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BY JOTfjT MILLAR, B.A., Umd y.y,ter of St. Thomas Collegiate Institute. TORONTO : W. J. GAGE & COMPANY. 1882. BntcrM accordmu '» Act of Parliament of Camda in tlu, Minister of Agriculture. ^ J t t 1 s li t; \\ c vv ai rr ti ol ol th th sa tlie 'the PREFACE. . The aim of this little work is not merely to furnish High School pupils with such information as is usually required of them at the Intermediate and University Examinations, but to serve as a guide to all who wish to study English literature intelligently. It is pleasing to know that English is gradually asserting its true posi- tion m the programmes of our schools and colleges, and still more satisfactory to find a growing taste for sound literature amongst the people. The proper direction of this taste at school should be one of the principal objects of the teacher; but when he is compelled to supplement what is given in the text, with notes of an elaborate character, his time is necessarily lessened for dealing with the spirit and beauties of the piece — the genius and taste of the author. Experience also shows that many students both in school and out of it have not the time, even when a library is accessible, to consult works of reference. With the object of suiting the convenience of both teachers and students this edition is offered to the public. That it may secure an approval, similar to that so generally accorded to his previous work in the same department, is die hope of the auXhor. I"! Collegiate Institute, St. Thomas, July, 1882. -V: 'Pt. ,.<, I]SITI10J)[J0TI0N. -♦♦- T. LITERATURE AND ITS DEPARTMEN'iS. 1. Litorature in its widest aonso cmbnices all kinds o! litorary productions which have been preserved in writ- ing ; but 13 generally restvicted to those works that come within the sphere oi the literary art or rules of rhetoric. 2. Classificatioii. — Literature, in regard to its firm, is divided into (1) I'rose and (2) Poetry. In regard to matter^ it has three divisions : (1,) Composition, designed to inform the understanding by descr'qdioii, narratiorif or exposition ; (2) Oratory ; (3) Poetry. 3. Description, or descri])tive composition, is of two kinds : (1) Objective, where the observer pictures what he describes as it is perceived by his s ses or realized by his fancy ; (2) Subjective, where the observer, referring to the feelings or thoughts of his own mind, gives his im- pressions as they have been excited by the outward scene. Scott is a good exaiuplo of an object ice, and Byron of a Hubjcctive writer. 4. Narration is that kind of composition which gives an account of the incidents of a series of transactions or events. It may also be subjective or objective. h INTRODUCTION. 5. Exposition inchuloa tlioso litoraiy pn/ductions where facta or principle!i are discussed and conclusions readied by a process of rejistJiiing. It embraces vari- ous treatises, from the brief editorial, or essay, to the full discussion in extensive worka. To this class belongs the philiisopliic poem. 0. Oratory is tliat kind of comimsition in which argu- ments or reasons are offered to iniluence the mind. It admits of the following divisions : (1) Judicial, (2) Politi- cal, (3) Religious, and (4) Moral suasion. 7. Prose coinpf)8iti()n8 are those in which tho thoughts are arranged in non-metrical sentences, or in the • tural order in common and ordinary languaj^e. The pr^^ncipal kinds of prose composition are narriitive, lettr " , menioirs, history, biography, essays, philosophy, sermons, liovels, ipeeches, t^o. 8. IkX-ntences are divided grammatically into simple^ complex, componiidy and also into dedaraiive, interrogative, imperativey and exclamative. Rhetorically, they are di- vided into loose sentences and perioda. 9. A loose sentence consists of parts which may he separated without destroying the sense. It is generuliy adopted by Addison. 10. A period is a sentence in which the complete sense is suspended until tlie close. The first sentence of Paradise Lost^ and also the first sentence of tlie Task^ Book III, furnish examples. 11. Poetry is that species of composition in which the words are metrically arranged. It also dillcrs from prose in (1) having a grejiter number oi figures of speech, (2) em- ploying numerous archaic, or non-colloquial terms, (3) pre- ferring epithets to extended expressions, (4) using short and euphonious words instead of what, are long or harsh, and (5) permitting deviations from the rules of grammar. VI INTRODUCTION. 12. Metre is defined as " the recurrence within cer- tain intervals of syllables similarly aflfected." This may arise from (1) alliteration, (2) quantity, (3) rhyme, (4) accent, or (6) the number of syllables. 13. Alliteration, which was the characteristic of Old English poetry, consisted in the repetition of the same letters. 14. Quantity has reference to the length of vowels or ■yllables. In the classical languages, quantity was mea- sured by the length of syllables ; in English, by the length of the vowels. 15. Rhyme is a similarity of sound at the end of words ; its essentials being (1) vowels alike in sound, (2) consonants before the v owels unlike, and (3) consonants after the vowels alike in sound. Poetry without rhyme is termed blank verse. Blank verse usually consists of five, or five and a half, feet. 16. Accent, which forms the distinguishing feature of English verse, is the stress on a syllable in a word. 17. Rhythm.— When the words of composition are so arranged that the succession of accented syllables pro- duces harmony we have rhythm. When the accents occur regularly we have rcrsc, or metre, 18. Couplets, triplets, &c. , are used to designate two, three, &c., verses taken together. 19. Stanza is a term applied to a part of a poem con- sisting of a number of verses regularly adjusted to one another. 20. Feet.— A portion of a verse of poetry consisting of two or more syllables combined according to accent is called afoot. Two syllables thus combined is called a dis- tyllabic foot, which may be (1) an iamlnis, when the accent is on the second syllable, or (2) a trochee^ when the accent «6 on the first syllable, or (3) a apondeey when both are I i ac foi bn of epi its INTRODUCTION. vu ko two, con- co one ting of lent is Skdis- iccent icoent are ^ accented, or both unaccented. Three syllibles combined form a trisyllabic foot, which may be a dactyl, an auiphi- brack, or an anapaest. 21. Monometer, dimeter, trmder, tetrameter, penta- meter, and hexameter, are terras tliat indicate the number of feet or measures in the verse. Tlius five iambic feet ,; are called iambic pentameter. This is the metre of the I Deserted Village, The Task, ' and also of the principal I epic, dramatic, philuovJphic, and descriptive poems. From s* its use in epic poetry, where heroic deeds are described, it wk is called heroic measure. An iambic hexameter verse ia J called an Alexandrine. I 22. Tho Elgiac stanza consists of four pentameter I lines rhyming alternately. I 23. The Spenserian stanza consists of eight heroic lines followed by an Alexandrine. 24. Common Metre consists of four verses, the first and third being iambic tetrameters, and the second and fourth, which rhyme, iambic trimeters. 25. Short Metre has three feet in the first, second, and fourth lines, and foit/r in the tliird. 26. Long Metre consists of four iambic tetrameter lines. 27. Ottava Rima is a name applied to an Italian stanza consisting of eight lines, of which the first six rhyme alternately, and the last two form a couplet. 28. The Bhyme Royal consists of seven heroic lines, the first five recurring at intervals and the last two rhyming. 29. The Ballad Stanza consists of four lines, the first and third being iambic tetrameters, and the second and fourth iambic trimeters. 30. Pauses. —Besides the usual pauses indicated by the punctuation and called aentential pauses, there are in poetic vin INTRODUCTION. diction the Final pause at the end of each line and tho CiBsural pause. 31. The Ceesural Pause is a suspension of the voice somewhere in the line itself. It is not found in short lines, and in long verses is movable. It generally occurs near tho middle, but may come after the 4th, 5th, Gth, or 7th syllable. It is often found in the middle of a foot, but never in the middle of a word. Sometimes a secondary pause called demiccesural is fouud before and also after the c(.c»uraL 32. Scansion in a term api-liod to the division of a verso into the feet of which it consists. 33. Classiflcation of Poetry. — In respect to form and mode of treatment, poetry may bo divided into (1) Epic, (2) Dramatic, and (3) Lyric. 34. Epio poetry is that variety in which some great event is described, or where the exploits of heroes are treated of. The Icadiiii:^ forms of Epic poetry are these : — (1) The Great Epic, as the Iliady the jJjJneid, Paradise Lost; (2) The Romance, as the Faerie Qneene, The Lady of the LaJce ; (3) The Ballad, as Chevy C7iaae, Macauhiy's LayoJ Horatius; (4) The Historical Poem, as Dryden's Annua Mirahilis ; (5) The Tale,a3 Byron's Corsair, Enoch Arde.n; C6) Tho IMixed Epic, as Byron's Childe Harold; (7) The Pastoral, Idyll, Ac, as the Cotter's Saturday Nvjht, tlio Excurz'von ; (8) Prose Fiction, including sentimental, comi- cal, pastoral, historical, philosophical, or religious novels. 35. Dramatic Poetry duals also with some important ev«^nts, but dilForfi from Epic poetry where the author hira- solf narrates the events forming its subject, in having tho various characters represent, in action or conversation, the story to bo described. Dramatic poetry is of two kinds, ^1) Tragedy, wlicre the human passions and woes or mis- fortunes of life are represented in buc]i a manner aa to ox* II iNTRODUCTIUxV. IX I and tha the voice in short ly occurs L, Gth, or foot, but acondary after the ion of a ■orm and Epic, (2) le great roes are ;hese : — ise Lostf ly of the Lay of Annus Arden; 7) The iht, tlio comi- novela. 3ortant »r hi ra- ng tho sation, kinds, )r mis- to OX' cite pity, as Shakespeare's Macbeth or Hamlet; (2) Comedy, where tlie lighter faults, passions, actions, and foUioa are represented, as the Mercliant of J'enice. 30. Lyric Poetry is so called because originally writ- ten to be sung to tho Lyre. Its principal kinds are : (1) The Ode, as Gray's Hard ; (2) The Hymn, as those of Cowper ; (3) The Song, as those of Burns or Moore ; (4) The Elegy, as Gray's ; (5) The Sonnet, as those of Shake- speare or Wordsvt'orth ; (6) The simple Lyric, as Burns* Mountain Daisy. 37. Purther Classification as to object will embrace ; (1) Descriptive poetry, as Thomson's Seasons; (2) Didac- tic, as Wordsworth's Excursion; (3) Pastoral, as Ram- say's Gentle kihcpherd; Satirical, as liutler's Iludibras; (5) Humorous, as Cowper'g John Gilpin. . D. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 38. A Figure is a deviation from the ordinary form or construction or application of words in a sentence for the purpose of greater precision, variety, ov elegance of ex- l>res8ion. There are three kinds, viz., of Etymology, of Syntax, and of Rhetoric. 31). A Pigiire of Etymology is a departure from the usual form of words. The principal figures of etymology are : Aphceresis, Frnsthcsis, Syncope, Apocope^ Varagoye, Diaeresis, Synoiresis, J'mesis. 40. Aphseresis. — The elision of a syllable from the beginning of a word, as 'iieath for heneaili. 41. Prosthesis. — The prefixing of a syllable to a word, as agoing for going. If the letters are placed in the middle, Epenthesis, as farther for farer. 42. Syncope. — The elision of a letter or syllable from ihe body of a word, as med'cine for medicine. n INTRODUCTION. i!!^ 43. Apocope. — The elision of a letter or syllable from the end of a word, as tho' for though. 44. Paragoge. — The annexing of a syllable to the end of a word as dea/ry for dear. 45. Diasresis. — The divison of two concurrent vowels into different syllables, as co-operate. 46. Synoeresis. — The joining of two syllables into one, in either orthography or pronunciation, as dost for doest, loved for lov-ed. 47. Tmesis. — Separating the parts of a compound word, as " WJiatiiuie soever." When letters in the same word are interchanged, as bnmt for burnt , nostrils for nose- thirles, the figure is called Metathesis. 48. A Pigure of Syntax is a deviation f roiTi the usual construction of a sentence for greater beauty or force. The principal figures of syntax are : Ellipsis^ Fleonasnif Sylhpsis^ Enallagef Ilyperbaton, Periphrasis^ Tautology. 49. Ellipsis. — An omission of words with a rhetorical purpose, as " Imx-)ossible f Avyadeton is the omission of connectives. 50. Pleonasm. — The employment of redundant words, as " Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." 51. Syllepis. — An inferior species of personification^ as " The moon gives her lit^ht by night." 52. Enallage. - The substitution of one part of spcecli for another, as — ** Whether charmer sviiner it or saiiit it If folly grow romantic I must paint it." — Pope. 53. Hyperbaton. — The transposition of words in a sentence, && *' A man h* was to all the countrj' dear. " 54. Periphrasis or Circumlocution. — The employment of more words than are necessary to convey the sense, as the use of a definition or doscriptive phrase instead of a •vi:. INTRODUCnON. ^ ",* m a « - -1 sc, as ■'4 noun, as " He was charmed with fhe idea of taking up arms in the service of his country." 55. Tautology. — The repetition of the same sense iu diflereut words, as — ** The dawn is overcast — the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day. " — Addison. 56. A Figure of Rhetoric is a form of speech art- fully varied from the direct and literal mode of expres- sion for the purpose of greater effect. Rhetorical figures may be divided into three classes. 67. I. Figures of Relativity, — Antithesis, Simile, Metaphor, Allegory, Personification, Apostrophe, Visic/n, Allusion, Irony, Sarcasm, Synecdoche, Metonymy, Euphem- ism, Litotes, Epithet, Catachresis. 58. n. Fig^ices of Gradation. — Climax, Hyperbole. 59. in, i^igures of Emphasis. — Epizeuxis, Anajihora, Epiphoro, Anadiplosis, Epanalepsis, Alliteration, Anacolu- thon, Aposiopesis, Faraleipsis, Erotesisp Epanortlwsis, SyU lepsis, Ecphonesis, 60. Antithesis. — The statement of acontrast of thoughts and words, as ** The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a lion. " Under this figure may be mentioned Oxymoron, or a contradiction of terms, as ** a pious fraud " ; Antimetabole, where the words are reversed in each member of the anti- thesis, as " A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits." CI. Simile or Comparison. —A formal expression o' resemblance, as : ** He sliall be lilce a tree planted by tJ rivers of water. " 62. Metaphor. — An implied comparison or a simile without the sign, as '* Pitt was the pillar of the State." 63. Allegory.— A continuation of metaphors,or a story having a figurative meaning and designed to convey in- 'ii I ■ f 4't i Xll INTRODUCl'ION. structioh of a moral character, as Bunyan's Pilgrim's Pro- gress 64. Personification. — A figure in which some attri- bute of life is jiscribed to inanimate objects, as " The mountains .w*// together^ the hills rejoice and clap hands. " 66. Apostrophe. — A turning otf from the subject to address something absent, as ** Death is swallowed up in victory. Death, where is thy sting ?" 66. Vision. — The narration of past or absent scenes as though actually present, as *'I see before me the gladia- tor lie," etc. 67. Allusion. — That fioure by which some word or phrjise in a sentence calls to mind something which is not mentioned, as "It may be said of him that he came, he saw, he conquered." 68. Irony. — A figure by which we mean to convey a meaning the contrary of what we say, as where Elijah ad- dresses the worshippers of Baal, " Cry aloud, for be is a god." 69. Saxcasm. — A mode of expressing vituperation under a somewhat veiled form, as the Letters of Junva&. , 70. Synecdoche. — A figure where — 1. A part is put for the whole, as "A fleet of twenty sail," 2. The species for a genus, as "our daily bread.*' 3. The concrete for the abstract, as "The patriot comes forth in his politics." 4. The whole for a part, as "Belinda smiled and all tlie world was gay. " 5. The genus for the species, as " The creature waf sad." 0. The abstract for the concrete, as — " Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry. ' ■2, I INTRODUCTION. XIU rrCs Pro- ne aftri- » "The hands." ibjecfc to ed up ia scenes as e gladia- word or ch is not ime, he 'onvey a lijah ad- r he is a peration mt>vus. [ twenty .adr patriot and all v/re waji Antonomasta is a form of synecdoche where a proper noun is used to designate a class, as — " Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstoocl. " 71. Metonomy. — A figure where one thing is described by another thing in substituting — 1. The cause for the effect, as " A time there was, ere England's griefs began, Wlien every rood of (jround maintained its maiu" 2. The effect for the cause, as " Gray hairs should be respected. " 3. The sign for the thing signified, as ** Ho carried juvay the j?aim." 4. The container for the thing contained, as * ' TTie toper loves hi^hottle." 5. The instrument for the agent, aa " The jjcn is mightier than the sicord.** 6. An author for his works, as "We adjiiro Addi- son. ft 72. Euphemism. — A figure by means of which a harsh expression is set aside and a softer one substituted in its place, as " The merchant prince has stopped payment.''* 73. Litotes. — A figure in which by denying the con- trary, more is implied than is expressed, as ** Immortal names. Til at ^rere not I or- ^odie." 74 Tr&nsfbrred Epithet. — .4 - epithet joined to an- othoj tc explain its cWracter, as ' The sunny South." 75. Catachresis. — A ligure wliero a word is wrested from its original application and made to express some- thing at variance witli its true aieaning, n» *' Her voice was but the shadow oi; a sound.'* 76. Climax. — An ascending series of thoughts or state- ments increasing in strength, as *' What a piece of work - it *^ CIV INTRODUCTION. 1 I is man ! how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ; in form and moving, how express and admirable ! in ac- tion, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how likea God ! — Hamlet. Where the series is descending we have an Anti- dimaXf as "If once a man indulges himself in murder, v?ry soon he comes to think little of robbing ; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination." — De Quincy. 77. Hyperbolo. — A figure by which more is expressed than the truth and where the exaggeration is not expected to be taken literally, as ** They were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions." (Referring to David's statement concerning Saul and Jonathan.) 78. Epizeuxis. — The immediate repetition cf "ome word or words for the sake of emphasis, as — ^* Restore hiitiy restore him if you can from the dead. " 79. Anpphora. — The repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of each of several sentences or parts of a sentence, as — " No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail, No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear." 80. Epiphora. — Where the repetition is at the end, and Anadiplosis. — Where the repetition is in the middle : " Has he a gust for hloodl Blood shall fill his cup." 81. Epanalepsis. — Where there is a repetition at the end of the sentence of the word or words at the beginning. 82. Alliteration. — The repetition of the same lettei or letters, as "-4pt alliteration's artful aid." 83. Anacoluthon. — A figure by which a proposition is left unfinished and something else introduced to fi"^ish the sentence, as — INTRODUCTION XV "If thou bo'st he — but oh, how fallen, how ohan'^'cd Crom him who." etc. 84. Aposiopesis. — A sudde>n pause in a sentence by which the conclusion is left unfinished, as— " For there I picked up on the heatliur, And there I put within ray breast, A moulted feather, an eagle's feather — Well — I forget the rest." — Browning. 85. Paraleipsis or omission. — A figure by which a speaker pretends to pass by what at the same time he real- ly mentions, as " I do not speak of my adversary's scan- dalous venality and rapacity ; I take no notice of hit bru- tal conduct." 86. Eroteais. — An animated or passionate interroga- tion, as — " Hath the Lord said it ? and will He not do it ? Hath He spoken it ? and shall He not m&ke it good ?" 87. Epanorthosis. — A figure by which an expres- sion is recalled and a stronger one substituted in iti place, as " Why should I speak of his neglect — neglect did I say? call it rather contempt." 88. Syllepsis. — The use of an expression which is taken in a literal and metaphorical sense, as — " Lie heavy on him. Earth, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee." 89. Ecphonesis. — An animated exclamation, as— Othello. — O, my soul's joy, If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have wakened death." 90. Other figures are often found, as zeiigma, whereby a verb, etc , applicable to only one clause does duty for two, as — "They wear a garment like tho Scythians, but a kin- guag'^ peculiar to themselves," — Sir J, Mandevillo, mm XVI INTRODUCTION. Anacrennns, where tlio speaker appeals to the judg- ment of his audience on the point in debate, as if they had feelings common with his own. The Envima or riddle. The Ep'ujrartiy where the mind is roused hy a conflict or contradiction between the form of the languuf^o and the meaning to bo convoyed, as "The child is father of the man." Personal Metaphor^ where acts are attributed to inanimate objects, The Faruhomada oi imii. The Punt- hUf Froverb, lleparteey etc. III. LIST OF PRINCIPAL WRITERS. Drydon, Jolm (1G30— 1700). Annus Mlmhilis, Ah.-.a- om and Ahitophel, Mac Fleck noi, The Jl'uid and FantheVy Trandation of ViujUf Ode for n (1714 — 1763). Tlie Schoolmistress, The Pastoral Ballad. Gray, Thomas (1716- -1771). Tlie Elegy, The Progress of Poesy, The Lard, Ode i9 Spring, Ode to Adversity, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton. Walpole, Horace (1717 — 1797^. Lttters and Memoirs, The Castle of Otranto. Collins, William (1720—1759). Odes to Liberty and Evening, The Passions, Oriental Eclogues. Akenside, Mark (1720—1770^. Pleasures of Imagina- tion. Robertson, William (1721—1770). Histories of Scot- land, Charles the Fifth of Germany and America. Smollett, Tobws (1721 — 1771). Roderick Baivdom, INTRODUCTION. XUI teregrine Pickht Humphrey Clinker^ History of Er^gland, £dited Critical Review. Warton, Joseph (1722— 1800). Ode to Fancy. Blaokstone, William (1723—1780). Commentaries on the Laws of England. Smith, Adam (1723—1790). The Wealth of Nations^ The Tlieory of Moral SeiUiments. Goldsmith, Oliver (172a— 1774). The Traveller, The Deserted ViUagej Retaliationj The Vicar of Wakefieldy The Good-Natured Man, SJie Stoops to Conquer, Ar^imated Na- ture, Histories of England, Home, Greece, Citizen of the World. Percy, Thomas ('1728—1811). Published a collection of ballads entitled lieliques of Etujlish Poetry. Warton, Thomas (172*— 1790). The Pleamres of Mel- ancholy, History of English Poetry. Burke, Edmund (1730—1797). The Vindication of Natural Society, Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, Re- flection on the Revolution in France, Letters on a Regicide, Peace. Falconer, Wniiam (1730—1769). The Shipivreck. Cowper, William (1731—1800). Ti-uth, Table-talk, Ex- postulation, Error, Hope, CJiarity, John Gilpin, The Task translation of Homar, Letters. Darwin, Erasmus C1732— 1802). TJie Botanic Garden. Gibbon, Edward (1737—1794. The Decline and Fall of the Roraan Empire. Macpherson, James (1738—1796). Fingal and Temora, t'*vo epic poems, which he represented he had translated from materials discovered in the Highknds. Junius, (Sir P. Francis) (1740—181;^). Letters of Junius. Boswell, James (1740—1795). Life ofJohnstm. Pal§7, William (1743-180.5\ EUmenta of Moral and t\ ■ r I XX INTRODUCTION. •m I Political Philosophyy JTorcB Paulinae, Evidences of Cht'is' tianityy Natural Theology. Mackenzie, Heniy (1745—1831). The Man of Feeling, The Man of the World. BGntham, Jeremy (1747 — 1832). Fragment on Goveim- ment, and iiumeroua writings ou Law and Politics. Sheridan, Richard B. (1751—1817). The Bivals, The School for Scandal, Tlie Duenna, TJie Critic. Chatterton, Thomas (1752—1770. Wrote the tragedy of Ella, Ode to Ella, Execution of Cliarlcs Baivdin, and other poems which he represented he found, and said had been written in the 15th century by Rowley, a Monk. Stewart, Dugald (1753—1828). Philosophy of tlie Hu- man Mind, Moral Fliilosophy. CrabbeGeorge (1754—1832). TJieLihrary, The Village, The Parish Register, Tlie Borough, The Tales of Die Hall. Burns, Robert (1759—179(5). Tarn O'Shnnter, To a Daisy, To a Mouse, The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tlie Jolly Beggars. Hall, Robert (17C4— 1831). Sci-mons. Clarke, Adam (1760— 1832). Comment ancs on the Bible. Bloomfleld, Robert (170C— 1823). Tlie Farmer's Boy, Ihrral Tales, May-day with the Mnsea, EdgeworthjMaria (1767— 1848). Castle Back rent, Popn- lar Tales, Leonora, Tales of Fa-i:Monahle Life, Patronage. Opie, Amelia (1769 — 1853). Father and Daui^hter, Tales of the Heart, Temper. Wordsworth, William (1770 — 1850). An Evening Walk, Descriptive Sketches, The Excursion, The UliiteDoeof Rylstone, Sonnets, La^damia, Lines on Revisiting tlie Wye. Scott, Sir W. (1771—1832.) Border Minstrelsy, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Mamiion, Tlw Lady of tlm Lake, Vision of Don Roderick^ Rokehy^ Life and Works of Dryden ; no INTRODUCnON. XX] of Chi-is- Feeling, Govem- ilsy The tragedy iin, and jaid had 3nk. tlie Hu- ViUagef Hall. ', To a lie Jolly vela, including Waverley, Hob Roy, leajihoe, Kenilwo. % WooLlstock ; Life of Napoleon. Montgomery, James (1771—1854). Gi-eenland, The Pelican Island, The Wanderer in Switzerland, Prison Amusements, The World before the Flood. Coleridge, Samuel T. (1772—1834). Ode to the Depart- ing Year, The Eime of the Ancyent Marinere, Cliristabel, Geneneve, Lectures on SJuikcspeare, BiograiMa Literaria. Lingard, John (1771— 1851), Eistm-y of England. Southey, Pa)bert (1774-1843). Wat Tyler, Thalaha, Tlie Ourse of Kehama, Podericlc, Vision of Judgment, Lives of Wesley, Camper, &c. Moore, Thomas (1779-1852;. Msh Melodies, Lalh ■loolih. The Fudge Family in Paris, T/ie EpicMra-m. ie Bible. r'$ Boy, t, Popu. mage. ir, Tales Evening ie Doe of 'te Wye. The Lay , Vision 'en ; no •f^>. ,/■ « ri I i r ; 1 « S^MH 1 ^^^^H i • 1 ^ ■ I t ^- 1 : 1 1 • b p n a 1< B n t r t V I > I B i / '"'"jlO-'arw THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. -o- it*oetry as a Mirror. — The literature of a nation bears an intimate relation to its history. The poets of a period fairly express its prevailing thoughts and senti- niants. Great eras in a country's rise and progress have always been found to correspond with the groat intel- lectual eras of its growth. When questions of a political, social, moral or religious importance have stirred men's minds, then have arisen authors whose works have re- flected the predominant features of the times in which they lived. Thus the heroic greatness of the Hellenic race is marked by Homer, not only rich in poetic thought, but clearly the outcome of the mental life and character of ancient Greece. The age of Pericles, brilliant in poli- tical achievements, was no less illustrious for its intellectual vigor. The Augustan era, foruiing the lofty climax of Roman influence and power gave to the Latin language Virgil and Horace, Cicero and Livy. A review of English literature, and especially English poetry, exhibits still more clearly this intimate relationship. The writings El lO THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, IMiltoii, Dryden an(i Pope as well as Cowper, Burns, Scott, Tennyson and Browning riiflect, as with a magic mirror, tlie genius of the periods of which they are distinguished representatives. Chaucer belongs to a period when the darkness of the Middle Ages was passing away. New languages were forming on the contijient, and the happy fusion by courtly influence of Anglo-Saxon and Norman-French, terminated a long struggle for ascendanc;^ and produced our noble English tongue. It was the age of Dante, of Petrarch, and Boccaccio, — when Wyoliffe by his writings, translations and discourses was creating a ferment in the religious world, — when Crecy and Poictiers were gained, and Edward 111. was encouraging the settlement of Flemish artisans and extending the trade of the English merchants over every sea of Europe, and thus paving the way for that commercial supremacy which should subse- quently add to the nation's glory. "With Chaucer is well exemplified the fact that the poet to be successful must live vnth and for his generation, must suit himself to the tastes of his public, must have common sympatliios with his readers and must adopt a style that accords v/ith the emotions by which he is actuated. The Canterbury Tales, his greatest work, vividly represents that gaily apparelled time when king tilted in tournamentj and knight and lady rode along with falcon on wrist, and when friars sitting -in tavern sang war songs quite in harmony with the nation's victories on the continent, but little in keeping with their sacred calling. With the "father of English poetry'^ every character is a perfect study elaborated with a careful finish and minuteness of touch ; the beautiful and grand objects of nature are painted with grace and sublimity ; and results are thus combined which are unsurpassed by any English poet that THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. II lived before his time. Ho became tlie acknowledged in- ventor of the heroic line, characterized not by quantity as that of Greece and Rome, but by accent which thus became a recognized feature of English versification. The legacy left to our literature has not been unproductive in the hands of a long succession of heirs. His influence had its effect upon all the great poets that followed him, and upon none more evidently than those of the present century. Spenser. — The breaking up of old systems, the revolts of tlie people, and the furious struggles between the Houses of York and Lancaster darkened for a time as with a mist, the lamp of English poetry, but it possessed sufficient vitality to enable it to blaze forth under favor- iible influences with greater brilliancy than before. The invention of printing ; the interest in classical literature ; the studyof Greek philosophy, and, especially, the freedom ^vith which religion was discussed, aroused a spirit of activity which added powerful impulses to the growth of the national intellect. The translation of the works of modern Italy, and those of France where letters received an earlier revival ; the circulation of the Scriptures pre- senting a variety of incidents, images, and aspirations connected with oriental life and manners ; the study of the allegorical tales and romances of chivalry and the fostering influence of a learned queen who surrounded her court with men qualified to shine in every department of learning, ushered in a period which is appropriately termed the Augustan age of English literature. It is not difficult to understand how, with such knightly spirits as Raleigh and Essex, the essential spirit of chivalry, "high thought and a heart of courtesy" as Sidney puts it, found a fitting expo lent in Edmund Spenser. Among the poets who flourished exclusively in if f 1.1- :1 L' 11 12 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENG-LISH POETRt. the reign of Elizabeth he stands without a rival. No master-piece of the great painters ever glowed on canvas with more reality than the Fcerie Queeney and no poet says Wilson, " has ever had a more exquisite sense of Kie beautiful" than its author. He deemed himself the poetical son of Chaucer, and was, in his own times, taunted with "affecting the ancients," and with engrafting on his own language the "old withered words and exploded persons" of a former period. If guilty, so may Virgil and Milton, Scott and Wordsworth receive similar condemna- tion. At all events succeeding generations have paid homage to the richness and pathos of his strains, and the author of Paradise Lost, and the author of the SeasonSj as well as Scott and Tennyson have been essentially indebted to this " Rubens of English poetry." Shakespeare. — The new impulses by which the human mind began to be stirred, mark tho early part of the sixteenth century as the great frontier-line which divides the Literary History of the Middle Ages from what we call Modern. The Revival of Classical Learning opened up to a people zealous for enquiry the rich mines of knowledge of the Greeks and Romans. Theological discussions aroused a spirit of research and investigation. The extensive circulation of the Scriptures and other works decided the question of a national tongue. Under Shakespeare, the greatest writer the world has ever seen, the drama reached its highe'i perfection. But the ** myriad-minded" writer of tragedy and comedy with all his depth, sublimity, creative power and refinement was inspired by that same love of nature and truth that pre- vades the works of Chaucer, Spenser and tho great modem poets. Nature was his great preceptress from whose inspired dictates he spoke — ** warm from the heart fkVid faithful to its fires" — and in his disregard of rules he THE DB fiLOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. 