40
ood, draws

hot !
ere shot.

4;')
law of the

l-so

of St. Paul

lan ever he

ne smiling

uck in her

14. —ESTRANGEMENT.

The path from me to you that led,

Untrodden long, witli grass is grown,—

Mute carpet that his lieges spread
Before tlie Trince Oblivion

When he goes visiting the dead. 5

And who are they but who forget ?

You, who my coming could surmise
Ere any hint of me as yet

Warned other ears and other eyes,
See the path blurred without regret. 10

Bux^ when I trace its wi:.aings sweet

AVith saddened steps, ac every spot
That feels the memory in my feet,

Each grass-blade turns forge*^-me-not.
Where murmuring bees your name repeat. 15

— /. H. Lowell,

life.

AI'PKNDIX.

15.—*' THE (ilUT WOAK TREK THAT'S IN THE DELF.."»

The girt woak tree th?vt's in the doll !

There's noo tree J do hive so well ;

Vor times an' times when 1 wer yoiiiij^',

1 there've a-climb'd, an' there've a-/,wung,

An' piek'd the eiicorna green, a-shed 5

In wrestlcjn storms vrom his l)roa(l head.

An' down below's the cloty brook

Wliere 1 did vish with line an' hook,

An' boilt, in pluysome dips an' zwinis,

The foamy stream, vvi' white-skinn'd lim's. 10

An' there my mother nind)ly shot

Her knitten-needles, as she zot

At evenen down below the wide

Woak's liead, wi' father at her zide.

An' I've a jtlayed wi' many a bwoy, 15

That's now a man an' gone awoy ;
Zoo I do like noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leiiter years, 1 roved

Wi' thik poor maul 1 fondly lov'd, — 20

The maid too fejiir to die so soon,—

When even6n twilight, or the moon,

Cast light enongh 'ithin the pleiice

To show the smiles upon lier feiice,

Wi' e3'es so elear's the glassy ])ool, 25

An' lips an' cheiiks so soft as wool.

There ban' in ban', wi' lK)soms warnj,

Wi' love that bnrn'd but thought noo harm,

Below the wide-bough'd tree we past

The happy houis that went too vast ; 30

An' though she'll never be my wife,

She's still my leiiden star o' life.

She's gone : an' sht've a-left to me

Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree ;

Zoo I do love noo tree so well 35

'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

' In Dorsetshire dialect.

:ij.."i

16— iioMK Tumunvvs, from ahhoad.

An' oh! inifl novorax nor hr.ok

lie l.n.UKl.t to spvv.nl his stc-itdy look •

Nor evor rmm' his ril.hv /i.h-.s

Mi<l cattle ni)»th(.rhc;iiry hides;

N'>ri.igs rout up his turf, hut kc.',,

His Iwoneson.e sheii.le vor hanukvs.s .shee,> •

An^ let en grow, an' let en spread,

An' let en live when J ho dead.

l^utoh! if men should come an' veil

'i'lie girt woak tree that's in the dell

An' Imihl his planks 'ithin the zide '
O >^'""t' girt ship to plough the ti,!e
Then, life (.r death ! I'd goo to sea,
A sailen wi' the girt woak tree :
An' T upon his planks wouhl stand.
An' die a-lightin vor the land,—
The lan<l so dear, —the LmhI so free,—
The land tiiat ])ore the girt woak tree ;
Vor I do love iu)o tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

r>o

n\ Barnes.

16.-

-HOME THOUGHTS, FKOM ABROAD.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there
And whoever wakes ir, England sees, son.e morning, unaware
ihat the lowest )>oughs and the brushwood sheaf '

Kound the elm-tree l)ole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffi.ieh sings on the orchard bough
in England — now !
And after April, when May follows
And the white-throat buihls, and all the swallows !
Hark, wliere my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops-at the l)ent spray's edge-
That's the wise thrush : he sings each song twice over
Lest you should tliink he never couk recapture
The first line careless rupture !