1.3 pursued at will his winged way through all t? labyrinths of fancy and of the human heart. No vrriH has exhibited such a deep acquaintance with the human heart, its passions, its powers, its weaknesses and its aspira- tions. From his works may be gathered precepts adapted to every condition of life, and to every circumstance of human affairs, and no ^v^itings except the Bible have been more closely interwoven with the language of every-day life. Milton nobly closes that rich poetry of the imagina- tion which marks tlio ago begun by Spenser. With a mind stored with invaluable treasures of the mines '»f Greece and Rome, and an extensive acquaintance with the older English poets, many years actively employed in the keen struggle for civil and religious liberty, well qualified him for undertaking a theme lofty in its con- ception, and intimately connected with everything im- portant in the circumstances of human history. In the crash which shattered the regal and hierarchic institutions of the country, his majestic, unwordlyand heroic soul saw only the overthrow of false systems, and the dawn of a bright period marked by private investigation and individual liberty. All the higher influences of the Renaissance are summed up in Milton. That pure poetry of natural description which he began in L^ Allegro, and II Penseroso has no higher examples to produce from the writings of Wordsworth, Scott, or Keats. Living in an age when skilful criticism, though it purified English verse, gave rise to false conceits and extravagance, Lia know- ledge of good classical models enabled him to free his works from the advancing inroads of a rising school. Not only did he create the English epic and place him- self by the side of Homer, Virgil and Dante, but he put new life into the masque, sonnet and elegy, the descriptive i ■ i 14 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLlolI i'OElkV lyric, the song and the choral d^-ama. Though untrue in his descent from the Elizabethans in a want of humor and of the dramatic faculty, we can forget these defects while we listen to the org :ing of his versification, the stately march of his diction, the beautiful and gorgeous illustrations from nature and art, the brightly coloured pictures of human happiness and innocence, and the lofiy sentiments of Paradise Lost. Blank verse, which Surrey had introduced into our literature, is managed by Milton with a skill that shows its power in the construction of an heroic poem. The depth or sublimity of his conceptions finds a corresponding expressiveness in his numbers ; and his power over language was not in its variety due to a musical ear, but had its source in the deep feelings of a heart influenced by the conscientious spirit of Puritanism. The Restoration. With the return of the English people to monarchical government they were sadly disap- pointed in their exjiectations of a return at the same time to their ancient nationality and modes of thought, llic exiled Charles and his royalist followers had rubbad ofi" by their friction with the men and manners of other nations much of those external habits and customs, which, if not of the most commendable description, possessed a spirit of nationality and patriotism. They returned with strong predelictions in favor of French literature, being fully im- pressed with the belief of its superiority over that of every other country. It was not the firsf'or last instance when a foreign literature exercised a mailed inllucuce up-on our own. Chaucer, tliough plainly the poet of character and of practical life, writes largely after the manner of the Provingals, but improved by Italian models. Spenser's manner is also thiit of the Provingals, bnt guided by the authors of a later Italian scliool. The character of Cerman literature influenced Scott, and in our own day, Carlylo. i ■•»». THE DEVELOi'MKNT OF ENGLISH POETRY. 15 utrue in ' humor defects ion, the gorgeous joloured ho lof<3' Surrey ' Milton )n of an jeptions rs ; and [lue to a igs of a itanism. English f disap- ne tiiiie Ihc i off by nations if not )irit of strong lly im- • every when on our r and of the )i\Ber's }jy the jrinan ul vie. ?tilton, ns vtg have aeen, was the great representative of the Classical school, now .. be followed by the writers who moulded their works after Lho tastes of Paris. Tlie social miocliiefs of the Restoration were the worst fruits (;f the French inliuonce. The Court and the society of the metropolis began to exercise a powerful inlluence on tae various departments of literature. The corrupt and profligate manners of the Court tainted too easily a people whohad felt the restraints of Puritan rule. Thelighterkinds of composition mirrored faithfully the surrounding black- ness, which required no short period of time, no little exertion and a religious revival to clearitaway. The drama sank to a friulitful degree of shame and cjrossness. Other forms of poetry were marked by no higher object than that to which satire aspires. Writing verse was degraded from a high and noble art to a mere courtly amusement, or pander to the immorality of a degenerated age. The Artificial School of Poetry. The poets already considered belonged to the ' * school of nature. " Influences were now at work which gave rise to another phase of ■poetic genius. The Gothic and Romance literature of the Middle Ages gave its inspiration to Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare and Milton. The study of the Greek and Roman Classics gave an impetus to a class of writers who, influenced by causes of another kind, developed a new stylo of poetry. The great masters possessed artistic as well as natural powers. The secondary poets of the Elizabethan period, though fresh and impassioned, as a result of the strong feelings that inspired them, were ex- travagant and unrestrained because of their want of art. When the national life grew chill, the poets inspired by no warm feelings became lavish in the use of "far-fetched meanings," and fanciful forms of expression. With poetry extravagant in words and fantastic in images, the sense I f t i6 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH , >ETRV- became often obscure. The natural stylo imregulat? i by art assumed an unnatural character. Milton, in aof iition to the inspiration derived from Gothic and Romanf 3 liter- ature, by his knowledge and imitation of the grea' jlassical models, gave the lirst example in England of a pure, Cn- ished and majestic style. Those who felt during the Restoration period the power of his genius were also influenced by the ** school of inquiry," which all over Europe showed its work in science, politics and religion. [n France this tendency to criticise was well represented in poetry by Boileau, LaFontaine, and others, whose effort after greater finish and neatness of expression told on Eno;lish writers at a time when French tastes beijan "even to mingle with the ink that dropped from the poet's pen." The now French school was founded on classical models, which had already become fashionablo in England. The admirers of Charles II. were also admirer^ of that great nation so friendly to the Stuarts, which under Louis XIV. had reached the highest point of civilization then attained by any European state. Ifc would be a mistake to con- clude that the Restoration was the origin of the "artificial school." The work had already been begun and had made much progress before the death of the Protector. The accession of the "merry monarch" gave it a mighty im- pulse, and in accelerating the adoption of "cold, glittering mannerism, for the sweet, fresh light of natural language" added at the same time the poisonous colouring of an immoral court. Drydon. Milton the great leader of the setting age, had scarcely given to the world his Paradise Lostj when Dryden, the leader of the rising age, appeared before the public. As a poet his is the great name of the period that followed the Restoration. He had fallen upon evil times. The poet must reflect his age. There was little noble to THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. ^ reflect. The poetry of the passions of the human heart, the poetry of the .itrection, and the poetry of religion haa shown evident indications of decline. Satire, didactic and philosophical poetry came to the front. Living in a most infamous period of English history when the most flagrant corruption was rampant in church and state, Dry den, in want of better subjects turned satirist. There his wit and sarcasm turned against his opponents rendered him unsur- passed by Horace or Juvenal. Our literature possesses no more vigorous portrait-painter. His choice of words and forms of expression are most appropriate. In versification he is one of our greatest masters. He was a diligent student of the best models. He carried to the highest per- fection the rhymed heroic couplet of ten syllables By the occasional introduction of a triplet and the skilful use of the Alexandrine at the end of a paragraph, he knew well how to break the uniformity of the couplet and give to his versification that *' Long-resounding march and energy divine." which gave to his poetry of this metre luch vigour, sonor- ousness and variety. Pope. The glitter of Dryden's poetry dazzled the public mind from the death of Milton till his own in 1700. His most distinguished pupil was Alexa.nder Pope, who as a poet surpasses his master in the most characteristic features of the artificial school. In mechanical execution Pope is without a peer. His neatness and correctness of expression, pointed and courtly diction, harmony of versi- fication and melody of rhyme rank him par excell&ivce the artist of poetic style. In his polished heroic couplets are found sparkling wit, strong sense, good taste and terse and vigorous command of the choicest English. We find, however, that coldness of sentiment and disregard of tue i :^ THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. emotions and paasions of the soul which Dryden had ob- served, parried to such perfection by Pope that the public soon after longed for a return to nature. The age was not designed to cultivate the highest poetic genius. Matter was regarded of less importance than the form ot tlie words by which it was expressed. We look in vain through Pope's elaborat^ly polished verses for those qual- ities that would place him among the greatest masters of the lyre. Ho has none of the universality of Shakespeare or sublimity of Milton. Of the varying shades and gradations of vice and virtae, wisdom and folly, he was a nice observer and an accurate describer Had he studied the great English poets more, and paid less attention to the school of Horace and Boileau, his memory would have been hallowed with still more affectionate and permanent interest. His great object was to express himself smoothly. Attractive and lucid utterance was his aim. With a desire to **set" gems rather than create them, to 7nako '"correct" ▼ersG his '* study and aim," it is no wonder that ** truth " was often " cut short to make a sentence round." In the first half of the eighteenth century no name is more bril- liant than that of the author of The Rape of the Lock^ Windsor Foresty The Temple of Fame, The Duncidj and the translation of Homer. In hi^ Epistles and Essay on Man we have numerous passages t^ at have supplied to our current literature more ph .ares and sentiments re- markable for their mingled truth and beauty than are to be found probably in any other pieces of equal length. Decay of the Artificial School. The greater part of the eighteenth century was, in a literary point of view, cold, dissatisfied and critical. It valued forms more than substance. Warm feelings, grand thoughts and creative genius, were less esteemed than elegance of phrase and ■ymmoti-y of proportion. In a period when philosophy wd tiJ It di 1 ar 1 eii 1 al w ■l th ,'V f« -1 ca 1 H 1. ; THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGFJSH POETRY. 19 was esaonti.illy utilitarian, and religion a system of prac- tical munlity, it is not surprising that poetry was largely didactic and mechanical. With such attention to form, an active criticism rendered our English prose, wlien employed by such masters as Addison, for the first time, absolutely simple and clear. For similar reasons during the same period. Nature, Passion, and Imagination de- cayed in poetry. But matters were coming to a crisis. Hume and Robertson were beginning their career as historians. Richardson, Fielding and Smollet aroused a taste for light literature. In moral philosophy Jonathan Edwards and Joseph Butler were laying the foundations of systems on a sounder basis. New thoughts moved men. The poets felt the impulse of the transition period. The publication of Warton's History of Poetry and Percy's Reliquei revived a taste for the bold, free style of our earlier writers. The inspiration seized the writers of verse, and a return from the classical to the romantic, from the arti- ficial to the natural, soon began to manifest itself. Pope's name stood highest until his death in 1744, but the most distinguished of his contemporaries departed widely from the style of their great master. Thomson made no attempt to enter the school of polished satire and pungent wit. Equal originality is shown by Young in his startling denunciations of death and judgment, stirrmg appeals and choice epigrams. Gray and Collins in aiming at the dazzl- ing imagery and magnificence of lyrical poetry shov/- the "new departure." The former is not without the polish and exquisitely elaborated verse of Pope, but as well as Collins, he shows the freshness, the spirit of imagination, and the sprightly vivacity of the older poets. Akenside iii strains of melodious and original blank verse ^ expatiated on the operations of the mind and the associated charm of taste and genius. Johnson alone of the ftmtn«», they might pointed Com- ike Churchill, were well re- pension, and 'f author-life, Fielding, and for debt, and ', have made r, suggestive THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POETRY. 23 Revival of the Natural School. From about the middle of Pope's life to the death cf Johnson, was a time of transition. The influence of the didactic and satiric poetry of the critical school, lingered among the new elements which were at work. The study of Greek and Latin classics revived, and that correct form for which Pope sought, was blended with the beautiful forms of ** natural feeling and natural scenery. " The whole course of poetry was taker, up with greater interest after the publication of Warton's History of English Poetry, and Dr. Percy's Eeliqiies of Ancient English Poetry in 1765. SLakospearo was studied in a more accurate way, and the c) ild-likeness and naturalness of Chaucer began to give delight. The narrative ballad and the narrative romance, afterwards perfected by Sir Walter Scott, took root in English verse. Forgeries such as Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem, by Macpherson, and the fabrications of Chat- terton, "the marvellous boy. The sleepless soul, that perish'd in his pride," indicate tho drift of the now element. It was felt that the artificial school did not exhibit fully the noble sentiments, emotioii'^ &n(! thoughts of the human soul. Man alone had oi'on trt; ttiil txt by the poets. Nature now was taken y p. The polish ar daccu \,ovof Pope is fully preserved by such writers as Gray, Collins and Goldsmith, but their verse is also " instinct with natural feeling and simplicity." Natural description had appeared already in the poems of the Puritans, Marvel and Milton ; but Thomson, in the Seasons, was the " first Poet who led the English people into f .. Lew world of nature in poetry, which has moved and e..-lv .'•ed js in the works of Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats and Tennysoii, but which was entirely impossible fov Pope to und'^ri.iand." The real and actual were, as 24 THE DEVELOPMENT OF ENGLISH POU'/RY. M h subjects of Eong, to be substituted for the abstract and remote. The increase in national wcal^ h and population, led to the improvement of literature and the aits, and to the adoption of a more popular style of composition. The human intellect and imagination, unhampered by the conventional stiffness and classic restraint imposed upon former authors, went abroad upon wider survevs and with more ambitious designs. The age of Cowper. Of all poetical writers of the last twenty yt. -^ of the eighteenth century the name of Cowper casts the ; itest illustration upon the period in which he lived. xmlq hard artificial brilliancy of Pope standing r ' the head of that list, which included Gibbon and Hume, Chesterfield and Horace Walpole had scarcely ceased to dazzle the poets of the Johnsonian era. The death of **king Samuel" in England, like that of Voltaire in France, was not followed by the accession of another to the throne of literature. The reaction which followed the Restoration did not readily subside, and the approach of the French Revolution was marked by movements of c;reat social as well as of great political importance. In England the forces which had been silently gathering strength ushered in a revolution no less striking than that whic^ convulsed the continent. The attention of the community was arrested by changes of a moral and re- ligious character, which are still running their course. The earnestness of the puritan had almost disappeared, and the forms of religion were found with little of its power. Scepticism widely pervaded the wealthy and educated classes. The progress of free inquiry had produced a general indifference to the great questions of Christian speculation. It arose partly from an aversion to theological strife, as a result of the civil war, and partly from the new intellectual and material channel ■.TER SCOTT. quirements. Dr. Rutherford was twice married. His firit wife, daui^hter of Sir John Swiuton, was the mother .>f Walter was April, 1758, Annie Rutherford, who married in Scott, the poet's father. Parents. Sir Walter's father, a man of gjood cducatiDn, became a writer to the Signet, or Advocate, in Edinburgli. As a lawj'cr he exhibited remarkable zeal for his clients and a readiness to sacrifice his own interests to his sympathy for others. His general habits were decidedly temperate. His religion, in which he was devoutly sincere, was Calvin- ism of the strictest kind. Often when supposed to be im- mersed in professional researches, ho was engaged in reading Church history, or the folios of Knox. In political prin- ciples ho was a steady friend of freedom, with a strong bias to the monarchical part of our constitution, which inclined him to the Tory party. Sir Walter's mother had been bet- ter educated than most Scotchwomen of her day. She was a motherly, comfortable woman, with much tenderness of heart, and an active, well-stored memory. Sir Waltoi' writing of her after his mother's death, says : *' She had u mind peculiarly well-stored with much acquired informa- tion, and natural talent, and as she was very old, and had an excellent memory, she could draw, without the least ex- aggeration or aflfectation, the most striking pictures of the past age. If I have been able to do anything in the way of painting the past times, it is very much from the studies with which she presented me." Birth, 1771. On the 15th of August, 1771, Walter Scott, the ninth of twelve children of whom six died in early childhood, was born in Edinburgh. When a toddling bairn of only eighteen months he had a teething- fever which ended in a life-long lameness. By the advice of his grand- father. Dr. Rutherford, who had exhausted every effort to effect a cure, he was sent to reside with his speculative grand- father, at Sandy-Knowe, near the ruined tower of Smail- holme, celebrated afterwards in his ballad of The Eve of St. John. With this place were associated the earliest recol- IQC iUI era 'Yw th 1(111 am wit an<| ijir: OF SIR WAi;rER sco'rr. 33 His fiiM not her if S, Waller xlucatiDii, dinburgli. lis clients symjtathy emperate. IS Calvin- to be ini- n reading ical prin- ;rong bias I inclined been bet- Sho was erness of r Walter he had a infornia- and had least ex- 3S of the le way of ) studies lections of the poor lame boy. His doli^'htcd eyes, as ho lay junoiii,' his intimate friends tin.' slioep, on the grass-cushioned cragH of Sandy-Knowo, beheld below the winding of the Tweed, aV)Ove all other names imperishiibly connected with the life of the great poet and novelist. There in s[)ite of his lameness which served to turn his attention towards studios and literature, he early taught himself to clamber about with an agility which few children could have surpassed, and to ride his little Shetland pony oven in gallops on very rough ground. Scott's life at his grandfather's, including even the old clergyman of the parish, Dr. Duncan, who so bitterly complained of the boy's ballad shouting in his early attempts as a declaitner, is painted for us in the picture of his infancy, given in the third Canto of Mai-mion. At Edinburgh High School, 1778. Having re- ceived some early instruction at home, he entered in 1778, the High School where he remained till 1783, taking con- siderable progress in learning, but evincing in the ordinary tasks of a school no superiority over others. He entered Luke Fraser's class in 1779, and passed to the tuition of the rector, Dr. Adam, in 1782. He did nothing remarkable in the class-rooms, and received more praise for his interpre- tation of the spirit of the authors which he read, than for his knowledge of their language. In the selection of his studies he showed some wilfulness. Greek received very little of his attention, but Latin was mastered with much readiness. Indiscriminate reading was the great passion of his Ijoyhood. Already, while yet a child, he had displayetl extraordinary precocity in those departments in which he was to become so famous. Shakespeare was his delight, and Spenser an especial favourite. Of Border ballads he had committed several to memory, and had made an extensive collection before he was ten years of age. These he was accustomed to recite with great enthusiasm, and became famous among his schoolmates for his great powers as a story-teller. On leaving the High School, Scott spent a few months yfiih. & maiden aunt at Kelso, in which delightful ^li ? . ■ *i m ; 1 ^i 1.*-i ' \ 34 LIFE OF SIR WALTKll SCOTT. place ho imbibed that love of scenery that afterwards in- duced him to hunt up every tradition connected with spots and ruins so dearly clierished. Among the standard English authors, with which he became acquainted, Percy's Beliques of Ancient Poetry, served at once to kindle his inspiration and to increase his love for legends ry lore. As a boy Scott was, as far as a boy could be, a Tory— a worshipper of the past, and a great Conservative of any remnant of the past, wiiich reformers desired to get rid of. But his political leanings were more the result of feeling and hereditary bias than of reason, for he states: — ''In all these tenets there was no real conviction on my part arising out of acquaintance with the views or principles of either party. ... I took up politics at that period, as Charles II. did his religion, from an idea that the Cavalier creed was the more gentlemanlike persua- sion of the two. " It me.y be doubted whether Scott's convic- tions on the issues of the past were more decided in after life than during his boyhood, but feeling always carried the day, and he remained a Tory all his life. Edinburgh University, 1783. When Walter return- ed to Edinburgh he entered the college, and from his total unacquaintance with Greek, and his unwillingness on account of the advantage enjoyed by his fellow-students, all of whom had mastered the rudiments of that language, to remove the defect, obtained the name of the "Greek Blockhead." But though he neglected '' to enter into that chamber in the magic palace of literature in which the sublimest relics of an- tiquity are stored," he had an extensive acquaintance with the Latin, French, German, Italian, and Spanish languages. He was well read in Shakespeare and Milton, and was also familiar with Spenser, Boocaccio, and Froissart. He received instruction in Moral Philosophy, History, and Civil and Municipal Law. " My appetite for books, " he says of him- self, ' ' was as ample and indiscriminating as it was indefat- igabla I waded into the stream like a blind man into a ford, without the power of searching my wny, unless by grop- ing for it. " With a most capacious and retentive memory ho LIFE OF SIR WALIF.R SCOTT. 35 •wards in- with spots rcl Eiiglisii 's Bdiques ration and Scott was, f the past, ist, which ,1 leanings as than of re was no ance with up politics )m an idea ke persua- it's convic- d in after sarried the ter return- n his total m account of whom Ejmove the Dckhead." jer in the ics of an- ance witli mguages. was also received /ivil and a of him- indefat- m into a by grop- jmory ho stored up a mass of curious knowledge, which he afterwards turned to great accouixt. A Law Student, 1786. Scott's studies at the Univer- sity were probably directed with a view to fit him for the legal professiijn. He entered into indentures with his father who resolved that his son should Berve the ordinary appren- ticesliip of five years. He availed himself of the :aw classes at tlie University, and becauio noticeable to all his friends for his gigantic memory. His experience as a clerk gave him business h bits and a freedom in the use of the law which were of essential service in his literary career. In the 8ec(^Md year of his apprenticeship, at about the age of sixteen, an attack of hemorrhage confined him to the house. His mind was turned to an extensive course of reading. Military exploits, chivalrous romances, and media3val legends engaged most of his attention. He soon learned Italian and was de lighted with Ariosto. Later, having mastered Spanish, he devoured Cervantes, whose '' Novelas " he said, ''first in- spired him with the ambition to excel in fiction." Called to the Bar, 1792. In July of this year Scott having completed his legal course, donned the wig and gown of an advocate. His filial afiection induced him to purchase with his first fee a silver taper-stand for his mother. Though his practice was small, it continued to increase from year to year and he became a very respectable, and, might unquestionably have been a very great, lawyer. He was 1)}' no means a heaven-born orator, and never made much of a figure as an advocate. He was too "fr.ll of literary power," and too "proudly impatient of the fetters which prudence seemed to impose in his extra-professional pro- ceedings, " to gain that credit which he deserved for the general common sense, unwearied industry, and "keen a])]r lovely was issociations, s listened to I been assu- doring over V requisite Iscape from antiquarian not know,"' i so mucli antiquarian verting the i lost verses ■ a couplet, able relic of lade during Liddesdale, ners of the every class, fcer's manse records of >f all in the ing. Hav- of the Ad- er facilities .11 the anti- rched with iiners were Duie guest, le quartcr- d to aid in satened tho •untry. For the position his lamenerfs was considered no isqualification, especially as he happened to be a very ;raceful equestrian. His patrotism, intrepidity, ready wit ^nd powers of social entertainment, contributed greatly to laustain the spirits of his companions in the daily drudgery |of their drill. Doubtless the "galloping and wheeling of these cavalry drills, with braying trumpets, flashing steel, and the wild excitement of the headlong charge, must have kindled martial fire in the breast of the author of Marmioii. " Marriage, 1707. A couple of years before Scott was called to the Bar, he had fallen in love with Margaret Stuari Belches, a lady of high rank, and had shown her much at- tention for live or six years. Through some misunderstand- ing on the part of one of them, or indiii'erence — perhaps oi)position — on the part of the lady's father, the attachment di(I not result in the union expected. She was married in 1700, to William Forbes, (afterwards Sir William Forbes), a banker, who proved to be one of Sir Walter's most gener- ous and most faithful friends when his financial troubles came on to^'ards the end of both their lives. In the summer of the next year he set off with some friends on a tour of the English lakes, and while riding, met a young lady with whose beauty he was singularly impressed. Fresh from his first-love disappointment, he was prepared, like Romeo, to "take some new infection to his eye " and accordingly, hav- ing paid his addresses to her, he was accepted and marrie^i on tlie 24th of December, 1797. This lady, Miss Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, was the daughter of a royalist of Lyons, wh(jse family, on the death of the father, had sought refuge in England. The connection proved a happy one. TJiey liiid a pleasant cottage at Lasswade, on the Eke, near Edin- burgh and there they spent their summers, receiving friends and enjoying themselves amid the delightful scenery of the place. One who visited him at this period, dwells on "the t«iinple unostentatious elegance of th<3 cottage, and the do- mestic picture which he thus contemplated — a man of native kindnesf^ and cultivated talent, passing the intervals of a ,k. I.