.jrr*

AIM'KNDIX,

And llntiigh i\\r fields loctk loiigh with hoary dt^w,
And \\ ill lie gay Nvlien noontido M'ukes anew
The ]>iittci'cui)H, the little ehildren's dower
— Far liright<'r tliiin this gaudy inelon-liuwiir I

Ji. lirotvniny.

17.— TO A WATEUKOWr..

Whither, 'midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far thi'oiigh their ntsy depths dost thou pursue

'J'hy solitary way V

\'uinly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thet; wrong.
As darkly seen figainst the crimson sky,

'i'hy liguro floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
C)f weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where tlte rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean side ?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that patliless coast, —
The desert and illimitable air, — •

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ;
Yet stoop no^, Weary, to the welcome land.

Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end ;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend

Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest.

Thou'rt gone ; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallow'd up thy form ; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given.

And shall not soon depart.
22

1^. — AFTKU HU.VMKT.
Ho who, from zone to zono

Intho ungw.y(l,,,tIn,u.sttroa(lal..ne.
Will lead tny stopH aright.

_ — M'. C. linintit.

I8.-()ZVMA\|)IAS.
I Uict a traveller from an anti.,u. la.nl
U ho sa,.l : Two vast and trunkless leg. of .tone
Stamnuthu.Wt. Near then, on the san.l.
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wnnkled lip, and sneer of oohleom
loll that Its 8ouli,t(,r well those passions read
Wh.eh yet survive, (stan.ped on these lifeless things )
he hand that moeked tiiem and the heart that fed '

And on the pedestal these words appear :
"My name is Ozymaudias, king of kings'-

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! "

rsothing heside remains. l{,)und the deeay

Of that colossal wreck. l,oundless an.l hare

ihe lone and level sands stretch far away.

— Shelley.

19. -AFTER SUNSET.
The vast and solemn comi)any of clouds
Around the Sun's death, lit, incarnadined.
Cool into ashy wan ; as Night enshrouds
'i'he level pasture, creeping up behind
Through voiceless vales, o'er lawn and purpled hill
And haz6d mead, her mystery to fulHll
Cows low from tar-oflf farms ; the loitering wind
Sighs in the hedge, you hear it if you will,—
Tho' all the wood, alive atop with wings
Lifting and sinking through tlie leafy nooks
Seethes with the clamour of a thousand rooks
Now every sound at length is hush'd away.
These few are sacred i.umients. ();.e more Day
Drops in the shadowy gulf of bygone things. "

— William Allimjham,

APPENDIX.

20. — HOME: IN WAR-TI:ME.

She tiirneil the fair page with her fairer hand —

More fair and frail tlian it "was wont to be ;

O'er each reinember'd tiling he loved to see

Slie lingered, and as with a fairy's wand

Enchanted it to order. Oft she fanned 5

New motes into tlie sun ; and as a l)ee

Sings tluough a brake of l)ells, so murmured she,

And so her patient love did understaiul

The reli(|uary room. Upon the sill

She fed his favourite bird. *' Ah, Robin, sing ! 10

He loves thee. '' Then she touches a sweet string

Of soft recall, and towards the Eastern hill

Smiles all her soul —

for him who cannot hear
The raven croaking at his carrion ear. 16

— Sydney Dobell.

•21.— ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST.

In vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,
And reddening Ph(ebus lifts Itis golden lire ;
The birds in vain their amorous descant join ;
Or cheerful iields resume their green attire ;
These ears alas ! for other notes repine,
A ditferent object do these eyes recpiire ;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine ;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet Morning smiles the })usy race to cheer.
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men ;
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear ;
To warm their little loves the birds complain ;
1 fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.

— T. Gray.

aSfe^aa..-

23.-

-SONNETS FROM THE POKTUGUESK.

22,— REMP]MBER.