|; i- i Si ■' j^-i 38 LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. ' r i' learned profession amidst scenes highly favourable to his poetic inspirations, not in churlish and rustic solitude, but in the daily exercise of the most precious sympathies as a husband, a father and a friend. " Beginning of Authorship. It was in the autumn of 1795, that the recital by a lady, of portions of Mr, William Taylor's translation of Biirger's Lenorc, awakened in Scott's mind his early love of versification and he immediately set to work on a rhymed translation of the poem. It was pub- lished anonymously with a version of another of Burger's ballads. The Wild Huntsman^ in 1796, and was well received. The spirit and manner of his original compositions were, from the first, very powerfully influenced by what had thus awakened his poetical faculty. "His robust and manly character of mind, " remarks Craik, "however, and his strong nationalism, with the innate disposition of his im- agination to live in the past rather than in the future, saved him from being seduced into either the puerilities or tlie exti'avagances to which other imitators of the German writers among us were thought to have, more or less, given way ; and having soon found in the popular ballad-poetry of his own country all the qualities which had attracted him in his foreign favourites, with others which had an equal or still greater charm for his heart and fancy, he henceforth gave himself up almost eixclusively to the more congenial iiLSpira- tion of that native minstrelsy. " A trajislation of Goethe's Qoet% von Berlichingen^ with his own name upon the title page, was published early in 1799. In the same year he obtained, through the influence of the Duke of Buccleuch, the office of Sheriff-deputy of Selkirkshire, poetically called "Ettrick Forest." The position yielded £300 a year, so that now, with his wife's portion, which was considerable, he was in easy circumstanoea. He contributed some ballads for the collection of Lewis, entitled Tales of Wonder^ which did not appear until 1801. The Hovse of Aspc7iy written for e stage, but not published till 1829; Olei^nlas, The Eve of St. Johfij The Gray Brother, and The Fire King, ballads I .$ LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 39. which smack of the old Border spirit, were his next produc- tions. His genius soon turned from the raw preternaturalism of such works to more appropriate and natural subjects. In those excursions of his into Liddesdale and elsewhere, he had been collecting materials for a book on The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. The work was published in January, 1802 (in two volumes at first), and proved his first great literary success. Eight hundred copies were sold within a year, "while the skill and care which Scott had devoted to tlie historical illustrations of the ballads, and the force and spirit of his own new ballads, written in imitation of the old, gained for him at once a very high literary name. " The Border Minstrelsy exhibited his historical industry and knowledge, his masculine humour, his delight in restoring the vision of the "old, simple, world" of rugged activity and excitement, and in addition that "power to kindle men's hearts, as by a trumpet-call, which was the chief secret of the charm of his own greatest poems. " The complete edition of the Minstrelsy came out in 1803, and met with a cordial reception. In the large amount of prose illustration which was published with these poems might have been seen the germ of that power which he subsequently de- veloped in his novels. It required little sagacity to foresee that Walter Scott was to become a great name in Scotland. In 1804 he increased his reputation as a literary antiquary, by publishing the ancient tale of Sir Tristrem, supposed to be written by Thomas the Rhymer, or Thomas Ercildoune, who flourished about the year 1280. In addition to other undertakings, he, about this time, contributed to the Edin- hnryh Rernew, which commenced its career in 1802, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 1805. One of Scott's most cherished schemes, which became gradually the aim of his life and labours, was to possess landed property. To enjoy some portion of the power and authority once wielded by those old chieftains, whose character and achievements it was his delight to depict, gave him nerve and inspiration for his greatest literary tasks. In 1804 he V i ■ ■ I ;1 40 LIFE OF SIR WAATER SCOTT. gave up Lasswade Cottage, eagerly embracing an opportu- nity that then presented itself of removing to Ashestiel, on the banks of the Tweed, a short distance from Selkirk. From this place many of his earlier poems are dated, and soon advancing fame and other favouring circumstances con- curred to stimulate his ambition. For several years he wavered between literature and the legal profession, as if unwilling to dedicate his powers exclusively to either. In 1803 his real vocation began. A legend, designed to appear as a ballad, grew under his hands until it became a poem of considerable size. After being shown in detached portions to his friends, it was published in 1805, as TJie Lay of the Last Minstrel. It instantly stamped him as one of the greatest of the living poets. " His legendary lore, his love of the chivalrous and supernatural, and his descriptive powers, were fully brought into play; and though he afterwards improved in versatility and freedom, he achieved nothing which might not have been predicted from his first preformance. His conception of the Minstrel was inimitable, and won all hearts — even those who were indif- ferent to the supernatural part of the tale, and opposed to irregularity of the ballad style" (Chambers Cyc. of Eng. hit. ). Its popularity was immediate and extensive. The first edition of 750 copies, was disposed of the next year, and before twenty-five years had elapsed, 44,000 copies of the poem had been bought by the public. Scott gained in all by The Lay £769, an unusually large sum in those times to be secured for any poem. The dream of being a Tweed- side " laird " began with his growing wealth and brightening fame to take definite shape. In 1806 he was appointed a Clerk of Session, which gave him the prospect of £800 a year, in addition to his salary as sheriff, upon the death of his predecessor. Marmion, 1808. After the publication of The Lay, Scott's literary labours were incessant. In 1806 he collected his original compositions in the ballad style into a small volume which he published under the title of Ballads and LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 41 Lyrical Pieces. A complete edition of Dryden's works, with a memoir and elaborate notes by Scott, appeared in 1808, This work which was published in eighteen volumes, had given him three years of hard labour. In the Same year ap- peared Marmion, his greatest poem. The publishers of T7te Lay emboldened by the success of that poem, willingly oflfored £1000 for his second great work. It brought an immense increase of reputation to the author. Its more stately pictures of chivalry, its stronger alliance to national history, and the broader scale on which it painted feudal manners, produced greater admiration than had been excited by The Lay. But its entrance into the world was greeted by a critique in the Edinburgh Beview of the most caustic and unfriendly temper. The unkindest cut of all which he received from his friend, JeflErey, was an imputation of a neglect of Scottish character and feeling. "There is scarcely," said the reviewer, "one trait of true Scottish nationality or patriotism introduced into the whole poem ; and Mr. Scott's only expression of admiration for the beautiful country to which he belongs, is put, if we rightly remember, into the mouth of one of his southern favourites." Scott was not slow in finding ' he political prin- ciples of the Edinburgh so repugnant to his own that he severed his connection with the journal of which he had been a contributor, and next laboured with unwearied dili- gence to organize another, The London Quarterly, whose main object should be to counteract the Whig proclivities of the former. Already he had assumed the editorial man- agement of the Annual Register, and with his Life of Dry den a?id other literary labours, we find him soon overwhelmed with poetical, biographical, historical, and critical composi- tions. Another step involved him in grievous embarrass- ments, and stimulated him to exertion which required "a frame of adamant and soul of fire. " This was his partner ship with the Ballantynes, one of whom, James Ballantyne, had been his old school-fellow. The copartnery was at first kept a secret. The establishment, upon which was sub- i: Is-; % ^f ; ! m. fi' .: ■--:-.} ■|i * ._ .' y ck ' t!^ lit ■(' M •»■ J r ' ■ f %:.A m^ 42 LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. \m Ml' k m 41 fii'y. 1- -i illi: 8equent!y ingrafted a publishing business, demanded large advances of money, and the poet's name became mixed up with pecuniary transactions and losses to a large amount. In his share of the printing business, and in his literary gains, he made with his emoluments from the sheriffdom an honourable and opulent provisi(m for his family. With sucli resources, and in the certainty of receiving before long a largo salary as Clerk of the Court of Sessions, it is not, per- haps, surprising that aims beyond his powers were attempted. The Lady of the Lake, 1812. The author now gave to the world this exquisite poem. It was welcomed witli an enthusiasm surpassing that which attended any of his previous productions. "It seemed." remarks Piescott, in 1838. ''like the sweet breathings of his native pibroch stealing over glen and mountain, and calling up all the delicious associations of rural solitude, which beautifully contrasted with the din of battle and the shrill cry of the war trumpet, that stirred the soul in every page of his Marmion. The publication of this work carried his fame as a poet to its most brilliant height. The post-horse duty rose to an extraordinary degree in Scotland, from the eagerness of travellers to visit the locality of the poem. A more substantial evidence was afforded in its amazing circulation, and consequently its profits. The press could scarcely keep pace with the public demand, and no less than fifty thousand copies of it have been sold since the date of its appearance. The successful author received more than two thousand guineas from his production. " What rendered the poem so readily popular was partly its narrative character. The story interested a class of readers who were more capti- vated with the development of the plot than the poetic grandeur of its brilliant passages. In the latter respect it is inferior to Tha Lay, and still more to Marmion. Their charm " lies less on the interest of mere incident, and more on that of romantic feeling and the great social and historic features of the day. " LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 43 The Vision of Don Roderick, 1811. In his nexi poem the author proved himself as completely master of the Spenserian stanza as he was of the octosyllabic metre. He intended to celebrate the achievements of Wellington in Spain, but the work does not rank among his highest productions. In 1812 appeared Bokehy, in which he attempted to invest English scenery and a tale of the civil war, with the cliarm which he had already thrown over the Scottisli Highlands and Borders and their romantic inhabi- tants. It met with a comparatively unfavourable reception. In 1814 he published The Lord of the Isles. The struggle of Biinnf*3kburn and the wild scenery of the Highlands are painted with much harmony, but even the name of Bruce, however, could not compensate the want of what had been the most captivating charm of his earlier poems — the de- velopment of new powers and stylo of poesy. But " the sale of fifteen thousand copies," says Scott, "enabled the author to retreat from the field with the honours of war. " The Bridal of Triermain and Harold the Dauntless were published anonymously; they made a very slight impression on the public. To perform such tasks even the geuius of Scott required the most unremitting industry. Lockhart informs us that ' ' he rose by five o'clock, lit his own fire wlien the season required one, and shaved and dressed with great deliberation, for he was a very martinet as to all but the mere coxcombries of the toilet, not abhorring effeminate dandyism itself so cordially as the slightest approach to personal slovenliness, or even those * bed-gown and slipper tricks,' as he called them, in which literary men are so apt to indulge. Clad in his shooting- jacket, or whatever dress he meant to use till dinner-time, he was seated at his desk by six o'clock, all his papers arranged before him in the most accurate order, aiid his books of reference marshalled by him on the floor while at least one favourite dog lay watching his eye, just beyond the line of circumvallatJon. Thus, by the time the family assembled for breakfast, between nine and ten, he had enough (in his own language) ' to break the i '^11 : 1 ' 'I n 41 it ; I 1 M' 44 LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. liSSI nech of the day's work.' After brealtfaat, a couple of hours more were given to his solitary tasks, and by noon he was, as lie used to say, 'his own man.' When the weather was bad ho woukl labour incessantly all the morning ; but the general rule was to be C)ut and on horse-back by one o'clock at the latest ; while, if any more distant excursion had been proposed over night, he was ready to start on it by ten ; his occasional rainy days of unintermitted study, forming, as he said, ' ' a fund in his favor, out of which he was en- titled to draw for accommodation whenever the sun shone with special brightness. " ^is favourite amusement, .besides riding, in which he was fearless to rashness, was " l^urning ^ the water," as salmon-spearing by torchlight was called. Removal to Abbotsford, 1812. Such was Scott's life at Ashestiel where he had resided from 1804 until 1808. The description of the place and the brook which runs through it, in the introduction of the first canto of Marmion, is one of the finest specimens of his descriptive poetry. The Glenkinnon brook, dashing in a deep ravine through the grounds to join the Tweed ; the hills, rising behind his beautiful little house, which divide the Tweed from the Yarrow, and the adjacent scenery of Yair were among the associations of eight busy but -appy years. Having now obtained the salary of Clerkship of Session he indulged himself in realizing his favourite dream of buying a " mountain farm " at Abbotsford. To this place, which was five miles lower down the Tweed than Ashestiel, he migrated with his "household gods." "Our flitting and removal from Ashestiel baffled," he writes, "all description; we had twenty-five cart-loads of the veriest trash in nature, besides dogs, pigs, ponies, poultry, cows, calves, bare-headed wenches, and bare- breeched boys." Attended by a number of "ragged, rosy children, carrying fishing-rods and spears." The procession he likens to a group of gipsies on the march. A hundred acres of moorland were purchased for four thousand pounds. Upon the place was a poor farm-house, a staring barn^ arid "'!( LIFE or SIR WALTER SCOTT. 45 a pond so dirty that it had given the name of " Clarty Hole '" to the place itself. The name of Abbotsford was chosen as the land had field to physical failings, and ho worked steadily and bravely on. Bankruptoy, 1826. Amidst declining ht--iix and the rapid aivances of age, came the calamitnua wi eck of Scott's fortunes. The enormous sale of his liovels bocured f ! .: ' '. 1. f ,• i \ I ^1 . ■ J • 1 ' ^'^\ 1 i il ■I' I ; w'- 48 LIFE OF SIR WAl-TER SCOTT. If immense sums which were lavisl)ly expended ui:)on his es- tabli'^hinent at Abbotsford. The author, as well as the pub- lishers, became intoxicated with success. The ruinous system of receiving bills from his publishers as payment for nndoR« work, grow into a wild and destructive habit. The money panic of 1825 came with its perils and its crashes. Constable and Ballantyne went down, and Scott stood at fifty -five years of age as a partner in the concern, with a debt of £117,000. To redeem the honour of his name, his efforts were energetically turned. Ref jsing to permit tliu creditors of the firm to which he belonged, to suffer any loss that he could help, ho would listen to no compromise. He ceased " doing the honours for all Scotland," and break- ing up his establishment at Abbotsford, where his wife whom he loved lay dying, he hired a lodging in Edinburgh, and there for some years with stern and unfaltering resolu- tion, he toiled at the herculean task of removing the mountain- debt. " The fountain was awakened from its inmost recesses, as if the spirit of affliction had troubled it in its passage. " He would, "God granting him time and health", owe no man a penny. In four years he had realized for his creditors no less than £70,000. Scott in Adversity. Pride was a part of Scott's strength, and pride never enabled a man to struggle so vigorously and so unremittingly as he did to meet the obli- gations he had incurred. Had he not been a man of irt)n nerve and of an amount of courage hardly ever equalled, the financial crash would have ended his literary career. To add to the misfortune, domestic calamity soon followed. His wifo who had been failing in health died, within four months of the blow. His own health also was quite poor. No time was lost. He set himself to work the next day after the financial blow to prepare The Opus Magmim, a new and annotated edition of all his novels. He calmly resumed the composition <^f Woodstock, which, when completed, real- ized him £8,228, although it was but the work of throe months. He cheers his wife and daughter by telling them LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 49 his " that they must not look for miracles, but consider the misfortune as certain, and only to be lessened by patience and labour. " He takes comfort by quoting from Job, "Naked we entered the world and naked we leave it; blessed be the Lord, " and regards adversity as "a tonic and a bracer. " Some months before thp> disaster he had entered upon a new and much more laborious kind of work — a Ijife of Napoleon Bonaparte. It presented a new kind of labour. Formerly he had been able to write sheet after sheet of his novels with head erect and left-hand at liberty for patting some favourite canine of his "den. " ''Now, as Collier remarks, "he had to gather books, pamphlets, newspapers, letters, and all other kinds of historical mater- ials round his writing-table, and painfully and slowly, note- book in hand, to wade through heavy masses of detail in search of dates and facts. Before he had read with pleasure ; the old man had now to read, often with aching head and dim eyes, for the materials of his task. Heavy work for any one ; heavier work for him, who had been used to pour forth the riches of his own mind without trouble and research. I>(»th morning and evening must now for the most part be given to literary toil. " This work was completed in 1827, in nine volumes. The two first editions sold for £18,000, and it was evident, had Sir Walter Scott's health la8t«;d, he would have redeemed his obligations on behalf of Ballantyne and Co. , within eight or nine years from time of failure. With brain overtaxed, but with a will that knew no bounds, lie toiled on while it was yet day, though the shades of evening were fast approaching. Among the works of his declining years, were his delightful Tales of a, Grandfather, in which, for the first time, a picturesque colouring was given to history, intended for the perusal of the young. Tlie Chronicles of Gannongate poured from his unresting pen with the rapidity of earlier days. The Fair Maid of Perth was published in 1828, and Giierstein in 1829. His last Avorks of fiction, published in 1831, were Connt Robert of Paris and Castle Dangerous. They were written aftei- repeated .'■'.I-' ri ■ i i - IM' 50 LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. ,*"!1 1 ■ '•'i ■ .Hi P ii ■i, ■ "1 i ll shocks of paralysis and apoplexy, and are only shadows of his former greatness. The public received with tenderness and indulgence the imperfect volumes of one who had so long swayed the sceptre of romance. They were the last feeble gleams of a light soon to be extinguished : "A wandering witch-note of the distant spell; And now 'tis silent all I Enchanter, fare thee well." Death, 1832. From the paralysis with which he was smitten in 1830, he never thoroughly rallied. Fits of apo- plexy occurred at intervals during that and the following year. His physicians recommended a residence in Italy as a means of delaying the approach of his illness. His Ma- jesty's ship the Barliam was placed at the disposal of the poet. At Rome he was received with every mark of atten- tion and respect. At Naples he spent many of his morning hours in the composition of two novels. The Siege of Malta and Bizarro, which were never finished, and which last feeble efforts of a mind shattered by disease, his friends did not deem well to have published. He soon desired to return home, and after spending a short time in London and Edinburgh, Abbotsford, the loved place, that cost him so much, was reached. Propped up with pillows, he was moved into his study and placed before his desk. The pen put in his hand by his daughter, dropped from his hand. Day after day did the remnants of a broken constitution continue to hold out against the gloomy foe of life. For two months he lingered in a state of almost total insensibility and mental deprivation ; sometimes raving frantically, as if he supposed himself to be exercising the functions of a judge, but in general quite low and subdued. Four days before he died, Mr. Lockhart, his biographer and son-in-law, was called to Sir Walter's bed-side with the news that he had awakened to a state of composure and consciousness, and desired to see him. ** Lockhart," said he, " I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, bo a good maUj — bo virtuous, — be religious, — bo a good man. Nothing else will giro j'ou any comfort when you come to lie here." The LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 51 contest was soon to be over; ''the plough was nearing tlie end of the furrow." ''About half -past one p.m.,'" says Mr. Lockhart, "on the 12th of September, 1832, Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day — so warm that every window was wide open — and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes." " Call it not vain ; they do not err Who say, that when the poet dies, Mute nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies ; Who say tall clifi and cavern lone For the departed bard niado moan ; That mountains weep in crystal rill ; That flowers in tears of balm distil ; Through his loved groves the breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groans, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave." Lay of the Last Minstrel )• i.; -:-:r ^ i ' s< in wo and f reade visite unive not t( thatS niagn his ch seldoi seas, broug hands synipf of the Rokeh in the Wher< equal the ra* and th of the clansn Micha IVfH^ '-p^^ '^ SCOTT'S LITERARY CIIARACTEK. Descriptive Powers. Scott ranks high as a painter in words. His love of the beauties of nature was intense, and few employed greater skill in communicating it to their readers. Places that were almost wildernesses and seldom visited by strangers, became by his descriptions scenes of universal pilgrimage. In a nature so warm, color was sure not to be wanting, and the best judges have pronounced that Scott possessed this gift in an eminent degree. The niajinificent views of natural scenery with which many of his chapters open, indicate an appreciation of the i)icturesquc seldom surpassed. Beautiful sunsets, rushing rivers, raging seas, deep woodland glades, and rugged mountains, are brought before the reader with panoramic effect. In Ids hands Nature was endowed with life. He could make her sympathize with the human drama, as in the lines at the end of the Convent Canto of Marmion, and in the opening of liokehy, which has been said to rival the opening of Hamlet, in the cold winter night on the lonely platform of Elsinoro. Where exciting incidents were to be portrayed, his pen wa equal to the task. ** Nothing could surpass, for vivid force, the meeting and the duel between the distinguished king and the rebel chieftain, Roderick Dhu ; or that rapid flight of the Fiery Cross over mountain and mt)or, by which the clansmen are summoned to the tryst. The opening of Michael Scott's grave, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel^ and '■'•i ..1 ■ r 54 scott's literary character. « the battle -of Flodden, at the close of Marmion, are pictures tliat none but true genius could paint. " His power to de- scribe character was no less marked. His subjects were not limited. Characters of every age and condition, from the "baron to the fisherman, from the advocate to the beggar, from the lady to the fishwife" receive his attention. The mention of his name brings forward a crowd of names ''familiar as household words. " "Then his powers of description were unequalled— certainly never surpassed. His landscapes, his characters and situations, were all real delineations; in general efiect and individual details, they were equally perfect. None of his contemporaries had the same picturesqueness, fancy, or invention ; none so graphic in depicting manners and cus- toms ; none so fertile in inventing incidents ; none so fascinating in narrative, or so various and powerful in description. " — Chambers. "Scott's romance is like his native scenery, — bold, bare and rugged, with a swift deep stream of strong pure feelint/ running through it. There is plenty of colour in his pic- tures, as there is on the Scotch hills when the heather is out. And so there is plenty of intensity of simple, natural, unsophisticated, hardy, and manly characters. But as for subtleties and fine shades of feeling in his poems, or any- thing like the manifold harmonies of the richer arts, they are not to be found ; it is only at the expense of the higher qualities of his romantic poetry that even in this small measure it is supplied. " — Hutton. Imaginative Powers. If much value is assigned to the division of poets into objective and subjective writers, Scott will form an excellent type of the former class. That imagination is a faculty that invents out of nothing is a view which is contradicted at once by the practice of inventors and by the philosophy of the mind. Shakespeare did not build out of nothing and in like manner Scott's creative power points to "productive associations." He had seen much, and few had such facility in recalling exactly at tlio scott's literary character. 55 t right moment and in using to advantage, the scenes of for- mer days. He had the "true Shakespearian quality of going out of himself to create — of throwing his own mind BO completely into the subject immediately before him, that the creator seems successively to be absolutely identified with all his creations." His power of inventing scenes and persons which are at once surprising and natural is shown alike in his novels and metrical romances. In the prolific richness of his fancy and. in the abundant stores of iiis mem- ory that could create, collect, and arrange such a multitude of scenes and adventures, consisted his strength. The most minute and barren antiquarian details furnished materials for stirring and romantic poetry. The past was reanimated and the present painted with a vividness and energy unknown, perhaps, since the period of Homer. " The only poetical form which could possibly have com- prehended Scott's genius in all its breadth was the Dra" medic. Dramatic power in the untechnical sense, he pos- sessed in the highest degree. It is difficult to believe that, had he lived in the Elizabethan age, he would not have ranked high amongst the ' old masters ' of our drama, to whom as towards his spiritual brothers he felt himself always strongly drawn in his sympathies. He is one of the very few who since Shakespeare's time have seemed to be endowed with something of Shakespeare's nature. But, as it proved, he could express himself in the dramatic form even less worthily than in the metrical romance. It would seem as if every great age and every great genius have their own form of expression which dies with them. The Drama in Scott's time was an obsolete thing, incapable of resuscitation ; with all Scott's dramatic faculties he could not write dramas. The one shape in. which all the richness of his genius was to be revealed was the Novel. The Novel was for his day and for him what the Drama was for Shakes- peare and his age. There all his various talents were to find free play— his shrewd observation, his tragic intensity, his lyrical excellence, his infinite humour. " — Hales. 4 • !;i" I' ;r r, P ■'■M 'M 56 scott's literary character. Cause of his Popularity. "We shall neither rate Scott's originality high enough, nor perceive exactly how it was that his poems became so popular, unless we remember that he' was the earliest adventurer in a region hitherto un- known ; and that, on his first appearance, he stood, in the eye of the world at large, quite unaccompanied He appealed to national sympathies through ennobling his- toric recollections ; he painted the externals of scenery and manners with unrivalled picturesqueness ; he embellished with an infectious enthusiasm all that was generous and brave in the world of chivahy ; and he seldom forgot to dress out the antique in so much of modern trappings, as might make it both intelligible and interesting." — Spalding. ' ' The secret of the success of Scott's poetry lay partly in his subjects, partly in his mode of treating them, and partly in his versifications. He loves to sketch knighthood and chivalry, baronial castles, the camp, the court, the grove, with antique manners and institutions. To these he adds beautiful descriptions of natural scenery, and graphic delineations of passion and character. His personages he takes sometimes from history and sometimes frcm imagina- tion, the former idealized by fancy, and the latter made the more real by being associated with men and women already familiar to us on the page of history or in actual life. The knights of Spenser, the every-day life of Chaucer, the ladies of Shakespeare, the antiquarian lore of Drayton, all meet on canvas, and everything capable of life seems endowed with it. In his power of vivifying and harmonizing all his char- acters, Scott is second only to Shakespeare. For back- ground he has magnificent groupings of landscape and incident, which acquire additional charm from the power he gives them of exciting human sentimenl ^nd emotion."-^ Angus. "His poems are all lays and romances of chivalry, but infinitely finer than any that had ever before been written. With all their irregularity and carelessness (qualities which some sort are characteristic of and essential to this kind of Scott's literary character. 57 poetry), that element of life in all writing, which comes of the excited feeling and earnest belief of the writer, is never wantinf' ; this animation, fervour, enthusiasm — call it by what name we will — exists in greater strength in no poetry than in that of Scott, redeeming a thousand defects, and triumphing over all the reclamations of criticism. It was this, no doubt, more than anything else, which at once took the public admiration by storm. All cultivated and perfect enjoyment of poetry, or of any other of the fine arts, is partly emotional, partly critical ; the enjoyment and appre- ciati(ni are only perfect when these two qualities are blended; but most of the poetry that had been produced among us in modern times had aimed affording chiefly, if not exclusively, a critical gratification." — Oraik. ' ' The novelty and originality of Scott's style of poetry, thdiigh exhausted by himself, and debased by imitators, f < (rnied the first passport to public favour and applause. The English reader had to go back to Spenser and Chaucer ere he could find so knightly and chivalrous a poet, or such paintings of antique manners and institutions. The works of the older worthies were also obscured by a dim and obso- lete phraseology ; while Scott, in expression, sentiment and descriptii , could be read and understood by all. The perfect clearness and transparency of his style is one of his distinguishing features ; and it was further aided by his peculiar versification. Coleridge had exemplified the fitness of the octosyllabic measure for romantic narrative poetry, and parts of his Gliristahel having been recited to Scott, he adopted its wild rhythm and harmony, joining to it some of the abruptness and irregularity of the old ballad metre. In his hands it became a powerful and flexible instrument, whether for light narrative and pure description, or for scenes of tragic wildness and terror, such as the trial and death of Constance in Maj-mion, or the swell and agitation of a battlefield. The knowledge and enthusiasm requisite for a chivalrous poet, Scott possessed in an eminent degree. He was an early worshipper of ' hoar antiquity. ' He was in •i J. S8 SCO'irS LITERARY CHARACTER. the maturity of his powers — thirty-four years of age — when the Laif was published, and was perhaps better iiif omied « tn such subjects than any other man living. Border story and romance had been the study and the passion of his wlink life. In writing Marmion and Ivanhoe, or in building Abbotsford, he was impelled by a natural and irresistible impulse. The baronial castle, the court and the camp — tlie wild Highland chase, feud, and foray — the antique blazoniy, and institutions of feudalism, were constantly present to his thoughts and imaginations. " — Chambers. Versification. "His versification, moreover, is everj appropriate to his purpose ; it is based upon the eiglit- syllabled rhyming metre of the Trouvbres, which waf| admirably adapted by its easy flow for narrative powers. But that metre alone would have been very monotonous ; \ Scott has, therefore, blended with it a frequent mixture oi other kinds of English verse, trochaic, dactylic, andj anapaestic ; his most common expedient is to employ a shun six-syllabled line after octo-syllabic couplets or triplets— a variety that gives at once melody and strength. At otlierj times he makes the third and sixth line rhyme, forming six-line stanza. The idea of this versification, Scott himself j says, was taken from the example of Coleridge, and especi- ally from the Ghristahel. " — Angv^. Faults. Scott wrote too much to avoid carelessness. The rapidity with which he dashed off poem after poem ami novel after novel prevented him from giving sufficient atten- j tion to details. His style, though characterized by great brilliancy and variety, has not that exquisite finish in it? images and descriptions which we find in the works of many other poets. The beautiful but minute delineations of I character, for which Orabbe or Cowper is noted, are not to j be found in the works of Scott. The refined, deep and sus- tained pathos of Campbell is wanting. He never ventures' like either of these authors, to carry us into the cottage of the modem peasant, or into the bosom of domestic privacy. Such creatures of the imagination as those painted by Scott's literary character. 59 Soiitliey or Darwin are not brought before us. We fail to tiud in his poetry tliose higher and deeper qualities which we are accustomed to exact in later writers. His powers as ii literary-poetic artist were not of the highest order. Great- ness of expression — the heights and depths of language — keen insi'^hts into the secrets of the heart, were not much ill his way. He respected his subject more than he respected his art. With youthful and high-minded readers his works will always be popular, but Scott is not and never can be the poet of literary readers. The student and the artist remeiii- ])cr him as a cherished enchantment of youth, and do not locur to him. Neither the inner recesses of the heart, nor tho high places of art thrill to his appeal. ' ' He has, " says Jeifrey, ' ' dazzled the reader with the splen- (luur, and even warmed him with the transient heat of various ati'octions ; but he has nowhere fairly kindled him with enthu- siasm, or melted him into tenderness. Writing for the world at large, he has wisely abstained from attempting to raise any passion to a height to which worldly people could not be trans- ported ; and contented himself with giving his reader the cliance of feeling, as a brave, kind, and affectionate gentleman must often feel in the ordinary course of his existence, with- out trying to breathe into him either that lofty enthusiasm wliich disdains the ordinary |j|^||^ess and amusements of life, or that quiet and deep sensrHRy which unfits for most of its pursuits. With regard to diction and imagery, too, it is quite obvious that Mr. Scott has not aimed at writing either' in a very pure or a very consistent style. He seems to have been anxious only to strike, and to be easily and universally understood ; and, for this purpose, to have called the most £,'littering and conspicuous expressions of the most popular authors, and to have interwoven them in splendid confusion with his own nervous diction and irregular versification. Tndiflferent whether he coins or borrows, and drawing with ei^ual freedom on his memory and his imagination, he goes boldly forward, in full reliance on a never-failing abundance ; and dazzles, with his richnesJi and variety, even \ £ ' t T " ' f i' ' 1 i 6o SCO'n-'s IIIT.RAHV CHAUACTEI^ K- 1^' I I tlioso who arc nioHt apt to ho, ofFonded with his glare and irregularity. There is nothing, in Mr. Scott, of the sevcit and majestic style of Milton— or of the terse and tine com position of Pope — or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell — or even of the flowing and redundant dictii ji of Southey." To do justice to Scott's poetry, we must remember wha' it succeeded and Bui)planted. Darwin's Botanical Oardtn, Hayley's Triumphs of Temper, and Lewis's Tales of Terror, were among the most popular of the time. Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth were all singing indeed, but singing to an audience rather few than fit. Campbell, after gaining tlie popular ear with the Pleasiires of Hope, had fallen asleep with his early laurels. Scott's poetry had the merit of doing good service, though not very original, The models imitated were the best. His poems, if nnt charged with profound thought, were fresh, natural, uncon- ventional in spirit, and eminently free, flowing, and unhack- neyed in style. ' ' His store of images is so copious, that lie never dwells upon one long enough to produce weariness in the reader ; and even where he deals in borrowed or in tawdry wares, the rapidity of his transitions, and the tran- sient glance with which he is satisfied as to each, leave the critic no time to be ofl'endq^^^d hurry him forward, along with the multitude, enchaWRi with the brilliancy of tlie exhibition. Thus the very frequency of his deviations from pure taste, comes, in some sort, to constitute their apology; and the profusion and variety of his faults to afford a new proof of his genius. " ** Friends," remarks Carlyle, "to precision of epithet will probably deny his title to the name of great. One knows not what idea worthy of the name of great, wlitit purpose, instinct, or tendency that could be called great, Scott was ever inspired with. His life was worldly, his ambitions were worldly. There is nothing spiritual in him ; all is economical, material of the earth, earthy. A love of pictures(^ue, of beautiful, vigorous, and graceful scon S UTERARV CHARACIER. 6i things ; a genuine love, yet not more genuine than haa dwelt in hundroda of men, named minor poets — thia is the liighest quality to bo diacernod in liim." "It were a long (•liai»ter," the same critic says, "to unfold the difference in drawing a cliaractor between Scott and a Shakespeare or Goethe. Yet it is a difference literally immense } they are of a different species ; the value of the one is not to be counted in the coin of the otlier. We might say in a short word, which covers a long matter, that your Shakespeare fashions his characters from the heart outwards ; your Scott fa.sliions them from the skin inwards, never getting near the heart of them. The one set become living men and women; the other amount to little more than mechanical cases, de- ceptively painted automatons." Still he considers, "No .sounder piece of British manhood was put together in the eighteenth century. " He was ** genuine," " no shadow of cant," "an eminently well-conditioned man, healthy in body, healthy in soul," and " the good and the not so good which all Scotchmen inherit ran through every fibre of him. " Ruskin, estimating him as the great representative mind of the age in the department of literature, is ready to offer an apology for his "poetry of careless glance and reckless rhyme. " ^lurris gives that critic's esjiimate thus : — " The tests of Ljroatness are — (1) humility.; Scott never talks about the dignity of literature ; he haS>4H9 afiectation, and, although a mannerist, no assumption of manner; and (2) the ease with which he does his work. But in his faults, likewise, Ruskin finds him a representative of his age — 1. In faithfulness ; '1, In* the habit of looking idly back on the past without un- derstanding it, without a real wish to recall it ; 3. In ignor- ance of true art ; 4. In the melancholy which underlies his scepticism. Observe, further, the way in which he looks at Nature, ' as^ having an animation and pathos of its own, wholly irrespective of human presence or passion;' and his preference for colour over form in landscape painting." Compared with Byron. " Byron and Scott are not •nisily compared. Scott is the poet of romantic history, ■■ # t: ;> • t. ■ • (, ) ' « ' '*•' ■f i' "■>■'* 4 t •, "'. i \ ._ , i' \ 1 '^^'M i ■i 62 scott's literary character. i Byron of actual and every-day life. Scott develops liia characters throui^h his ]»lot, Byron by direct description of their thoughts and speech. Scott is seldom seen in lines, Byron is the chief figure in his. Scott is ever trustful, gentle, unselfish, chivalrous ; in Byron we have lofty genius and generous impulses in strangest combination with mi"^,- anthropy, scepticism, and licentiousness. Scott is inteni^ely human, Byron 'Satanic' Both, however, are manneriuts, and both are writers of animated poetry. Both excel in painting strong passion in contrast with feminine softness and delicacy (Scott's skill in ])assion-painting l>eing shown chiefly in his novels), but the softness of Byron's beauties is sensual and Eastern." — Atujus. ' ' They are distinctively poets of active life. They portray, in spirited narrative, idealized resemblances of the scenes of reality ; events v/hich arise out of the universal relations of society, hopes ? ? d fears, and wishes which are open to the consciousness of all mankind. Were it not for some higher flights which Byron took, inspired from without rather than from within, we might aay of them, without exception, what is true of him generally : that they neither aspired to the praise of wedding poetry with abstract thought, nor ascended into those secluded walks of fanciful musing, in which none delight but minds very finely toned. Both of them have described some of their works as tales ; and it has been saiil of Scott, while it might with not less truth have been said of Byron, that his works are romances in verse. It is un- questionable, that they have neither the elevation nor tht regularity belonging to the highest kinds of narrative poetry; and, while the poems of the one are in many points strikingly aniilogous to his liistorical novels, those of the other often derive their popular attractiveness from sources of interest nearly akin to that which prevails in less worthy works of fiction. But the model of both poets was some thing different from the regular epic ; and, if there must b( a comparison, the standard is to be sought elsewhere. Scott fondly attached to the early literature of the land, began his SCOTTS LITERARY CHARACTER. 63 auHioi'sliip on Thv Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border^ with tho reduplication and imitation of ancient ballads ; and lio avowedly desicniod his poems as restorations, with changes suited to modern tastes, of a very interesting class of poems with which he was not less familiar. His originals were the Roiuances of Chivalry ; and, after the extraordinary success of his attempts at embodying tho chivalrous and n.itiunal idea, nothing was more natural than that the ex- ample should be applied, by J3yron as well as others, in tho couslruction of narratives founded on a diiierent kind of Heni'uuent."— Spalding. Religion and Morality. Scott was no enthusiast in religion, yet he shows in various passages of his writings that he held Christianity in high esteem. If he blunvs a readi- ness to extenuate the sins of brave and violent defiors of the law, he says little in favour of the crimes committed by the crafty and cunning members of society. His works are full of descriptions of irregular characters in almost every sphere, but he never paints the inner life in such a manner as to prt)duce immoral tendencies. His se.ise of honour was high, and it was that truly chivalrous sense of honour which stamped his whole conduct. Ho is no friend to cant in any form. His heart overflowed with that charity which is the life-blood of our religion, and wherever he takes occasion to allude to the subject directly, ho testities a deep reverence for the truths of revelatio)^ ai well .??' for its divine Original. If he shows no strong roli'-ious impulses, it is because he re- gards a tranquil and ? ibmissivo mood as the only true religious mood. In his ''avoidance of indulging the imagin- ation," says Hutton, " on religious, or even on spiritual subjects, Scott goes far beyond Shakespeare. I do not think there is a single study in all his romances of what may be fairly called a pre-eminently spiritual character as such, though Jeanie Deans approaches nearest to it. The same may be said of Shakespeare. But Shakespeare, though he has never drawn a pre-eminently spiritual character, ften indulged his imagination while meditating on spiritual themes. " I- . I , ■» A o n ] • ■ 1^- 64 SCOTT S LITERARY CHARACTER. nil Effect on Literature. " Meanwhile, his success, the example he had sot, and the tastes which he had awakened in the public mind, had aftected our literature to an extent in various directions which has scarcely been sufficiently appreciated. Notwithstanding the previous appearance of Wordsworth, Coleridge, ^outhey, and some other writers, it was Scott who first in his day made poetry the rage, and with him properly commences the busy poetical production of the period we are now reviewing ; those who had been in the field before him put on a new activity, and gave to the world their principal works, after his appearance; and it was not till then that the writer, who of all the poets of this ago attained the widest blaze of reputation, eclipsing Scott him- self, connnenced his career. But what is still more worthy of note is, that Scott's poetry impressed its own character upon evil the poetry that was produced among us for many years after ; it put an end to long works in verse of a didactic or merely reflective character, and directed the current of all writing of that kind into the form of narrative." — Oraik. "Around and after him, the novel of manners, separated from the historif^al romance, has produced a whole literature, and preserved the character which he stamped upon it. Miss Austin, Miss Brontd, Mrs. Gaskell, George Eliot, Bulwer, Thackeray, Dickens, and many others, paint espe- cially or entirely in his style, contemporary life, as it is, unembellished in all ranks, often among the people, more frequently still amongst the middle class. And the causes which made the historical novel come to nought, in Scott and others, made the novel of manners, by some authors, succeed. " — Taine. " Since his time, the novel has received developments un- known to him. Dickens and Thackeray, and, more recently, George Eliot and Charles Kingsley, have infused into it a more genial humanity, a profounder philosophy, a higher and finer glow of imagination ; yet it is fitting to connect with Scott the influence and the worth of modern fiction. While resuscitating the past, he was conferring a boon on scott's literary character. 65 the future in which the whole range of literature participated ; f( )i- the Waverley romance establiahed this important [iriji- ciple, that for innnediate success, as Avell as lasting profit, books must be interesting in the best sense— not relying on mere sensafion, but on genuine fascination. That books are now more readable, more frank and candid, is in a large measure due to that enchanting interest which the author of Waverley scattered broadcast over the literature of his time. :;\Ioreover, he taught authors the art of reaching a wide audience, and producing an immediate effect ; out of which has been developed our popular style of writing. " — Spalding. / . i I '9 lu '^f MARMIOIf. -♦♦- INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. To WiLMAM Stewart Rose, Esq. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. November's sky is chill and dvear, November's leaf is red and sear : Late, gazing down the steepy linn, That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen, 5 You scarce the rivulet might ken, So thick the tangled green- wood gre^^, So feeble trilled the streamlet through : N< »w, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen Through bush and brier, no longer green, 10 And angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade," And, foaming brown with doubled speed, Hurries its waters to the Tweed. No longer Autumn" s glowing red Upon our forest hills is shed ; No more, beneath the evening beam, Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam Away hath ])assed the heather-bell, That bloomed so rich on Nendpath-fell 15 20 • t, !i:lJl 11. INIRUDUCTION CAN'IO 1. t "'tl 11 ' ' If Sallow his brow, and russet bare Are now the sister-heights of Yair. The sheep, before the pinching heaven, To sheltered dale and down are driven, Where yet some faded herbage pines, And yet a watery sunbeam shines : In meek despondency they eye The withered sward and wintry sky, And far beneath their summer hill, Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill : The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold. And wraps him closer from the cold ; His d(^gs no merry circles wheel, Uut, shivering, follow at his heel ; A cowering glance they (^ften cast, As deeper moans the gathering blast. My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, As best befits the mountain child, Feel the sad influence of the hour. And wail the daisy's vanished liower ; Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, And anxious ask, — Will spring return, And birds and lambs again be gay, And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spraj'^ ? Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower Again shall paint your summer bower j Again the hawthorn shall supply The garlands you delight to tie ; The lambs upon the lea shall bound, The wild birds carol to the round, And while you frolic light as thoy, Too short shall seem the sudiuk^' day. To mute and to material thinQ;3 New life revolving summer bvings ; The genial call dead Nature hears. And in he)' gh'iy reappears. 25 30 35 40 45 50 65 I t n INTRODUCTION — CAN'fO I. HI. But oh ! my country's wintry state What second spring shall renovate ? What powerful call shall bid arise The buried warlilcu, and the wise ? The mind, that thought for Britain's weal, Tlie hand, that grasped the victor's steel ? The vernal sun new life bestows Even on the meanest flower that blows ; J3ut vainly, vainly may he shine, Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine : And vainly pierce the solemn gloom. That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! Deep graved in every British heart, never let those names depart ! Say to your sons,— Lo, here his grave, Who victor died on Gadite wave ; To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given ; Where'er his country's foes were found, Was heard the fated thunder's sound, Till burst the bfjlt (m yonder shore. Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. Nor mourn you less his perished worth, Who bade the conqueror go forth, And launched that thunderbolt of war, On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar ; Who, born to guide such high emprize, For Britian's weal was early wise; Alas I to whom the Almighty gave, For Britain's sins, an early grave ; His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, A bauble held the pride of power, S[)urned at the sordid lust of pelf, And served his Albion f ^^ eife.' .?>■ /A fiM. V '■^ o / Photographic Sciences Corporation n WeST Mi\'.k STREIT WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 873-4503 # iV \\ 9> o^ <'' C<'x v"t^; f/i <\ 6^ fTF VIII. INTRODUCTION — CANTO I. p »'l! .oil i J Or idly list the shrilling lay With which the milkmaid cheers her way, Marking its cadence rise and fail, As from the field beneath her pail, She trips it down the uneven dale ; Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, The ancient shepherd's tale to learn, Though oft he stop in rustic fear, Lest his old legends tire the ear Of one, who, in his simple mind. May boast of book-learned taste refined. But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, (For few have read romance so well), How still the legendary lay O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; How on the ancient minstrel strain Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; And how our hearts at doughty deeds. By warriors wrought in steely weeds. Still throb for fear and pity's sake : As when the Champion of the Lake Enters Morgana's fated house, Or in the Chapel Perilous, Despising spells and demon's force. Holds converse with the unburied corae ; Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move (Alas, that lawless was their love !) He sought proud Tarquin in his den, And freed full sixty knights ; or when, A sinful man, and unconfessed. He took the Sangreal's holy quest. And, slumbering, saw the vision high. He might not view with waking eye. The mightiest chiefs of British song Scorned not such legends to prolong : They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, £Kj 24: 2'cO z5ii 2G0 205 270 INTRODUCTION — CANTO L IX. And mix in Milton's heavenly theme And Dryden, in immortal strain, 27B Had raised the Table Round again, But that a ribald King and Court Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 280 Licentious satire, song, and play ; The world defrauded of the high design, Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the lofty line. Wanned by such names, well may w© then, Though dwindled sons of little men, 28&- Essay to break a feeble lance In the fair fields of old romance ; Or seek the moated castle's cell, Where long through talisman and spell, While tryants ruled, and damsels wept, 200 Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : There sound the harpings of the North, Till he awake and sally forth. On venturous quest to prick again, In all his arms, with all his train, 295 Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, And wizard with his wand of might. And errant maid on palfrey white. Around the Genius weave their spells, 800 Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; And Honour with his spotless shield ; Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 805 And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; And Valour, lion-mettled lord, Leaning upon his own good sword. "tl ,, -I -'I J \^i ,\< t X. INTRODUCTION — CANTO I. Well liJis tliy fair achievouiont shown, A w<»rtliy meed may thus be won ; Ytoiiu'soaks — beneath whose shade Tlieir theme the merry minstrels niade, Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold, And that Red King, who, while of old Through Boldrewood the chase he led, By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — Ytene's oaks have heard again Renewed such legendary strain ; For thou hast sung, how He of Qaul, That Amadis so famed in hall. For Oriana, foiled in fight The Necromancer's felon mi;^ht ; And well in modern verse hast wove Partenopex's mystic love ; Hear then, attentive to my lay, A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. '6h> 315 320 326 h' MARMION CANTO I. THE CASTLE. Day set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the Donjon keep, The loophole grates where captives weep, The flanking walla that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone. The warriors on the turrets high. Moving athwart the evening sky, Seemed forms of giant height : TheK armour, as it caught the rays, Flashed back again the western blaze. In lines of dazzling light. Saint George's banner, broad and gay, Now faded, as the fading ray Less bright, and less, was flung ; The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the Donjon tower. So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, The Castle gates were bai'red ; 10 ii Y 2 MARMION. Above the gloomy portal ai'cb, Timing his footsteps to r march, The warder kept hia guard ; Low humming, as he paced along, Some ancient Border gathering-song. A DISTANT trampling sound he hears — Ho looks abroad, and soon appears O'er Horncliff Hill a plump of spears, Beneath a pennon gay j A horseman, darting from the crowd, Like lightning from a summer cloud, Spurs on his mettled courser proud, Before the dark array. Beneath the sable palisade. That closed the Castle barricade, His bugle-horn he blew ; The warder hasted from the wall. And warned the Captain in the hall, For well the blast he knew; And joyfully that Knight did call, To sewer, squire, and seneschal : — •* Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, Bring pastiea of the doe, And quickly make the entrance tree, And bid my heralds ready be, And every minstrel sound his glee, And all our trumpets blow j And, from the platform, spare ye not To fire a noble salvo-shot : Lord Marmion waits below." — Then to the Castle's lower ward Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarred. Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparred. And let the drawbridge fall. 10 ui 10 15 IV 10 16 CANTO I. 8 Along the bridge Lord Marmioui rode, v Proudly his red-roan charger trod, His helm hung at the saddlebow ; Well, by his visage, you might know He was a stalworth knight, and keen, 5 And had in many a battle been ; The scar on his brown cheek revealed A token true of Bosworth field ; His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, Shewed spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 10 Yet lines of thought upon his cheek, Did deep design and counsel speak. His forehead, by his casque worn bare. His thick moustache, and curly hair. Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 15 But more through toil than age ; Plis square-turned joiiits, and strength of limb, Shewed him no carpet knight so tiim. But, in close fight, a champion grim ; In camps, a leader sage. 20 Well armed was he from head to heel, vl In mail and plate of Milan eteel ; But his strong helm, of mighty cost, Was all with burnished gold embossed ; Amid the plumage of the crest, 6 A falcon hovered on her nest. With wings outspread, and forward breast ; E'en such a falcon, on his shield. Soared sable in an azure field : The golden legend bore aright, 10 " Who checks at me, to death is dight." Blue was the charger's broidered rein j Blue ribbons decked his nrching mane ; The knightly housing's ample fold Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 16 b2 1 i •} - { '. ri: tf\ i. :' \ i > I i- '?t-""i 1 l! -.n i ! MAKMION. h 'l'' *P' Uii ' .ii Behind him rode two jrallant squireS; Of noblo name and knightly sires ; They burned the gilded spurs to claim ; For well could each a war-horse tame, Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, And lightly bear the ring away ; Nor less with courteous precepts stored, Could dance in hall, and carve at board ; And frame love ditties passing rare, And sing them to a lady fair. Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battleaxe : They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, And led his sumpter mules along, And ambling palfrey, when at need Ilim listed ease his battle-steed. The last, and trustiest of the four. On high his forky pennon bore ; Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, "Where, blazoned sable, as before, The towering falcon seemed to soar. Last, twenty yeomen, two and two. In hosen black, and jerkins blue. With falcons broidered on each breast, Attended on their lord's behest. Each, chosen for an archer good. Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; Each one a six-foot bow could bend. And far a cloth-yard shaft could send j Each held a boar-spear tough and strong. And at their belts their quivers rung. Their dusty palfreys, and array. Showed they had marched a weary way. 'Tis meet that I should tell you now, How fairly armed, and ordered how. ▼u 10 viii 10 20 IX it:... illi CANTO L The soldiers of the guard. With musket, piko, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion, 5 Stood in the Castle-yard ; Minstrels and trumpeters were there, The gunner held his linstock yare, For welcome-shot prepared : Entered the train, and such a clang, 10 As then through all his turrets rang, Old Norham never heard. The guards their morrice-pikes advanced. x The trumpets flourished brave, The cannon from the ramparts glanced. And thundering welcome gave. A blythe salute, in martial sort, 5 The minstrels well might sound. For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, He scattered angels round. « Welcome to Norham, Marmion 1 „ Stout heart, and open hand ! Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. Thou flower of English land ! " Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck. With silver scutcheon round their neck. Stood on the steps of stone, By which you reach the Donjon gate, And there, with herald pomp and state, 6 They hailed Lord Marmion : They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town ; And he, their courtesy to requite, 10 Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight, All as he lighted down. ** Now largesse, largesse. Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold ! 1(K sd i. I 1* it , ( .:'\' ■.:t MARMION. I t i .1 ;1 f ¥, '*■•' * ■ 'i • ^ 1 . * ri 0* i;- 1 .f{l t -.1 ( ■V '}\ ill A blazoned shield, in battle won. Ne'er guarded heart so bold." — Thet marshalled him to the Castle-hall, Where the guests stoci all aside, And loudly flourished the trumpet-call, And the heralds loudly cried : — '* Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmiou, With the crest and helm of gold I Full well we know the trophies won In the lists at Cottiswold : There, vainly, Ralph de Wilton strove 'Gainst Marmion's force 1k) stand ; To him he lost his lady-love, And to the King his land. Ourselves beheld the listed field, A sight both sad and fair ; We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, And saw his saddle bare ; We saw the victor win the crest, He wears with wortliy pride ; And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, His foeman's scutcheon tied. Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! Room, room, ye gentles gay. For him who conquered in the right, Marmion of Fontenaye ! " Then stepped to meet that noble lord Sir Hugh the Heron bold. Baron of Twisell and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold. He led Lord Marmion to the deas, Raised o'er the pavement high, And placed him in the upper place — They feasted full and high : The whiles a northern harper rude Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,— 16 Xll 10 16 20 xm 6 10 CANTO I. 7 " How the Jierce Thirlwalh, and Ridley 8 all^ Stout WiUimomhivickf And Hard-riding Dick, And Huyhie of Hawdim, and Will o' the IVuU, Have set on Sir AJhany Fentherstonhauf/h, 15 And taken his life at the Deadmans-shaw.^^ Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook The harper's barbarous lay ; Yet much he praised the pains he took, And well those pains did pay ; 20 For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain, By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. " Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron sny.s, xiv ^' Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space, In this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, 6 May breathe your war-horse well ; Seldom hath passed a week but giust Or feat of arms befell : The Scots can rein a mettled steed, And love to couch a spear \ — 10 Stunt George ! a stirring life they lead, That have such neighbours near. Then stay with us a little space, Our northern wars to learn ; I pray you for your lady's grace."— 16 Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. The Captain marked his altered look, xv And gave a squire the sign ; A mighty wassail-bowl he took, And crowned it high with wine. " Now pledge me here, Lord Marmiou : 5 But first I pray thee fair, Where hast thou left that page of thine, That used to serve thy cup of wine, ■» / H: ■ft 1 -:'■ i '3 !■: y^. i but ''J MARMION. 1 Whose beauty was so rare P "When last in Ilaby towers we met, 10 The boy I closely eyed, And often marked his cheeks were wet "With tears he fain would hide : His was no ru|?ged horse-boy's hand, To burnish shield, or sharpen brand, 15 Or saddle battle-steed ; But meeter seemed for lady fair, To fun her cheek, or curl her hair, Or through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead : 90 His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom — when he sighed, The russet doublet's rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride ! Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 26 To serve in lady's bower ? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour F " — Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ; xvi He rolled his kindling eye, • "With pain his rising wrath suppressed, Yet made a calm reply : " That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair, 6 He might not brook the northern air. More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, I left hini sick in Lindisfame : Enoiigh of him. — But, Heron, say, Why does thy lovel> lady gay 10 Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? Or haB that dame, so fair and sage, Gone on some pious pilgrimage ? " — He spoke in covert scorn, for fame Wldspered light tales of Heron's dame. 15 ! !• •' CANTO I. Unmarked, at least iinreeked, tlie taunt, xvii Careless the Knight replied : " No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt, Delights in cage to bide : Norhani is grim, and grated close, (i Hemmed in by battlement and fosse, And many a darksome tower ; And better loves my lady bright, To sit in liberty and light. In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 10 We hold our greyhound in our hand. Our falcon on our glove ; But where shall we find leash or band, For dame that loves to rove ? Let the wild falcon fw xt her swing, 16 She'll stoop when she has tired her wing.*' — " Nat, if wiin Boyal James's bride, xviii xhe lovely Lady Heron bide. Behold me here a messenger, Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; For, to the Scottish Court addressed, 6 I journey at our King's behest, And pray you, of your grace, provide For me and mine a trusty guide. I have not ridden in Scotland since James backed the cause of that mock prince, 10 Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. Then did I march with Surrey's power. What time we razed old Ayton Tower." — " Fob suchlike need, my Lord, I trow, xix Norham can find you guides enow ; For here be some have pricked as far On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; ' Have drunk the monks of Saint Bothan's ale, 6 And drhreu the beeves of Lauderdale ', \* r 1 v4y-'4 'I '• ;■: fn. m 10 MARMION. Harried the wiv b of Greenlaw's goods, And given them light to set their hoods." " Now, in good sooth," Lord Mai'mion cried, xx " Were I in warlike wise to ride, A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back : But, as in form of peace I go, 5 A friendly messenger, to know Why through all Scotland, near and far. Their King is mustering troops for war, The sight of plundering Border spears Might justify suspicious fears; 10 And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, Break out in some unseemly broil ; A herald were my fitting guide ; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; Or pardoner, or travelling priest, lo Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." — The Captain mused a little space, xxi And passed his hand across his face : \ " Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may spare a pursuivant, ^ The only men that safe can ride 6 Mine errands on the Scottish side : And, though a bishop built this fort, Few holy bretliren here resort ; Even our good chaplain, as I ween. Since our last siege, we have not seen : 10 The mass he might not sing or say. Upon one stinted meal a day ; So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. And prayed for our success the while. Our Norham vicar, woe betide, ». 16 Is all too well in i a^e to ride. Tho priest of Shores wood — he could reiij The -wildest war-horse in your train j CANTO I. But tbeo, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. Friar John of Tillmouth were the man, A blythesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower. He knows each cnstle, town, and tower, In which the wine and ale is good, 'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. But that good man, as ill befals, Hath seldom left our Castle wtdls, Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wite ; And John, an enemy to strife. Sans frock and hood fled for his life. The jealous churl hath deeply swore, That, if again he ventures o'er. He shall shrive penitent no more. Little he loves such risks, I know ; Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." — Young Selbt, at the fair hall-board Carved to his uncle, and that lord. And reverently took up the word : " Kind uncle, woe were we each one. If harm should hap to brother John. He IS a man of mirthful speech. Can many a game and gambol teach ; Full well at tables ^an he play. And sweep at bowls the stake away. None can a lustier carol bawl, The needfuUest among us all, When time hangs heavy in the hall. And snow comes thick at ChristniRs-tide, And we can neither hunt, nor rido A foray on the Scottish side. 11 20 25 30 IJ 35 xxu 5 ■' ','■ 10 16 • . ,^' • ' 'i I ; I H mmf^ ■i^ 12 HARMION. The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude, May eud in worse than loss of hood. Let Friar John, in safety, still In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill : 20 Last night to Norham there came one. Will better guide Lord Marmion." — " Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say." — *' Hebe is a holy Palmer come, xxiii From Salem first, and last from Rome ; One, that hath kissed the blessed tomb. And visited each holy shrine. In Araby and Palestine ; 6 On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, Which parted at the prophet's rod ; In Sinai's wilderness he saw 10 The Mount, where Israel heard the law, Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin, And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. He shews Saint James's cockle-shell. Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 15 And of that Grot where Olives nod, Where, darling of each heart and eye, From all the youth of Sicily, Saint Rosalie retired to God. To stout Saint George of l^^rwich merry, xxiv Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. *He knows the passes of the North, 5 And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; Little he eats, and long will wake. And drinks but of the stream or lake. CANTO I. 13 This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; But, when our John hath quaffed his ale, As little as the wind that blows, And warms itself against his nose. Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — " Geamerct ! " quoth Lord Marmion, " Full loth were I that Friar John, That venerable man, for me. Were placed in fear or jeopardy. If this same Palmer will me lead From hence to Holy-Rood, Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, Instead of cockle-shell, or bead, With angels fair and good. I love such holy ramblers ; still They know to charm a weary hill, With song, romance, or lay : Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, Some lying legend at the least. They bring to cheer the way." — "Ah 1 noble sir," young Selby said. And finger on his lip he laid, " This man knows much, perchance e'en more Than he could learn by holy lore. Still to himself he's muttering, And shrinks as at some unseen thing. Last night we listened at his cell ; Strange sounds we heard, and sooth to tell, He murmured on till mom, howe'er No living mortal could be near. Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, As other voices spoke again. I cannot tell — I like it not — Friar John hath told us it is wrote. No conscience clear, and void of wrong, Can rest awake, and pray so long. 10 XXV M ;.»■ I" 10 ' 1 16 xxvi ;i li ii^l 14 j MARMION. pimself still sleeps before his beads, /Have marked ten aves, and iwo creeds.'' — /"Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " by my fay, (This man shall guide me on my way, Although the great archfiend and he Had sworn themselves of company ; So please you, gentle youth, to call This Palmer to the Castle-hall."— The summoned Palmer came in place ; His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; In his black mantle was he clad, With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, On his broad shoulders wrought ; The scallop-shell his cap did deck ; xxm 10 The crucifix around his neck Was from Loretto brought ; His sandals were with travel tore, Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore. The faded palm-branch in his hand. Shewed pilgrim from the Holy Land. Whenas the Palmer came in hall, Nor lord, nor knight, was there juore tall, Or had a statelier step withal, Or looked more high and keen ,; For no saluting did he wait. But strode across the hall of state, And fronted Marmion where he sate, As he his peer had been. But his gaunt frame was worn with toilj His cheek was sunk, alas th» while I And when he struggled at a smile, His eye looked haggard wild : Poor wretch I the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, In his wan face and sunburnt hair, She had not known her child. 15 XXVIU 10 15 |i ,rl CANTO i. 16 Hb XXIX Danger, long travel, waat, or woe, 'Soon change the form that best we know — For deadly fear can time outgo. And blanch at once the hair ; 20 Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want can quench the eye's bright grace, Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, More deeply than despair. Happy whom none of these befal. But this poor Palmer knew them all. Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; The Palmer took on him the task. So he would march with morning tide, To Scottish Court to be his guide. — " But I have solemn vows to pay. And may not linger by the way, To fair Saint Andrews bound, Within the ocean-cave to pray. Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, "From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billow's sound ; Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore : Saint Mary grant that cave or spring Could back to peace my bosom bring, Or bid it throb no more I " — And now the midnight draught of sleep, Where wine and spices richly steep. In massive bowl of silver deep, Tke page presents on knee. Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, The Captain pledged his noble guest, The cup went through among the resty Who drained it merrily ; Alone the Palmer passed it by. i% 10 16 XXX I?. ■ it ;" . f -IH ¥ »^w ■I V \» ¥ 16 MARMIOIJ. Though Selby pressed him courteously. 10 This was the sign the feast was o'erj It hushed the merry wassail roar, The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the Castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, 15 Pacing his sober round. With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : xxxi And first the chapel doors unclose ; Then, after morning rites were done, (A hasty mass from Friar John,) And knight and squire had broke their fast, 5 On rich substantial repast. Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse : Then came the stirrup-cup in course ; Between the Baron and his host, No point of courtesy was lost ; 10 High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, Solemn excuse the Captain made. Till, filing from the gate, had past .That noble train, their Lord the last. Then loudly rang the trumpet-call ; 16 Thundered the cannon from the wall. And shook the Scottish shore j Around the Castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets hoar ; 20 Till they rolled forth upon the air. And met the river breezes there. Which gave again the prospect fair. H- INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. To THE Rev. John Marriot, M.A. « Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest . The scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourished once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 6 Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers — • Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so gray and stubborn, now, 10 Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; Would he could tell how deep the shade, A thousand mingled branches made ; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, 16 And through the foliage showed bis head, With narrow leaves, and berries red ; What pines on every mountain sprung. O'er every dell what birches hunjjf, In every breeze what aspens shooic, ' 20 What alders shaded every brook ! "Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, " The mighty stag at noontide lay ; The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, *, » » .' 1 • 1'1 .* ■,;f II. INTRODUCTION — CANTO H. , N- i ( K ll^ m |1 ^ ■■.:ii (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to howl ; The mountain-boar, on battle set. His tusks upon my stem would whet ; While doe and roe, and red-deer good, Have bounded by through gay green- wood. Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power ; A thousand vassals mustered round, 'With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; And I might see the youth intent. Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; And through the brake the rangers stalk. And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; And foresters, in green- wood trim, Lead in the leash the gazfi-hounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet's bay From the dark ccvert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away. The startled quarry bounds amain. As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ; Whistles the arrow from the bow, Answers the harquebuss below ; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof -clang, hound, and hunter's cry, And bugles ringing lightsomely, "^- Of such proud huntings, many tales Yet linger in our lonely dales, Up pathless Ettrick, and on Yarrow Where'erst the outlaw drew his arrow. But not mora blithe that silvan court, Than we have been at humbler sport ; Though small our pomp, and mean our game, Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. Remember'st thou my greyhounds true ? O'er holt or hill, there never flew, 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 GO INTRODUCTION CANTO II. III. From slip, or leash, there never sprang, More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. Nor dull, between each merry chase, Passed by the intermitted space ; For we had fair resource in store, In Classic, and in Gothic lore : We marked each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between ; Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, But had its legend, or its song. All silent now — for now are atill Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! No longer, from thy mountains dun, The yeoman hears the well-known gun, And, while his honest heart glows warm, At tkought of his paternal farm, Round to his mates a brimmer fills, And drinks, "The Chieftain of the Hills ! " No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, By moonlight, dance on Oarterhaugh : No youthful Baron's left to grace The Forest-Sheriffs lonely chase. And ape, in manly step and tone, The majesty of Oberon : And she is gone, whose lovely face Is but her least and lowest grace ; Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given, To show our earth the charms of Heaven, She could not glide along the air, With form more light, or face more fair. No more the widow's deafened ear Grows quick that lady's step to hear : At noontide she expects her not, Nor busies her to trim the cot ; Pensive she turns her humming wLeel, €d 70 76 80 85 SO 95 4i\ '';. I III I •r IV. INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. f W: 1 1 i-f. i| ;■ ^ 'ii lUiiilj f Mm^'^ Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, The gentle hand by which they're fed. From Yair, — which hills so closely bind, Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. Till all his eddying currents boil. — Her long-descended lord is gone, And left us by the stream alone. And much I miss those sportive boys, ji^mpanions of my mountain joys, 'at the age 'twixt boy and youth, [When thought is speech, and speech is truth. Js&'to my side, with what delight, They pressed to hear of Wallace wight, When, pointing to his airy mound, I called his ramparts holy ground ! Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, Despite the difference of our years, Return again the glow of theirs. Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, They will not, cannot long endure ; Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, You may not linger by the side ; For Fate shall thrust you from the shore. And Passion ply the sail and oar. Yet cherish the remembrance "fetill. Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; For trust, dear boys, the time will come, When fiercer transport shall be dumb, And you will think right frequently. But, well I hope, without a sigh. On the free hours that we have spent Together, on the brown hill's bent. When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone, 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. V. Something, my friend, wo yet may gain, There is a pleasure in this pain : It soothes the love of lonely rest, Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 'Tis silent amid worldly toils, And stifled soon by mental broils ; But, in a bosom thus prepared. Its still small voice is often heard Whispering a mingled sentiment, 'Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone St. Mary's silent lake ; Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view ; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, Save where, of land, yon slender line Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. Yet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour : Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing concealed might lie ; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ; There's nothing left to fancy's guess, You see that all is loneliness : And silence aids — though the steep hilla Send to the lake a thousand rills ; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse's hoof -tread rounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. 140 145 t;-- 1 150 155 160 165 170 4 1^ : I i i ■I' ll.ii tU VI. INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. [ I K* \\ .M- ' ' ill) 1 Nought living meets tRe eyo or ear, But well I ween the dead are near ; For though, in feudal strife, a foe Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil, The peasant rests him from his toil. And, dying, bids his bones bo laid. Where erst his simple fathers prayed. If age had tamed the passions' strif j. And fate had cut my ties to life, Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell, And rear again the chaplain's ceU, Like that same peaceful hermitage, Where Milton longed to spend his age. 'Twere sweet to mark the setting day. On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; And, as it faint and feeble died On the broad lake, and mountain's side, To %ay, ''Thus pleasures fade away ; Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey ;" — Then gaze on Diyhope's ruined tower, And think on Yarrow's faded Flower : And when that mountain-sound I heard, Which bids us be for storm prepared, The distant rustling of his wings, As up his force the Tempest brings, 'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; That Wizard Priest's whose bones are thrust From company of holy dust ; On which no sunbeam ever shines — (No superstition's creed divines,) Thence view the lake, "with sullen roar, Heave her broad billows to the shore ; And mark the wild-swans mount the gale, Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, 175 180 185 100 195 200 S05 210 INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. VII. And ever stoop again, to lave Their bosoms on the surging wave ; Then, when against the driving hail No longer might my plaid avail, Hack to my lonely home retire, 216 And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; There ponder o'er some mystic lay, fill the wild tale had all its sway, And, in the bittern's distant shriek I heard unearthly voices speak, 220 And thought the Wizard Priest was come. To claim again his ancient home ! And bade my busy fane -'ange. To frame him fitting shape and strange, Till from the task my brow I cleared, 226 And smiled to think that I had feared. But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, (Though but escape from fortune's strife,) Something most matchless good and wise, A great and grateful sacrifice ; 230 And deem each hour to musing given, A step upon the road to heaven. Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease. Such peaceful solitudes displease : He loves to drown his bosom's jar 235 Amid the elemental war ; And my black Palmer's choice had been Some ruder and more savage scene, Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. There eagles scream from isle to shore : 240 Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; O'er the black waves incessant driven, Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; Through the rude barriers of the lake, Away its hurrying waters break, 245 Faster and whiter dash and curl, » I > ['\ '. '■*• VIII. INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. Till down yon dark abyss fhcy hurl. Rises the fog-smoke white as snow, Thunders the viewless stream below, Diving, as if condemned to lave Some demon's subterranean cave, Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. And well that Palmer's form and mien Had suited with the stormy scene. Just on the edge, straining his ken To view the bottom of the den, Where, deep deep down, and far within, Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, White as the snowy charger's tail. Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. Marriott thy harp, on Isis strung, To many a Border theme has rung : Then list to me, and thou shalt know Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 250 255 260 2C5 ': s » . ^1 17 / CANTO n. . THE CONVENT. The breeze, which swept away the smoke, Round Norham Castle rolled, When all the loud artillery spoke, With lightning-flash and thunder-stroke, As Marmion left the Hold. It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze, For, far upon Northumbrian sens, It freshly blew, and strong, Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile, Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Itle, It bore a bark along. Upon the gale she stooped her side. And bounded o'er the swelling tide. As she were dancing liorae ; The merry seamen laughed, to see Their gallant ship so lustily Furrow the green sea-foam. Much joyed they in their honoured freight ; For. on the deck, in chair of state. The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed. With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 'Twas sweet to see these holy maids, Like birds escaped to greenwood shades, Their first flight from the cage, How timid, and how curious too, For all to them waa strange and new, And all the common sights they view. Their wonderment engage. 10 16 i20 u ; •. ; i '<.■[ '"■]■ ■:,]:' I i : ' - ' i ■ % 9 ( ' ; ■ ■ ■ .ui \ i» ■ r Jill -.1 ::' 'w % ■ 18 MARMION. if \i' One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, With many a benedicite ; One at the rippling surge grew pale, 10 And would for terror pray ; Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh, His round black head and sparkling eye, Reared o'er the foaming spray : And one would still adjust her veil, 16 Disordered by the summer gale, Perchance lest some more worldly eye Her dedicated charms might spy j Perchance, because such action graced Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 20 Light was each simple bosom there, Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. The Abbess was of noble blood, iii But early took the veil and hood. Ere upon life she cast a look, Or knew the world that she forsook. Fair too she was, and kind had been 6 As she was fair, but ne'er had seen For her a timid lover sigh, * Nor knew the influence of her eye ; Love, to her ear, was but a name. Combined with vanity and shame ; 10 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all Bounded within the cloister wall : « The deadliest sin her mind could reach Was of monastic rule the breach ; And her ambition's highest aim, 16 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. For this she gave her ample dower, To raise the Convent's eastern tower ; For this, with carving rare and quaint, She decked the chapel of the Saint. 