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the; silent land ;

Wlien you can no more hold me by' the hand,

^or I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Uememl)er me when no more, day by day

You tell me of our future that you planned :

Only remember me ; you understand
It will l)e late to counsel then or ])ray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve ;
For if the darkness and corruption leave '
A vestige of the thoughts th.-t once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you shorki remember and be sad.

— Christina O. Rossctti.

23.-S0NNP:T8 from the PORTUGUESE.

XVIT.

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes

God set between flis After and Before,

And strike up and strike off the general roar

Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats

In a serene air purely. Antidotes

Of medicated music, answering for

Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour

From thence into their ears. God's will devotes

Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thij-.e.

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for mos^ use ?

A hope, to sing by gladly V or a fine

Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ?

A shade, in which to sing- of T^'Im or pine ?

A grave, on which to rest hnn singing ? Choose.

—Elizabeth B. Jirownim/.

APPENDIX.

rmiSlJlj

24. -SONNET, XXVI.

Lord of my love, to whom in vass.ilnge

I'liy merit hath iiiy duty strongly knit,

To thee I send this written embassage,

To witness duty, not to show my wit :

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine

May make seem bare, in wanting words to sliow it.

But that I hope some good conceit of thine

In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it ;

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving

Points on me graciously with fair aspect

And puts apparel on my tattered loving.

To show me worthy of thy sweet res])ect :

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee ;

Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me,

— Shakespeare.

25.— SONNET, XC.

Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ;

Now while the world is V)ent my deeds to cross.

Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,

And do not drop in for an after-loss :

Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scaped this sorrow,

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow.

To linger out a purposed overthrow.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,

When other petty griefs have done their spite,

But in the onset come ; so shall I taste

At lirst the very worst of fortune's might ;

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe.

Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

— Skakispeare.

■W^-"^-^

27.

-TO TUB LORD GENERAL CROMWELL.

it,

ove me.
espeare.

26.— TO DELIA.

Care-chcarmer Sleep, son of the Sal)le night,
Brother to Death, iu silent darkness born :
Relieve ni^ languish and restore the light ;
With dark forgetting of my care, return,
And let tlie day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth :
r.et waking eyes suifice to wail their scorn
Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease dreams, the images of day desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow ;
Never let rising sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

— Samuel Daniel,

27. -TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL.

CVomwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,

Guided by faith and matchless fortitude.

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,

And on the neck of crowned F'ortune proud

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,

While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,

And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester's laureate wreath : yet m ich remains

To coi^qucr still ; Peace hath her victories

No less renowned than War : new foes arise.

Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.

Help us to save free conscience from the paw

Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

speare.

— Milton.

APPENDIX.

!:r ■

'^1

28.— TO LADY FITZGERALD,

IN HER SEVENTIETH YEAR.

Such age liow beautiful ! Tiady ])rigl)t,

Whoso mortal liueaiuents scciu all roliiicd

By favouring Mature and a saintly iMind

To something purer and more ex(|uisite

Than flesh and blood ; whene'er thou meet'st my sight,

When I behold thy blanched un withered cheek,

Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white.

And head that droops because the soul is meek,

Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare ;

That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb

From desolation toward the genial prime ;

Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air,

And filling more and more with crystal light

As pensive Evening deei)ens into night.

— WordHWOrlh.

29. — P:J ACU L ATION.

Glory to God ! and to the Power who came

In filial duty, clothed Avith love divine,

That made this human, tabernacle shine

Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame ;

Or like the Alpine Mount that takes its name

From roseate hues, far kenned at morn and even.

In hours of peace, or when the stortn is driven

Along the nether region's rugged frame !

Earth pioinpts- -Heaven urges ; let us seek the light,

Studious of that pure intercourse l)egun

When first our infant brows their lustre avou ;

So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright

From unimpeded commerce with the Sun,

At the approach of all-involving night.

-- Wordsmorth.

_^£«L..

y sight,
ite,

ilinil)

Wordsworth.

ight,

Wordsworth.