30 CANTO II. 19 And gave the relic-sbrine of cost, With ivoiy and gems embossed. The poor her Convent's bounty blest, The pilgrim in its halls found rest. Black was her garb, her rigid rule Keformed on Benedictine school ; Her cheek was pale, her form was spare ; Vigils, and penitence austere, Had early quenched the light of youth, But gentle was the dame in sooth ; Though vain of her religious sway. She loved to see her maids obey ; Yet nothing stem was she in cell. And tlie nuns loved their Abbess well. Sad was this voyage to the dame ; Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came, There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold A chapter of Saint Benedict, For inquisition stern and strict. On two apostates from the faith, • And, if need were, to doom to death. Nought say I here of Sister Clare, Save this, that she was young and fair ; As yet a novice unprofessed. Lovely and gentle, but distressed. She was betrothed to one now dead, Or worse, wfib had dishonoured fled. Her kinsmen bade her give her hand To one who loved her for her land : Herself, almost heart-broken now, Was bent to take the vestal vow, And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. She sate upon the galley's prow. And seemed to mark the waves below j o2 iv 10 16 10 ■ "■- ' .r »■ - ■':, "n i' . .?'■' ;|l T 1 ■ V . t . k * : t • 1 1 ^ * ' f t 1 » 1 i , 1 ' \ ■ , i ■.''. ■' . ft . s li: ' ■ ' i ' '^1 m % > h» 2U MARMION. Nay seemed, so fixed her look and eye, To count them as they glided by. She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 6 Far other scene her thoughts recal — A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare, Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there ; There saw she, where some careless hand O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 10 To hide it till the jackals come, To tear it from the scanty tomb. — See what a woful look was given. As she raised up her eyes to heaven f Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — vii These charms might tame the fiercest breast : Harpers have sung, and poets told. That he. in fury uncontrolled, Tlie shaggy monarch of the wood, 5 Before a virgin, fair and good. Hath pacified his savage mood. But passions in the human frame Oft put the lion's rage to shame : Anu jealousy, by dark intrigue, 10 With sordid avarice in league. Had pract? ed vnth. their bowl and knife Against the mourner's harmless life. This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet grey. 15 And now the vessel skirts the strand viii Of mountainous Northumberland ; Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay, 6 And Tj'^nemoutli's priory and bay ; They marked, amid her trees, the hall Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 10 CANTO II. 21 25 IX They passed the tower of Widderington, Mother of many a valiant son ; At Coquet Isle their beads they tell To the good Saint who owned the cell ; Then did the Alne attention claim, 15 And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; And next, they crossed themselves, to hear The whitening breakers sound so near, Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar, On Duustanborough's cavemed shore ; 20 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there. King Ida's castle, huge and square, From its tall rock look grimly down., And on the swelling ocean frown ; Then from the coast they bore away, And reached the Holy Island's bay. The tide did now its flood-mark gain, Ajid girdled in the Saint's domain : For, with the flow and ebb, its fetyle Varies from continent ^o isle ; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 5 The pilgrims to the shrine find way j Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandaled feet the trace. As to the port the galley flew, Higher and higher rose to view 10 The Castle with its battled walls, The ancient Monastery's halls, A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, Placed on the margin of the isle. In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned, x With massive arches broad and round. That rose alternate, row and row, On ponderous columns, short and low. Built ere the art was known, 6 « ' 1 1 V i . Ui [f- \ iiim WT 22 MABMION. ^' I. ^'^ I By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, The arcades of an alley'd walk To emulate in stone. On the deep walls the heathen Dane Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 10 And needful was such strength to these, Exposed to the tempestuous seas, Scourged by the winds' eternal sway. Open to rovers fierce as they, Which could twelve hundred years withstand ] 5 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. Not but that portions of the pile, llebuilded in a later style, Shewed where the spdiler's hand had been ; Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 20 Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, And mouldered in his niche the Saint, And rounded, with consuming power, The pointed angles of each tower : Yet still entire the Abbey stood. Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. Soon as they neared his turrets strong. The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, And with the sea-wave and the wind. Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, And made harmonious close ; 5 Then, answering from the sandy shore, Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. According chorus rose : Down to the haven of the Isle, y The monks and nuns in order file, 10 \ From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; ^jE.inner, and cross, and relics there, ^'o j.aeet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; ^nd, as they caught the sounds on air, They echoed back the hymn. 16 25 XI *• 'C^T'T'T" CANTO II. 23 10 15 The islanders, in joyous mood, Rushed emulously through the flood, To hale the bark to land ; Conspicuous by her veil and hood, Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, . And blessed them with her hand. I Suppose we now the welcome said, Suppose the Convent banquet made : AH through the holy dome, Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, Wherever vestal maid might pry, Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye, The stranger sisters roam : Till fell the evening damp with dew, And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, For there e'en summer night is chill. Then, having strayed and gazed their fill, They closed around the lire ; And all, in turn, essayed to paint The rival merits of their Saiht, A theme that ne'er can tire A holy maid ; for, be it known, That their Saint's honour is their own Then Whitby's nuns exulting told. How to their house three barons bold Must menial service do ; While horns blew out a note of shame, And monks cry, ^' Fye upon your name i In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — *^ This, on Ascension Day, each year. While labouring on our harbour-pier. Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." They told, how in their convent-cell A Saxon princess once did dwell, The lovely Edelfled ; 20 XI] r 1 5 10 .\ 16 Xlll ■m ,i ■ if, : . if* 3 ^' I 10 .h;. i ;. ■<■■ ;-fi-^ • .ifl''fl' >ii •tl' 1 24 MARMION. And how, of thousand snakes, each one Was changed into a coil of st'^ ", 15 When holy Hilda prayed ; Themselves, within their holy bound, Their stony folds had often found. They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, As over Whitby's towers they sail, 20 And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. They do their homage to the Saint. Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, xiv To vie with these in holy tale ; His body's restingplace of old, How oft their patron changed, they told ; How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, 5 The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor, From sea to sea, from shore to shore, Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore. They rested' them in fair Melrose; 10 But though, alive, he loved it well, Not there his relics might repose^ For, wondrous tale to tell ! In his stone-coffin forth he rides, A ponderous bark for river-tides, 16 Yet light as gossamer it glides, Downward to Tilmouth cell. Nor long was his abiding there. For southward did the Saint repair ; Chester-le-Street and Rippon saw 20 His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw Hailed him with joy and fear j And, after many wanderings past. He chose his lordly seat at last. Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 25 Looks down upon the Wear : 15 20 CANTO II. 25 There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, His relics are in secret laid ; But none may know the place, Save of hid holiest servants three, 80 Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. Who share that -^ondrous grace. Who may his miracles declare I XV Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, (Although with them they led Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale. And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 6 And the bold men of Teviotdale,) BefofiB his standard fled. 'Twas he, to vindicate his reign. Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, And turned the Conqueror back again, 10 When, with his Norman bowyer band. He came to waste Northumberland. But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn, xvi If, on a rock, by Lindisfame, Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-bom beads that bear his name : Such tales b ad Whitby's fishers told, .6 And said they might his shape behold. And hear his anvil sound ; A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm. And night were closing round. 10 But this, as tale of idle fame, The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. While round the fire such legends go, xvii Far different was the scene of woe. Where, in a secret aisle beneath, Council was held of life and death. It was more dark and lone that vault, 5 Than the worst dungeon-cell j * ,/> . \i 26 MARMION. M V if ■Mi 1 f '" |;| ij i ■ It ml 1 HH>I i t.iij ' Old Colwulf built it, for his fault In penitence to dwell, When he, for cowl and beads, laid down The Saxon battle-axe and crown. This den, which, chilling every sense Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was called the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light, Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made A place of burial, for such dead. As, having died in mortal sin. Might not be laid the church within. 'Twas now a place of punishment ; * Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, As reached the upper air, The hearers blessed themselves, and said, The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there. But though, in the monastic pile. Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition go, Few only, save the Abbot, knew Where the place lay ; and still more few Were those, who had from him the clue To that dread vault to go. Victim and executioner Were blindfold when transported there. In low dark rounds the arches hung. From the rude rock the side-walls sprmig The gravestones, rudely sculptured o'er. Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, Were all the pavement of the floor j The mildew-drops fell one by one, With tinkling plash, upon the stone. A cresset, in an iron chain. Which served to light this drear domain. 10 16 20 XVlll 10 16 CANTO II. 27 With damp and darkness seemed to strive, As if it scarce might keep alive ; And yet it dimly served to shew The awful conclave met below. There, met to doom in secrecy, Were placed the heads of convents three : All servants of Saint Benedict, The statutes of whose order strict On iron table lay ; In long black dress, on seats of stone, Behind were these three judges shewn, By the pale cresset's ray : The Abbess of Saint Hilda, there, Sate for a space with visage bare, Until, to hide her bosom's swell. And tear-drops that for pity fell, She closely drew her veil : Yon shrouded figure, as I guess. By her proud mien and flowing dresn, Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, And she with awe looks pale : And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight Has long been queijohed by age's night, Upon whose wrinkled brow alone Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is shewn, Whose look is hard and stern, — Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; For sanctity called, through the isle, The Saint of Lindisfame. Before them stood a guilty pair ; But, though an equal fate they share. Yet one alone deserves our care. Her sex a page's dress belied ; The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 20 XIX 10 15 20 ■fi *^ ■■l\ II i ' 25 XX t ; I. ,'* it ill ' 3 28 MARMION. ^- A- 'm 'i i : • i ■ Her cap down o'er her face she drew; And, on her doublet breast, She tried to hide the badge of blue, Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 10 But, at the Prioress' command, A monk undid the silkon band. That tied her tresses fair, And raised the bonnet from her head, And down lier slender form they spread, 16 In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister professed of Fontevraud, Whom the Church numbered with the dead. For broken vows, and convent fled. 20 When thus her face was given to view, xxi (Although 80 pallid was her hue, It did a ghastly contrast bear To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) Her look composed, and steady eye, 5 Bespoke a matchless constancy ; And there she stood so calm and pale, That, but her breathing did not fail. And motion slight of eye and head, And of her bosom, warranted 10 That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. You might have thought a fonn of v. ax. Wrought to the very life, was there ; So still she was, so pale, so fair. Her comrade was a sordid soul, xxii Such as does murder for a meed j Who, but of fear, knows no control. Because his conscience, seared and foul, Feels not the import of his deed ; 6 One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires Beyond his own more brute desires. ,'»: CANTO II. 29 Such tools tho Tempter ever needs, To do the savagest of deeds ; For them no visioned terrors daunt, 10 Their nights no fancied spectres haunt ; One fear with them, of all most base, The fear of death, — alone finds place. This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 16 His body on the floor to dash. And crouch, like hound beneath the lash. While his mute partner, standing near. Waited her doom without a tear. Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, xxiii Well might her paleness terror speak I For there were seen, in that dark wall. Two niches, narrow, deep, and tallj — Who enters at such grisly door, 5 Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. In each a slender meal was laid. Of roots, of water, and of bread : By each, in Benedictine dress. Two haggard monks stood motionless j 10 Who, holding high a blazing torch. Shewed the grim entrance of the porch : Reflecting back the smoky beam, The dark-red walls and arches gleam. Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 16 And building tools in order laid. These executioners were chose, / xxiv As men who were with mankind foes. And, with despite and envy fired. Into the cloister had retired ; Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, Strove, by deep penance, to efface Of some foul crime the stain j r : ■ : , i ^ 1 -.it' 1 - , 1 - ' ^ ' #- 1 ■. ; < * ( 1 ' i ''I , i\: ■ \'M n ■ti If it ■ |; 30 MARMION. For, as the vassals of her will, Such men the Church selected still, As either joyed in doing ill, 10 Or thought more grace to gain. If, in her cause, they wrestled down Feelings their nature strove to own. By strange device were they brought there, They knew not how, and knew not where. 15 And now that blind old Abbot rose, xxv To speak the Chapter's doom, On those the wall was to inclose, Alive, within the tomb ; But stopped, because that woful maid, 5 Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. Twice she essayed, and twice in vain ; Her accents might no utterance gain ; Nought but imperfect murmurs slip From her convulsed and quivering lip : 10 'Twixt each attempt all was so still, You seemed to hear a distant rill — 'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, 16 A tempest there you scarce could hear, So massive were the walls. At length, an ef/ort sent apart xxvi The blood that curdled to her heart, And light came to her eye. And colour dawned upon her cheek, A hectic and a fluttered streak, 5 Like that left on the Cheviot peak By Autumn's stormy sky ; And when her silence broke at length, Still as she spoke, she gathered strength, And armed herself to bear. 10 CANTO II. 31 It was a fearful sight to see Such high resolve and constancy, In form so soft and fair. " I SPEAK not to inaplore your grace j xxvii Well know I, for one minute's space Successless might I sue : Nor do I speak your prayers to gain j For if a death of lingering pain, 5 To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, Vain are your masse? too. — I listened to a traitor's tale, I left the convent and the veil ; For three long years I bowed my pride, 10 A horse-boy in his train to ride ; And well my folly's meed he gave, Who forfeited, to be his slave, All here, and all beyond the grave. — He saw young Clara's face more fair, 15 He knew her of broad lands the heir. Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, And Constance wca beloved no more. — 'Tis an old tale, und often told ; But, dil my fate and wish agree, 20 Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betrayed for gold, That loved, or was avenged; IWe me I The King approved his :^avourite'a aim ; xxviii In vuin a rival barred his claim. Whose faith with Clare's was plight. For he attaints that rival's fame With treason's charge — and on they came, 6 In mortal lists to fight. Their oaths are said. Their prayers are prayed, Their lances in the rest are laid, They meet in mortal shock ; 10 ■ 8 i M'r ■ ii; ■ i '-i , ; ' :■ y I ■ > ii M 32 MAKMION. And hark ! the throng, with thundering cry, Shout ' Marmion ! Marmion ! ' to the sky, * De Wilton to the block !' Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide, When in the lists two champions ride, 15 Say, was Heaven's justice here ? When, loyal in lis love and faith, Wilton found overthrow or death. Beneath a traitor's spear ? How false the charge, how true he fell, 20 This guilty packet best can tell." — Then drew a packet from her breast. Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest : " Still was false Marmion's bridal staid ; xxix To Whitby's convent fled the maid. The hated match to shun. ' Ho ! shifts she thus ? ' King Henry cried. ' Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, 5 If she were sworn a nun.' One way remained — the King's command Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : I lingered here, and rescue planned For Clara and for me : 10 This caitiff monk, for gold did swear. He would to Whitby's shrine repair. And, by his drugs, my rival fair A saint in heaven should be. But ill the dastard kept his oath, 15 Whoso cowardice hath undone us both. And now my tongue the secret tells, xxx Not that remorse my bosom swells. But to assure mj' soul, that none Shall ever wed with Marmion. Had fortune my last hope betraved, 5 This packet, to the King conveyed, Had given him to the headoman'a stroke. Although my honrt that in-tant brokt- CANTO 11. 33 15 20 XXIX 5 10 15 XXX Now, men of death, work forth your will, For I can suffer, and be still ; And come he slow, or come he fast, It is but Death who comes at Inst. Yet dread me, from my living tomb, Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! If Marmion's late remorse should walce, Full soon such vengeance will he take, That you shall wish tho fiery Dane • Had rathjCr been your guest agnin. Ei4iind. a darker hour ascends ! The filtars quake, the crosier bends, 1 he ire of a despotic King liides forth upon destruction's wing. Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep. Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep ; Some traveller then shall find my bones, Whitening amid disjointed stones, And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. Marvel such relics here should be." Fixed was her look, and stern her air ; Back from her slioulders streamed her hair; The locks, that vrunt her brow to shade. Stared up ereetiv fVoni her head ; Her figure seemod to rise more high ; Her voice, ienpuii 'c'^vild energy Had given ,i tone of prophecy. Appalled tha astonished conclave sate ; With stupid eyes, the men of fate Gazed on the light inspired form. And listened for the avenging storm ; The .judg I'elt the victim's dread ; No hand -^a* movi, no word was said, Till thus I > .Ibbot's doom was given, Raising his sightless brills to heaven : — > D 10 XXXI 5 10 15 XXXll 10 16 '! 1:1 .1 ■ i ' ii r :rJI ii' 'fit ^ ''!• 4 1 ML ll *' FflV Vnnff rl^ !i w hbI "u. s Si & H Hi ^4 ' 'jB^ iHuBiin. fX' ■4f- .. 34 MABMION. '' Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; Sinful brother, part in peace ! " From that dire dungeon, place of doom, Of execution too, and tomb. Paced forth the judges three ; 20 Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell The butcher- work that there befell, When they had glided from the cell Of sixi and mise^v, An hundred windi ; ps convey xxxiii That conclave to the ^ r day ; But, ere they breathed the fresher air, They heard the shriekings of despair, And many a stifled groan : 6 With speed their upward way they take, (Such speed as age and fear can make,) And crossed themselves for terror's sake, As hurrying, tottering on : Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 10 They seemed to hear a dying groan. And bade the passing knell to toll For welfare of a parting soul. Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 16 To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled. His beads the wakeful hermit told ; The Bamborough peasant raised his head, But slept ere half a prayer he said ; So far was heard the mighty knell, ' 20 The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, Spread his broad nostril to the wind. Listed before, aside, behind, Then couched him down beside the hind ; And quaked among the mountain fern, 26 To hear that sound, uo dull and stern. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. To William Ersklne, Esq. Ashestiel, Ettrich Forest. Like April morning clouds, that pass, With varying shadow, o'er the grass, And imitate, on field and furrow, Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow ; Like streamlet of the mountain north, 5 Now in a torrent racing forth, Now winding slow its silver train, And almost slumbering on the plain ; Like breezes of the autumn day, Whose voice inconstant dies away, 10 And ever swells again as fast. When the ear deems its murmur past ; Thus various, my romantic theme Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 15 Of Light and Shade's inconstant race; Pleased, views the rivulet afar. Weaving its maze irregular ; And pleased, we listen as the breeze Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees ; 20 l^hen, wild af cloud, or stream, or gale. Flow on, flow uncdntined, my tale ! Need T to thee, dear Erskino, tell ^ I iovo the license all too well. I I » ■• «. I.. '\\ 11' •s » t mmm II. INTRODUCTION — CANTO III. *H.- ':; m 3 j1 ?r. ill ii' IP l> nil 1 I' 1 i 1 if * In sounds now lowly, and now strong, To raise the desultory song ? — Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, Some transient fit of lofty rhyme To thy kind judgment seemed excuse For many an error of tho muse. Oft hast thou said, "If, still mis-spent, Thine hours to poetry are lent. Go, and to tame thy wandering course, Quaff from the fountain at the source ; Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb Immortal laurels ever bloom ; Instructive of the feebler baxd, Still from the grave their voice is heard ; From them, and from the pi'thr thay showed, Choose honoured guide and practised road ; Nor ramble on through brake and maze, With harpers rude of barbarous days. " Or deem'st thou not our later time Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? Hast thou no elegiac verse For Brunswick's venerable hearse? What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. When valour bleeds for liberty? — Oh, hero of that glorious time. When, with, unrivalled light sublime, — Though martial Austria, and though all The might of Russia, and the Gaul, Though banded Europe stood her foes — The star of Brandenburgh arose ! Thou couldst not live to see her beam For ever quenched in Jena's stream. Lamented chief !— it was not given To thee to change the doom of Heaven, And crush that dragon in its birth, Predestined scourge of guilty earth. Lamented chief ! — not thine the power, 25 30 35 40 45 60 55 60 ij;«»«!"ii'i I INTRODUCTION — CANTO III. III. To save in that presumptuous hour, When Prussia hurried to the field, And snatched the spear, but left the shield 1 Valour and skill 'twas thine to try. And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. Ill had it seemed thy silver hair The last, the bitterest pang to share, For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, And birthrights to usurpers given ; Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, And witness woes thou couldst not heal ! On thee relenting Heaven bestows For honoured life an honoured close ; And when revolves, in time's sure change, The hour of Germany's revenge, When, breathing fury for her sake, Some new Arminius shall awake, Her champion, ere he strike, shall come To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. *'0r of the Red-Cross hero teach, Daiuitless in dungeon as on breach : Alike to him the sea, the shore, The brand, the bridle, or the oar; Alike to him the war that calls Its votaries to the shattered ^^■;^,lls, Which the grim Turk, besme. ;d with blood, Against the Invincible made good ; Or that, whose thundering voice could wake The silence of the polar lake. When stubborn Russ, and metalled Swede, On the warped wave their death-game played; Or that, where Vengeance and Aftright Howled round the father of the fight, . Who snatched on Alexandria's sand, The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. ''Or, if to touch such chord be thine, Reatore the ancient tragic line, 65 70 75 .;i VL INTRODUCTION — CANTO IIL i V ■'■; r \ I i ,: i ;^ *i', ' j 1 1 V: ■ f. * 4 % i Recesses where the wall-flower grew, And honeysuckle loved to crawl Up the low crag and ruined wall. 175 I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade The sun in all its round surveyed ; And still I thought that shattered tower The mightiest work of human power ; And marvelled as the aged hind 180 With some strange tale bewitched my mind, Of forayers, who, with headlong force, Down from that strength had spurred their horse, Their southern rapine to renew, Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 185 And, home returning, filled the hall With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl, — Methought that still mth tramp and clang. The gateway's broken arches rang ; Methought grim features, seamed with scars, 190 •Glared through the window's rusty bars, And ever, by the winter hearth, Old tales I heard of woe or mirth. Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms, Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 195 Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; Of later fields of feud and fight. When, pouring from their Highland iieight, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 200 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While stretched at length upon the floor. Again I fought each combat o'er, Pebbles and shells, in order laid. The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 205 And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. And still the scattered Southron fled before Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, Anew, each kind familiar face. INTRODUCTION — CANTO III. VII. Tliat hi ightened at our evening fire ; 210 From the thatched mansion's gray-haired Sire, Wise without learning, plain and good. And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood, Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen. Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 215 Whose doom discording neighbours sought, Content with equity unbought ; To him the venerable Priest, Our frequent and familiar guest, Whose life and manners well could paint] 220 Alike the student and the saint ; Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke With gambol rude and timeless joke : For I was wayward, bold, and wild, A self-willed imp, a grandame's child : 226 But half a plague, and half a jest, Was still endured, beloved, caressed. For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask The classic poet's well-conned task ? Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 230 Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. But freely let the woodbine twine, And leave untrimmed the eglantine : Nay, my friend, nay — since oft thy praise 235 Hath given fresh vigour to my lays. Since oft thy judgment could refine My flattened thought, or cumbrous line; Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, And in the minstrel spare the friend. 240 Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my Tale ! !. . h ; : I ■ ■ i r,'.\ ni ' ■■ ■ ' 35 CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : The mountaiu path the I*almer sliewed ; By glen and streamlet winded still, Where stunted birches hid the rill. They might not choose the lowland road, For the Merse forayers were abroad, Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, "^ scarcely failed to bar their way. u the trampling band, from crown Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down ; On wing of jet, from his repose In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, Nor waited for the bending bow ; And when the stony path began, By which the naked peak they wan, Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. The noon had long been passed, before They gained the height of Lammermoor ; Thence winding down the northern way, Before them, at the close of day, Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. No SUMMONS calls them to the tower. To spend the hospitable hour. To Scotland's camp the Lord was gonej His cautious dam« in bower alone, d2 10 15 20 H ; '-i • t tl li^ 36 MARMION. Dreaded her castle to unclose, So late, to unknown friends or foes. On through the hamlet as they paced, Before a porch, whose front was fj raced AVith bush and flagon trimly placed. Lord Marmion drew his rein : The village inn seemed large, though rude ; Its cheerful fire and hearty food Might well relieve his train. Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, With jingling spurs the courtyard rung ; They bind their horses to the stall, For forage, food, and tiring call, A nd various clamour fills the hail ; V/eighing the labour with the cost, Toils everywhere the bustling host. Soon, by the chimuoy's merry blaze, Through the rude hostel might you gazej Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. The raftsrs of the sooty roof Bore wealth of winter cheer ; Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, And gE.mmons of the tusky boar, And savoury haunch of deer. The chimney arch projected wide ; Above, around it, and beside, "Were tools for housewives' hand : Nor wanted^ in that martial day. The Implements of Scottish fray, The buckler, lance, and brand. Beneath its shade, the place of state, On oaken settle Marmion sate, And vifjwed, around the blaiiing hearth, Hia followers mix in noisy mirth ; Whom with browi' ale, in jolly tide, From ancient vessels ranged aside, Full actively their host supplied. 5 10 15 20 iii 5 10 15 20 k) 10 20 10 15 20 CANTO III. 37 Theirs was the glee of martial breast, iv And laughter theirs at little jest ; And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, And mingle in the mirth they made : For though, with, men of high degree, 6 The proudest of the proud was he, Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art To win the soldier hard v heart. They love a captain to obey, Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 10 With open hand, and brow as free, Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; Ever the first to scale a tower, As venturous in a lady's bower : Such buxom chief shall lead his host 15 From India's tires to Zembla's frost. Resting upon his pilgrim stp.fF, y Right opposite the Palmer stood j His thin dark visage seen but half, Half hidden by his hood. Still fixed on Marmion was his look, 5 Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, Strove by a frown to quell j But not for that, though more than once Full met their stem encountering glance The Palmer's visage fell. 10 By fits less frequent from the crowd vi Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; For still, as p-^uire and archer stared On that dark face and matted beard, Their glee and game declined. 6 All gazed at length in silence drear, Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, Thus whispered forth his mind : — '* Saint Mar^ ! saw'st thou e'er such sight P 10 iV\ " ■^''■'^' -I ! I H V'^ 38 MARMION. ir -4 / K- ' h r. How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light Glances beneath his cowl ! Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; For his best palfrey would not I Endure that sullen scov/1." — But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quelled their hearts^ who sa'w Tlie '^ver-varying- firelight shew That figure stern and face of woe, Now called upon a squire : — " Fitz- Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, To speed the lingering night away ? We slumber by the fire." — " So PLEASE YOTJ," thus the youth rejoined, ^'Our choicest minstrel's left behind. Ill may we hope to please your ear, Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. The harp full deftly can he strike. And wake the lover's lute alike ; To dear Saint Valentine no thrush Sings livelier from a springtide bush ; No nightingale her love-lorn tune More sweetly warbles to the moon. Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. Detains from us his melody. Lavished on rocks, and billows stern, Or duller monks of Lindisfarne ! Now must I venture, as 1 may. To sing his favorite roundelay." — A MELLOW VOICE Fitz-Eustace had. The air he chose was wild and sad ; Such have I heard, in Scottish land. Rise from the busy harvest band. When falls before the mountaineer, On lowland plains, the ripened ear. 16 T. . Till 6 10 16 IX CANTO III. 39 No-w one shrill voice t"he notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the eong : Oft ha-ve I listened, and stood still, As it came softened up the hill, And deemed it the lament of men Who languished for their native glen ; And thought how sad would be such sound, On Susquehana's swampy ground, Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake, Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. Where heartsick exiles, in the strain, Recalled fair Scotland's hills again ! 10 16 -Mi- , ; • soNa. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the Fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever ? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. CHORUS. JSleu loroj &c. Soft shall be his pillow. ' ■ 1> ' • •it i ,1 ' ' There, through the summer day. Cool streams are laving ; There, while the tempests sway. Scarce are boughs waving ; There, thy rest shalt thou take. Parted for ever. Never a;;tiiii to wake. Never, O never I 10 16 I -. i Ill' I 1. ^ -■(<■ 1.; ■" 40 MABMION. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, never I Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, "Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle. Borne down uy the flying. Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying. CHORUS. JEleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted ; ilis warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it, Never, O never ! 10 15 CHORUS. Uleu loro, &c. Never, never ! 'J ft .:w»j Ki [:!■ UHj *'!. In f Iffi hi! ' F '■"'I f WBiiM 1 HI *:■'■■ iBn IfflP "■ 'iH mv tfl inHi ■}■'■ il •> - Uh |i;i . Am IBI It ceased, the melancholy sound j And silence sunk on all around. The air was sad ; but sadder still It fell on Marmion's ear, And plained as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death were near. Zll 5 ■*, 1' CANTO III. 41 He drew his mantle past his face, Between it and the band, And rested with his head a space, Eeclining on his hand. 10 His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween, That, could their import have been seen, The meanest groom in all the hall. That e'er tied courser to a stall, Would scarce have wished to be their prey, 15 For Lutterward and Fontenaye. High minds, of native pride and force, xiii Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse ! Fear, for their scourge, m^an villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave 1 Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 5 Their minds to bear the wounds they feel ; Even while they writhe beneath the smart Of civil conflict in the heart. For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said : — 10 " Is it not strange, that, as ye sung. Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister's soul ? Say, what may this portend ? " — 15 Then first the Palmer silence broke, .^he livelong day he had not spoke,) "The death of a dear friend." Marmion, whose steady heart and eye xiv Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, Even from his King, a haughty look ; Whose accent of command controlled, 6 In camps, the boldest of the bold : Thought, look, and utterance failed him now, Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow : I s ■ '•I- I ' ? w^^ 42 MARMION. I ^ '•^: mi For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer's look, 10 So full upon his conscience strook, That answer he found none. Thus oft it haps, that when within They shrink at sense of secret sin, A. feather daunts the hrave ; 16 A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, And proudest princes veil their eyes Before their metmest slave. Well might he falter !■— hy his aid xv Was Constance Beverley betrayed ; Not that he augured of the doom, Which on the living closed the tomb : But, tired to hear the desperate maid 6 Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; And wroth, because, in wild despair, She practised on the life of Clare ; Its fugitive the Church he gave, Thounli not a victim, but a slave ; 10 And deemed restraint in convent strange Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. .Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer, Held Romish thunders idle fear, Secure his pardon he might hold, 16 For some slight mulct of penance-gold. Thus judging, he gave secret way. When the stern priests surprised their prey : His train but deemed the favourite page Was left behind, to spare his age ; 20 Or other if they deemed, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard : Woe to the vassal, who durst pry Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! His conscience slept — he deemed her well, xtI And safe secured in distant cell ; CANTO III. 43 But, wakened by her favourite lay, And that stranfre Palmer's boding- say, That fell so ominous and drear, 6 Full on the object of his fear, To aid remorse's venomed throes, Dark tales of convent vengeance rose ; And Constance, late betrayed and scorned, All lovely on his soul returned : 10 Lovely as when, at treacherous call, She left her convent's peaceful wall, Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute. Dreading- alike escape, pursuit, Till love, victorious o'er alarms, 16 Elid fears and blushes in his arms. *' Alas!" he thought, 'Oiow changed that mien ! xvii How changed these timid looks have been. Since years of guilt, and of disguise, Have steeled her brow and armed her eyes ! No more of virgin terror speaks 6 The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, Frenzy for joy, for grief despair; And I. the cause— for whom were given Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 10 Would," thought he, as the picture grows, *' I on its stalk had loft the rose ! Oh, why should man's success remove The very charms that wake his love ! — Her convent's peaceful solitude 16 Is now a prison harsh and rude ; And, pent within the narrow cell, How will her spirit chafe and swell ! How brook the stern monastic laws ! The penance how — and I the cause ! — 20 Vigil and scourge — perchance e'en worse V And twice he iose to cry, *' To horse 1" 1. . I ■ -' - 1- t ' . . ■■ .*i'i;. -. ; * f •^ ' ; , ■ » '■ i;'" w ', t ^.- ;. y «; 1! >^ ■■»■ », 44 MARMION. And twice his Sovereign's mandate came, Like damp upon a kindling flame : And twice he thought, ^' Gave I not cliarge 25 She should be safe, though not at large ? They durst not, for their island, shred One golden ringlet from her head." — While thus in Marmion's bosom strove xviii Repentance and reviving love, Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, 5 And, talkative, took up the word : — " Aye, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray From Scotland's simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know, 10 Of future weal, or future woe. By word, or sign, or star ; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knight-like, he despises fear. Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 15 Aright our hamlet legend told." — These broken words the menials move, (For marvels still the vulgar love, ) And, Marmion giving license cold, His tale the Host thus gladly told : — 20 THE host's tale. A CLERK could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne, (Third monarch of that warlike name,) And eke the time when here he came To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : A braver never drew a sword ; A wiser never, at the hour Of midnight, spoke the word of power : XIX CANTO III. The same, whom ancient records call The foundei* of the Goblin Hall. I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay- Gave you that cavern to survey. Of lofty roof, and ample size, Beneath the castle deep it lies : To hew the living rock profound. The floor to pave, the arch to round, There never toiled a mortal arm, It »11 was wrought by word and charm j And I have heard my grandsire say, That the wild clamour and affiray Of those dread artisans of hell. Who* laboured under Hugo's spell, Sounded as loud as ocean's war, Among the caverns of Dunbar. The King Lord Gifford's castle sought, Deep-labouring with uncertain thoiiglit: Even then he mustered all his host. To meet upon the western coast ; For Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the frith of Clyde. There floated Haco's banner trim. Above Norweyan warriors grim, Savage of heart, and large of limb ; Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunuiughame, and Kyle. Lord Giffbrd, deep beneath the ground, Heard Alexander's bugle sound, And tarried not his garb to change, But, in his wizard habit strange, Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight His mantle lined with fox-skins white His high and wrinkled forehead bore A pointed cap, sucli as of yore Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore • •<. ! I'd 1: li.^' ¥ ■> J> 20 XX \\ 10 16 20 iff ■!| f? *l ■'■; m 46 MARMION. Hi8 shoes were marked with cross and spell ; Upon his breast a pentacle ; His zone, of virgin parchment thin, Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin. Bore many a planetary sign, 25 Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; And in his hand he held prepared, A naked sword without a guard. Dire dealings with the fiendish race xxi Had marked strange lines upon his face j Vigil and fast hid worn him grim, His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim, As one unused to upper day ; .6 Even his own menials with dismay Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, In this unwonted wild attire ; — Unwonted, for traditions run. He seldom thus beheld the sun. 10 " I know," he said, — his voice was hoarse, And broken seemed its hollow force, — " I know the cause, although untold. Why the King seeks his vas^.^l's hold : Vainly from me my liege would know lo His kingdom's future weal or woe ; But yet, if strong his arm and heart, His courage may do more than art. Of middle air the demons proud, . xxii Who ride upon the racking cloird, Can read, in fixed or wandering star. The issue of events afar ; But still their sullen aid withhold, 5 Save when by mightier force controlled. Such late I summoned to my hall ; And though so potent was the call, That scarce the deepest nook of hell I deemed a refuge from the spell, 10 lo XXll cantj III. 47 Yet, obstinate in silence still, The haughty demon mocks my skill. But thou, — who little know'st thy might As born upon that blessed night. When yawning graves, and dying groan, 15 Proclaimed liell's empire overthrown, — With untaught valour shalt co'npel Response denied to magic spell." — " Gramercy ! " quoth our Monarch free, " Place him but front to front with nie, 20 Ai)d, by this good and honoured brand, The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand, Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, The demon shall a buffet bide ! " — His bearing bold the wizard viewed, 25 And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed : — " There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — -mark : Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. The rampart seek, whose circling crown Crests the ascent of yonder down : 30 A southern entrance shalt thou find ; There halt, and there thy bugle wind, And trust thine el tin foe to see. In guise of thy worst enemy : Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 86 Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! If he go down, thou soon shalt know Whate'er these airy sprites can shew ; — If thy heart fail thee in the strife, I am no warrant for thy life." — 40 Soon as the midnight bell did ring, xxiii Alone, and armed, rode forth the King- To that old camp's deserted round : — Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound, Left-hand the town, — the Pictish race 5 The trench, long siuce^ in blood did trace j *. Jv .J f !■ * I iiifl it m ' 1 48 MARMION. 11:! Tho moor aronnd is brown and "bare, The space within is gi'een and fair: The spot our villapo children know, For there tlie earliest wild flowers irrow ; But woe betido the wandering wi^ht, That treads its circle in the night ! The breadth across, a bowshot clear, Gives ample space for full career ; Opposed to the four points of heaven, By four deep gaps are entrance given. The souther, ''lost our Monarch past, Halted, ana uiew a gallant blast; And on the north, within the ring. Appeared the form of England's kingj Who then, a thousand leagues afar, In Palestine waged holy war : Yet arms like England's did he wield. Alike the leopards in the shield, • Alike his Syrian courser's frame, The rider's length of limb the same : Long afterwards did Scotland know. Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. The vision made our Monarch start, But soon he manned his noble heart, And in the first career thcjy ran. The elfin knight fell, horse and man ; Yet did a splinter of his lance Through Alexander's visor glance, And razed the skin — a puny wound. The King, light leaping to the ground. With naked blade his phantom foe Compelled the future war to show. Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, Where still gigantic bones remain, Memorial of the Danish war ; 10 16 20 25 XXIV 10 10 CANTO III. 49 llimsolf he saw, amid the field, On high his brandished war-axe wield, 16 And strike proud Haco from his -^ar, While, all around the shadowy kings, Denmark's grim ravens cowered their wings. ' Tis said, that, in that awful night, Remoter visions met his sight, 20 Foreshewing future conquests far, When our son's sons wage northern war; A royal city, tower and spire, Reddened the midnight sky with fire ; And shouting crews her navy bore, 25 Triumphant, to the victor shore. Such signs may learned clerks explain, They pass the wit of simple swain. The joyful King turned home again, xxv Headed his host, and quelled the Dane ; But yearly, when returned the night Of his strange combat with the sprite. His wound must bleed and smart ; 5 Lord GifiFord then would gibing say, '' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay The penance of your start." ^ Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave. King Alexander fills his grave, 10 Our Lady give him rest ! Yet still the nightly spear and shield The elfin warrior doth wield, Upon the brown hill's breast ; And many a knight hath proved his chnnce, 15 In the charmed ring to break a lance. But all have foully sped ; Save two, as legends tell, and they Were W 'lace wight, and Gilbert Hay.— Gentles, my tale is said. 20 E U ( Si: I •! :i: 11 50 MARMION. I ilia The quaijjfhs were deep, the liquors strong, xxvi And on the tale the yeoman throng Kad made a comment sage and long, Biit Marmion j^ave a sign ; And, with their lord, the squires retire ; 6 The rest, around the hostel fire, Their drowsy limbs recline ; For pillow, underneath each head, The quiver and the large were laid : Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, 10 Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore : The dying flame, in fitful change, Threw on the group its shadows strange. Apart, and nestling in the hay xxvii Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen The foldings of his mantle green ; Lightly ho dreamt, as youth will dream, 6 Of sport by thicket, or by stream. Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. A cautious tread his slumber broke, And, close beside him, when he woke, 10 In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, His master Marmion's voice he knew. — " FiTZ-EusTACE ! rise, — I cannot rest ; xxviii Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, And graver thoughts have chafed my mood ; The air must cool my feverish blood j And fain would 1 ride forth, to see 5 The scene of elfin chivalry. Arise, and saddle me my steed ; And, gentle I^^ustaee, take good heed l' '"■'■■ CANTO III. 61 Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; I would not that the prating kn/^es 10 Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, That I could credit such a tale." — Then softly down the steps they slid, Eustace the stable-door undid, And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed, 16 While, whispering, thus the Baron said :— - " Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell, xxix That on the hour when I was born, Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, Down from his steed of marble fell, A weary wight forlorn ? 6 The flattering chaplains all agree. The champion left his steed to me. I would, the omen's truth to show. That I could meet this elfin foe 1 Blithe would I battle for the right 10 To ask one question at the sprite : — Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. An empty race, by fount or sea, To dashing waters dance and sing, Or round the green oak wheel their ring." — 15 Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, And from the hostel slowly rode. FiTZ-EusTACE followed him abroad, xxx And marked him pace the village road, And listened to his horse's tramp. Till, by the lessening sound, He judged that of the Pictish camp 5 Lord Marmion sought the round. Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes, That one, so wary held, and wise, — Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received For gospel; what the Church believed, — 10 e2 «' ' ^ ! i . \\im -.! .,#: ._- 1 f f ■ '' 1 ¥ ■ %_ ' <(,' 1 • ;- li .*^«' lj ! r: • II «!' i i fc 1 £ aa ^^ ■^, b^^. 52 MAIJMION. Should, stirred by idle tale, Kide forth in sitence of the night, As hoping half to meet a sprite, Arrayed in plate and mail. For little did Fitz-Eustace know, That passions, in contending flow, Unlix the strongest mind j Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, We welcome fond credulity, Guide confident, though blind- Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. But, patient, waited till he heard, At distance, pricked to utmost speed, The foot-tramp of a flying steed, Come town-ward rushing on : First, dead, as if on earth it trode, Then, clattering on the village road, — In other pace than forth ho yode, Returned Lord Marmion. Down hastily he sprung from selle. And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; To the squire's hand the rein he threw, And spoke no word as he withdrew : But yet the moonlighl did betray. The falcon crest was soiled with clav : And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see By stains upon the charger's knee, And his left side, that on the moor He had not kept his footing sure. liOng nmsing on these wondrous signs. At length to rest the squire reclmes, ] broken and short ; for still, between. Would dreams of terror intervene : Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark The first notes of the morning lark. 15 20 xxxi 5 lU 15 20 25 r: INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. To James Skene, Esq. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest, An ancient Minstrel sagely said, ''Where is the life which late we led?" Tliat motley clown, in Arden wood, Whom humorous Jacques with envy viewed, Not even that clown could amplify, 6 On tliis trite text, so long as I. Eleven years we now may tell. Since we have known each other well ; Since, riding side by side, our hand First drew the voluntary brand ; 10 And sure, through many a varied scene, Unkinduess never came between. Away these winged years have flown, To join the mass of ages gone ; And though deep marked, like all below, 16 With chequered shades of joy and woe ; Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, Marked cities lost, and empires changed, While here, at home, my narrower ken Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 20 Thougli varying wishes, hopes, and fears, Fevered the progress of these years. Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem The recollection of a dream. 41 -it i "^ i iii ■ i • II. INTRODUCTION — CANTO IV. So still we glide down to the sea Of fathomless eternity. Even now, it scarcely seems a day, Since first I tuned this idle lay ; A task so often throvrn aside, When leisure gravor cares denied, That now, November's dreary gale, Whose Yoice inspired my opening tale, That same November- gale once more Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore ; There vexed boughs' streaming to the sky, Qnce more our naked birches sigh ; The Blackhouse heights, and Ettriok, Pen, Have donned theiF-wintry shrouds again ; And mountain dark, and flooded mead, Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. Hhrlier than wont along the sky, Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly : The shepherd, who, in summer sun, Had something of our envy won, As thou with pencil, I with pen. The features traced of hill and glen ; He who, outstretched, the livelong day. At ease among the heath-flowers lay, Viewed the light clouds with vacant look, Or slumbered o'er his tattered book, Or idly busied him to guide His angle o'er the lessened tide ; — At midnight now, the snowy plain Finds sterner labour for the swain. When red hath set the beamless sun. Through heavy vapours dank and dun ; When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, Hears, half asleep, the rising storm Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 26 30 35 40 45 60 55 60 INTRODUCTION — CANTO IV. The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox To shelter in the brake and rocks, Are warnings which the shepherd ask To dismal and to dangerous task. Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; Till, dark above, and white below, Decided drives the flaky snow. And forth the hardy swain must go. Long, with dejected look and whine, To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; Whistling, and cheering them to aid, Around his back he wreathes the plaid : His flock he gathers, and he guides To open downs, and mountain-sides, Where, fiercest though the tempest blow, Least deeply lies the drift below. The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, Stiffens his locks to icicles ; Oft he looks back, while, streaming far His cottage window seems a star, — Loses its feeble gleam, — and then Turns patient to the blast again, And, facing to the tempest's sweep. Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, Benumbing death is in the gale ; His paths, his landmarks, — all unknown. Close to the hut, no more his own. Close to the aid he sought in vain. The morn may find the stifFen'd swain : The widow sees, at dawning pale, His orphans raise their feeble wail ; And close beside him, in the snow. Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, Couclies upon his master's breast, And licks his cheek to break his rest. III. ■■.}} ■i-m 66 ' M • 70 75 80 85 90 i?-^' ^■, I (. ' H If II ',T ; 96 ■ r 1 u ! » IV. INTRODUCTION — CANTO IV. Who envies now the shepherd's lot, His healthy fare, his rural cot. His summer couch by greenwood tree, His rustic kirn's loud revelry. His native hill-notes, tuned on high, To Marion of the blithesome eye; His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, And all Arcadia's golden creed ? Changes not so with us, my Skene, Of human life the varying scene ? Our youthful summer oft we see Dance by on wings of game and glee, While the dark storm reserves its rage Against the winter of our age ; As he, the ancient Chief of Troy, His manhood spent in peace and joy ; But Grecian fires, and loud alarms. Called ancient Priam forth to arms, Then happy those, since each must drain His share of pleasure, share of pain, — Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, To whom the mingled cup is given ; Whose lenient sorrows find relief. Whose joys are chastened by their grief. And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, When thou of late wert doomed to twine,- Just when thy bridal hour was by, — The cypress with the myrtle tie. Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled, And blessed the union of his child, When love must change its joyous cheer, And wipe afi*ection's filial tear. Nor did the actions next his end, Speak more the father than the friend ; Scarce had lamented Forbes paid The tribute to his Minstrel's shade The tale of friendship scarce was told, 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 ni INTRODUCTION — CANTO IV. Ere the narrator's heart was cold; Far may we search before we find A heart so manly and so kind ! But not around his honoured urn, Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; The thousand eyes his care had dried, Pour at his name a bitter tide ; And frequent falls the grateful dew, For benefits the world ne'er knew. If mortal charity dare claim The Almighty's attributed name, Inscribe above his mouldering clay, "The widow's shield, the orphan's stay.'* Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; For sacred was the pen that wrote, "Thy father's friend forget thou not :" And grateful title may I plead. For many a kindly word and deed. To bring my tribute to his grave : — ■Tis little — but 'tis all I have. To thee, perchance, this rambling strain Recalls our summer walks again ; When, doing nought, — and, to speak true, Not anxious to find aught to do, — The wild unbounded hills we ranged. While oft our talk its topic changed, And, desultory as our way. Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, No effort made to break its trance, Wc could right pleasantly pursue Our sports in social silence too ; Thou gravely labouring to portray , The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; I spelling o'er with much delight, The legend of that antique knight, V. 135 140 145 150 165 160 165 170 : 1 -f *l. -''Mil ■ i'-'-'t y-j- ' f '' U;j INTRODUCTION — CANTO IV. V t i; Tirante by name, yclrpod the White. At cither's feet a trusty squire, Pdndour and Camp, with eyes of fire, Jealous, each other's motions viewed, 175 And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. The laverock whistled from the cloud ; The stream was lively, but not loud ; From the white- thorn the May-flower shed Its dewy fragrance round our head ; 180 Not Ariel lived more merrily Under the blossomed bough, than we. And blithesome nights, too, have been ours. When Winter stript the summer's bowers. Careless we heard what now I hear, 185 The wild blast sighing deep and drear. When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; And he was held a laggard soul, Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl. 190 Then he, whose absence we deplore, Who breathes the galea of Devon's shore, The longer missed, bewailed the more ; And thou, and I, and dear-loved R And one whose name I may not say, 195 For not Mimosa's tender tree Shrinks sooner from the touch than he — In merry chorus well combined. With laughter drowned the whistling wind. Mirth was within ; and Care without 200 Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. Not but amid the buxom scene Some grave discourse might intervene— Of the good horse that bore him best, His shoulder, hoof and arching crest ; 205 For, like mad Tom's; our chief est care, Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. Such nights we've had, and, though the game ^1 180 185 190 195 '■.S INTRODUrXION — CANTO IV. Of manhood be more sober tame, And though the field-day, or the drill, Seem less important now — yet still Such may we hope to share again. The sprightly thought inspires my strain ; And mark, how like a horseman true, Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. VII. 210 216 :'/v^^-fi rV-' r "Vi . i ^ .11 41 :r! 1-^ 53 CANTO IV. ^ ' THE CAMP. Eustace, I said, did blithely mark The first notes of the merry lark. The lark sung shrill, the cock he crew, And loudly Marmion's bugles blew. And, with their light and lively call, 5 }^)roii ^'.1 f i' V .J Ll 54 MARMION. Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — " Whut else but evil could betide, With that curst Palmer for our fjuide ? Better we had through mire and bush Been lantern-led by Friar Rush." FiTZ-EusTACE, who the cause but guessed, Nor wholly understood, His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed ; He knew Lord Marmion's mood. Him, ere ho issued forth, he sought, And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, And did his tale display Simply, as if he knew of nought To cause such disarray. Lord Marmion gave attention cold. Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — Passed them as accidents of course, And bade his clarions sound, " To horse! " YoTTNG Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost Had reckoned with their Scottish host 5 And, as the charge he cast and paid, *' 111 thou deserv'st thy hire," he said; '' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight? Fairies have ridden him all the night, And left him in a foam ! I trust that soon a conjuring band, "With English cross and blazing brand, Shall drive the devils from this land. To their infernal home : For in this haunted den, I trow. All night they trampled to and fro." The laughing host looked on the hire, — " Gramercy, gentle southern squire. And if thou coni'st among the rest. With Scottish broadsword to be blest, 80 10 111 10 , h I I CANTO IV. 55 Sharp be tlie brand, and sure the blow, And short the pang to undergo." — Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion 20 (iave now the signal to set on. The Palmer shewing forth the way, Tliey journeyed all the morning day. Tin; greensward way was smooth and good, iv Tliiough Ilumbie's and through Salloun's wood; A forest glade, which, varying still. Here gave a view of dale and hill ; There nan'ower closed, till overhead 6 A vaulted screen the branches made. "A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; ''' Such as where errant-knights might see Adventures of high chivalry j Might meet some damsel flying fast, 10 Willi hair unbound, and looks aghast j And smooth and level course were here, In her defence to break a spear. Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells; And oft, in such, the story tells, 16 The damsel kind, from danger freed, Did grateful pay her champion's meed." — He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind ; Perchance to shew his lore designed ; For Eustace much had pored 20 Upon a huge romantic tome, In the hall-window of his home. Imprinted at the antique dome Of Caxton or De Worde. Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain, 26 For Marmion answered nought again. Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill, ▼ In notes prolonged by wood and hill, Were heard to echo far ; ':i ; ' f- !« i ' ,% A P' ; i ll^^'P: 56 MARMION. Each ready archer grasped his bow, But by the flourish soon they know, fi Tliey breathed no point of war. Yet cautious, as in foeman'a land, Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, Some opener ground to gain ; And scarce a furlong had they rode, 10 When thinner trees, receding, shewed A little woodland plain. Just in that advantageous glade, The halting troop a line had made, As forth from the opposing shade 15 Issued a gallant train. First came the trumpets, at whose clang \i So late ^he forest echoes rang ; On prancing steeds they forward pressed, Willi scarlet mantle, azure vest ; Each at his trump a banner wore, ' 5 Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : Heralds and pursuivants, by name Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothesay, came. In painted tabards, proudly showing Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing, 10 Attendant on a King-at-arms, Whose hand the armorial truncheon held, That feudal strife had often quelled. When wildest its alarms. He was a man of middle age ; vii In aspect manly, grave, and sage, As on king's en*and come ; But in the glances of his eye, A penetrating, keen, and sly C Expression found its home ; The flash of that satiric rage, Which, burstiiig on the early stage, Branded tho vices of the age, And broke the keys of Home. 10 CANTO IV. 57 10 lo VI 10 vu 10 On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; His cap of maintenance was graced With the proud heron-plume. From liis steed's shoulder, loin, and breast, Silk housings swept the ground, 15 "With Scotland's arms^ device, and crest, Embroidered round and round. The double tressure might you see, First by Achaius borne, The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, "20 And gallant unicorn. So blight the king's armorial coat, That scarce the dazzled eye could note. In living colours blazoned brave. The Lion, which his title gave. 26 A train, which v/ell beseemed his state, But all unarmed, around him wait. Still is thy name in high accoimt. And still thy yerse has charms — Sir David Liiidesay of the Mount, Lord Lion King-at-arms ! Down from his horse d.'d Mprinicm spring, Soon as he saw the Lioh-ivihj, For well the stately Ear r", iaiew, T(j him such courtesy a .s due, Whom Royal James himself had crowned, 5 And on his temples placed the round Of Scotland's nncient diadem ; And wet his brow with hallowed wine, And on his finger given to shine The emblematic gem. 10 Their mutual greetings duly made. The Lion thus his message said : — " Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore, Nti'er to knit faith with Henry more, And strietly hath forbid resort 15 I'roni En^^land to his royal coiu't; 30 vnj it 'ii* ' ■ ■ ■ 't'! 58 MARMION. Yet, for lie knows Lord Marmion's name, And honours much his warlike fame, My liege hath doomed it shame, and lack Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 20 And, by his order, I, vour guide, Must lodging fit and fair provide, Till finds King James meet time to see Tlie flower of English chivalry." TuouGH inly chafed at this delay, ix Tiord Marmion bears it as ho may, Tlie I'almer, his myaterious guide, Beholding thus his place supplied. Sought to take leave in vain : 6 Strict was the Lion-King's command, That none who rode in Marmion's baud, Should sever from the train : " England has here enow ofspies In Lady Heron's witching eyes ;" 10 To Marchmount thus, apart, he said, But fair pretext to Marmion made. The right-hand path they now decline. And trace against the stream the Tyne. At length up that wild dale they wind, x Where Crichtoun Castlo c^o^vns the bank : For there the Lion's care assigned A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. That castle rises on the steep 6 Of the green vale of Tyne ; And far beneath, where slow they creep From pool to eddy, dark and deep. Where alders moist, and willows weep, You hear her stroanis repine. 10 The towers in diiferent ages rose j Their various architecture shows The builders' various hands j CANTO IV. 59 IX 10 k: 10 A mighty mass, that could oppose, When deadliest hatred fired its foes, The vengeful Douglas bands. CRicnTOUN ! though now thy miry court But pens the lazy steer and sheep, Thy turrets rude, and tottered keep Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy foii;, Of mouldering shields the mystic sense. Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, Quartered in old armorial sort, RemaiiiS of rude magnificence : Nor wholly yet hath time defaced Thy lordly gallery fair ; N -i yet the stony cord unbraced, \. }i').v^ twisted knots, with roses laced, Adorn thy ruined stair. Still rises unimpaired, below. The courtyard's gxaceful portico ; Above its cornice, row and row Of fair hewn facets richly shew Their pointed diamond form. Though there but houseless cattle go. To shield them from tho storm. And, shuddering, still may we explore, Where oft whilom were captives pent, The darkness of thy Massy More ; Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, Way trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. Another aspect Crichtoun shewed, As through its portal Mnrmion rode ; But yet 'twas melancholy state Beceived him at the outer gate ; For none were in the castle then, But women, boys, or aged men. 15 XI 10 •1 15 20 25 zii r 60 MAinilON. With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, To welcome noble Marmion came ; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proffered the Baron's roin to hold ; 10 For each man, that could draw a sword, Had marched that morning with their lord, Earl Adam Hepburn,— he who died On Flodden, by his sovereign's side. Long may his Lady look in vain ! 15 She ne'er shall see his gallant train Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Uean. 'Twas a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. And here two days did Marmion rest, xiii With every rite that honour claims. Attended as the King's own guest, — Such the command of Royal James, Who marshalled then his laud's arrav, 5 Upon the Borough Moor that lay. Perchance he would not foeman's eye Upon his gathering host should pry, Till full prepared was every band To march against the English land. 10 Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit Oft cheer tlie Baron's moodier fit ; And, in his turn, he knew to prize JiOrd Marmion's powei'ful mind, and wise, — Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, 15 And policies of war and peace. It chanced, as fell the second night, xiv That on the battlements they walked. And, by the slowly-fading light, Of varying topics talked ; And, unaware, the Herald-bard 6 Said, Marmion might his toil have spared, Li travelling so far ; CANTO IV. 61 For tliat a messenger from Iieaveu In vain to James had counsel given A^'^ainst tlie En^^-lisli war : And, closer questioned, thus he tohl A tale, which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enrolled : — SIB, BAVID LTNDESAY's TALE. Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling ; And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune, How blithe the blackbird's lav ! The wild-buck bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure ti^ke To see all nature gay. But June is, to our Sovereign dear, The heaviest month in all the year : Too well his cause of grief you know, — June saw his father's overthrow. Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King ! Still in his conscience burns the sting. In offices as strict as liOnt, King Jame's June is ever spent. When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul. The chaunters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was saying, — 10 XV 10 ii ' •II 15 20 xvi 62 MAMMION. For now tlio year broup^ht rouhd again The day the lucldesa King was slain. In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, With saokcloth-shirt, and iron belt, 10 And eyes with sorrow streaming ; Around him, in their stalls of state, The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o'er them beaming, I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 15 Bedoafened with the jangling knell, Was watching where the sunbeams fell. Through the stained casement gleaming ; But, while I marked what next befel, It seemed as I were dreaming. 20 Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white ; His forehead bald, his head was bare, Down hung at length his yellow hair. — Now mock me not, when, good my Lord, 25 I pledge to you my knightly word. That, when I saw his placid grace, His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on, — 30 Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint So just an image of the Saint, Who propped the Virgin in her faint, — The loved Apostle John ! He stepped before the Monarch's chair, xvii And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made , Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, But on the desk his arm he leant, 5 And words like these he said, In a low voice, — but never tone So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone :— 10 15 20 f 30 XV u 3one :— CANTO IV. 63 " My mother sent me from afar, Sir K-ing, to warn thee not to war, — 10 Woe waits on thine array ; If war thou wilt, of woman fair, Her witching wiles and wanton snare, James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : God keep thee as he may ! " — 15 The wondering Monarch seemed to seek For answer, and found none j And wJien he raised his head to speak. The monitor was gone. The Marshal and myself had cast 20 To stop him as he outward past ; But, hghter than the whirlwind's blast, lie vanished from our eyes. Like sunbeam on the billow cast, That glances but, and die?. — 25 While Lindesay told tliis marvel strange, xviii The twilight was so pale, He marked not Marmion's colour change, While listening to the tale : But, after a suspended pause, 6 The Baron spoke : — "Of Nature's laws So strong I held the force. That never superhuman cause Could e'er control their course ; And, three days since, had judged your aim 10 Was but to make your guest your game. But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed, And made me credit aught." — Ho staid, And seemed to wish his words unsaid : 15 But, by that strong emotion pressed. Which prompts us to unload our breast, Even when discovery's pain. '\1 ': -'.f it M hi n 64 MAKMION. V I ! '" To Lindesay did at lenj^th unfold The tale hi,s villa|XO host had told, 20 At (iifl'oi'd, to his train. Nought of the I'almer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare : The thoughts, which broke liis sleep, he seems To mention hut a»s feverish dreams. 25 " In vain," said he, " to rest I spread xix My burning limbs, and couched my head: Fantastic thoughts returned ; And, by their wild dominion led, My heart witliin me burned. 5 So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and forth I rode, And, as the moon shone bright and cold, Soon reached the camp upon the wold. The southern entrance I passed through, 10 And halted, and my bugle blew. Methought an answer met my ear, — Yet was the blast so low and drear. So hollow, and so faintly blown, It might be echo of my own. Thus judging, for a little space I listened, ere I left the place ; But scarce could trust my eyes. Nor yet can think they served me true. When sudden in the ring I view. In form distinct of shape and hue, A mounted champion rise. — I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, In single fight, and mixed affray. And ever I myself may say, 10 Have borne me as a knight ; But when this unexpected foe Seemed starting from the gulf below, — I care not though the truth I show, — I trembled with affright; 15 15 XX o >IWil 20 25 10 XX o 10 CANTO IV. i35 And as I placed in rest my spear, Mv hand so shook for very fear, I scarce could couch it ri^ht. Why need my tongue the issue tell ? xxi We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? — I rolled upon the plain. High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 5 The spectre shook his nalted hrand, — Yet did the worst remain ; My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — Not opening hell itself could blast Their sight, like what I saw ! 10 Full on his face the moor beams strook, — A face could never be mistook ! I knew the stern vindict e look, And held my breath for awe. I saw the face of one who, tied 16 To foreign climes, has long been dead, — I well believe the last ; For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare A human warrior, with a glare So grimly and so ghast. 20 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; But when to good Saint George I prayed, (The first time e'er I asked his aid,) He plunged it in the sheaih ; And, on his courser mounting light, 2;") He seemed to vanish from my sight : The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night Sunk down upon the heath. — 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face, that met me there, 30 Called by his hatred from the grave To cumber upper air: rr ? *■ tl- 'I 15 66 MARMION. ..4 1 llH lil m i; i!;i Dead or alive, good cause bad lie To be my mortal enemy." — Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; xxii Then, learned in story, 'gan recount Such chance had bapp'd of old. When once, near Norham, there did fight A Hpoctre fell of fiendish might, 5 In likeness of a Scottish knight, A\'ith Brian Bulmer bold. And trained him nigh to disallow Tlie aid of his baptismal vow. "And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, 10 With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid. And fingers red with gore, Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade. Or where the sable pine-trees shade Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid ]5 Dromouchty, or Glenmore. And yet, whate'er such legends say, Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. On mountain, moor, or plain. Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 20 True son of chivalry should hold These midnight terrors vain ; For seldom have such spirits power To harm, save in the evil hour When guilt we meditate within, 25 Or harbour unrepented sin." — Lord Marmion turned him half aside, And twice to clear his voice he tried. Then pressed Sir David's hand, — But nought, at length, in answer said ; 30 And here their farther converse staid. Each ordering that his band Should bowne them with the rising day, To Scotland's camp to take their way,— Such was the King's command. CANTO IV. 67 •r-v~ 10 XXIV Early thoy toolc Duu-Edin's road, xxiii And I could .race each stop they trode; Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, Lies on the path to me unknown. Much might it boast of storied lore j 5 But. passin;^ such digression o'er, Suffice it that their route was laid Across the furzy hills of Braid. They passed the glen and scanty rill, And climbed the opposing bank, until They gained the top of Blackford Hill. Blackford ! on wliose uncultured breast, Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy^ I sought the nest, Or listed, aa I lay at rest, Wliile rose, on breezes thin, 5 The murmur of the city crowd. And, from his steeple jangling loud. Saint Giles's mingling din. Now from the summit to the plain, Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 10 And o'er the landscape as I look. Nought do I see unchanged remain, Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. To me they make a heavy moan Of early friendships past and gone. 16 But different far the change haa been, xxv Since Marmion, from the crown Of Blackford, saw that martial scene Upon the bent so brown : Thousand pavilions, white as snow, fi Spread all the Borough Moor below, Upland, and dale, and down : A thousand did I say ? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen, That cheq^uered all the heath between 10 F 2 /j'!',! A- , •» IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET {MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 U|2S ■ SO ""^^ ," 113^ 2.5 22 m '""^ 2.0 1.4 1.8 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 873-4503 ' * L<5> iV 68 MABMION. 1 k The streamlet and the town ; lu crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular ; Oft giving way, where stitt there stood Some relics of the old oak-wood, 16 That darkly huge did intervene, And tamed the glaring white with green : In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array. For from Hebudes, dark with rain, xxvi To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, And from the southern Kedswire edge, To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; From west to east, from south to north, 6 Scotland sent all her warriors fortli. Marmion might hear the mingled hum Of myriads up the mountain come ; The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, "Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank, 10 And charger's shrilling neigh ; And see the shifting lines advance, While frequent flashed, from shield and Innee, The sun's reflected ray. TniN curling in the morning air, xxvii The wreaths of failing smoke declare, To embers now the brands decayed. Where the night-watch their fires had made. They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 6 Full many a baggage-cart and wain, And dire artillery's clumsy car, By sluggish oxen tugged to war ; And there were Borth wick's Sisters Seven, And culverins which France had given, 10 Ill-omened gift 1 the guns remain The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. ^WPP CANTO IV. 69 XXVIU Nob marked they less, where in the air A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; Various in shape, device, and hue, Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, 6 Scroll, pennon, pcnsil, bandrol, there O'er the pavilions flew. Highest, and midmost, was descried The royal banner floating wide : The staff, a pine-tree strong and straight, 10 Pitched deeply in a massive stone. Which still in memory is shown. Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, Whene'er the western wind unrolled. With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, 15 And gave to view the dazzling fleld, Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. The ruddy Lion ramped in gold. Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright, — xxix He viewed it with a chief's delight^ — Until within him burned his heart, And lightning from his eye did part. As on the battle-day ; 6 Such glance did falcon never dart. When stooping on his prey. — " Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, Thy King from warfare to dissuade Were but a vain essay; 10 For, by Saint George, were that host mine, Not power infernal, nor divine. Should once to peace my soul incline, Till I had dimmed their armour's shine, In glorious battle-fray ! " — 15 Answered the bard, of milder mood : ** Pair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good, That kings would think withal. 1 I '^ \ . ■»';> r^: i^i ■ \ ( • •} 1 1 - < il V fW-^ 70 MAKMION. ''if: t When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 'Tis better to sit still at rest, 20 Than rise, perchance to fall." — Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, xxx For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. When, sated with the martial shjow That peopled all the plain below, The wandering eye could o'er it go, 5 And mark the distant city glow With gloomy splendour red ; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, That round her sable turrets flow. The morning beams were shed, 10 And tinged them with a lustre proud. Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, IP Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high. Mine own romantic town I But northward far, with purer blaze, On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 20 And as each heathy top they kissed, It gleamed a purple amethyst. Yonder the shores of Fife you saw j Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law ; And, broad between them rolled, 26 The gallant Firth the eye might note. Whose islands on its bosom float, Like emeralds chased in gold. Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; As if to give his rapture vent, 80 The spur he to his charger lent. And raised his bridle-hand, ^fp CANTO IV. 71 And, making demi-volte in air, Cried, " Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land ! " 86 The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ; Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee, Thus while they looked, a iBourish proud, xxxi Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, And fife, and kettle-drum. And sackhut deep, and psaltery, And war-pipe with discordant cry, 6 And cymbal clattering to the sky. Making wild music bold and high, Did up the mountain come ; The whilst the bells, with distant chime, Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 10 And thus the Lindesay spoke : — " Thus clamour still the war-notes when The King to mass his way has ta'en. Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne, Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 15 To you they speak of martial fame ; But me remind ci" peaceful game, When blither Was their cheer, Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. In signal none his steed should spare, 20 But strive which foremost might repaii* To the downfall of the deer. " Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, xxxii I view yon Empress of the North Sit on her hilly throne ; Her palace's imperial bowers. Her castle proof to hostile powers, 6 Her stately halls and holy towers — Nor less," he said, " I moan, / •t. 'i: i ■' • . 'M i ■ ■ k 4" 4 * -. ') f, t J- \<\ : -' ;■*;■. £: ■Ury' f" isi,'^ ' ' K^tf 1 BBS ■' l-i I V V'l' V'- ^1 f'f I li H III iif 72 MARMION. To think what woe mischance may bring, And how these merry bells may ring The death-dirge of our gallant King ; 10 Or, with their larum, call The burghers forth to watch and ward, 'Gainst Southern sack and firea to guard Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — But not for my presaging thought, 16 Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought I Lord Marmion, t say nay : — God is the guider of the field, He breaks the champion's spear and shield, — But thou thyself shalt say, 20 When joins yon hv^st in deadly stowre. That England's dames must weep in bower, Her monks the death-mass sing ; For never saw'st thou such a power Led on by such a King." — 26 And now, down winding to the plain, The bamers of the camp they gain. And there they made a stay. — There stays the Minstrel, till he fling His hand o'er every Border string, 30 And fit his harp the pomp to sing, Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, In the succeeding lay. '•V \«^, I'ji 'I' 1 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. To George Ellis, Esq. / When dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away ; When short and scant the sunbeam throws, Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard, Like patron on a needy bard ; When silvan occupation *s done, And o'er the chimney rests the gun, And hang, in idle trophy, near. The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with his length of limb, ^ And pointer, now employed no more, Cumber our parlour's narrow floor ; When in his stall the impatient steed Is long condemned to rest and feed ; When from our snow-encircled home. Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, Since path in none, save that to bring The needful water from the spring ; When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned o'er, Beguiles the dreary hour no more. And darkling politician, crossed, Inveighs against the lingering post, '•■ A Edinburgh. I ' 1 10 15 20 rr II. INTRODUCTION — CANTO V. n- ;- • i And answering housewife sore complains Of carriers' snow-impeded wains : When such the country cheer, I come, Well pleased to seek our city home ; For converse, and for books, to change The Forest's melancholy range. And welcome, with renewed delight, The busy day, and social night. Not here need my desponding rhyme Lament the ravages of time, As erst by Newark's riven towers. And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers. True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed. Since on her dusky summit ranged, Within its steepy limits pent. By bulwark, line, and battlement, And flanking towers, and laky flood, Guarded and garrisoned she stood; Denying entrance or resort, Save at each tall embattled port ; Above whose arch, suspended, hung Portcullis spiked with iron prong. That lonaf is gone, — but not so long, Since, early closed, and opening late, Jealous revolved the studded gate, Whose task, from eve to morning tide, A wicket churlishly supplied. Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, Dun-Edin ! O, how altered now, When safe amid thy mountain court Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport, And liberal, unconfined, and free. Flinging thy white arms to the sea, For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower. That hung o'er cliflf, and lake, and tower, Thou gleam'st against the western ray Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 26 SO 35 40 46 50 55 60 » I il I ! . INTRODUCTION — CANTO V. III. ■ I! ■• Not she, the championers of old, In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, — She for the charmed spear renowned, Which forced each knight to kiss the ground.- Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, What time she was Malbecco's guest. She gave to flow her maiden vest ; When from the corslet's grasp relieved, Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. Erst hidden by the aventayle ; And down her shoulders graceful rolled Her locks profuse, of paly gold. They who whilom, in midnight fight. Had marvelled at her matchless might, No less her maiden charms approved, ^ But looking liked, and liking loved. The sight could jealous pangs beguile, And charm Malbacco's cares awhile ; And he the wandering Squire of Dames, Forgot his Oolumbella's claims. And passion, erst unknown, could gain The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; Nor durst light Paridel advance, Bold as he was, a looser glance. — She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, Incomparable Britomarte ! So thou, fair City ! disarrayed Of battled wall, and rampart's aid. As stately seem'st, but lovelier far Than in that panoply of war. Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne Strength and security are flown ; Still, as of yore. Queen of the North ! Still canst thou send thy children forth. Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 66 I 70 76 . •• 80 86 90 06 1 «H Rl' J f |;.i j ' '' B' * 1 ' ' i Bi 'r \l • : ^ :■ ■u i Ui IV. INTRODUCTION — CANTO V. Tli m now, in danger, shall be thine, Thy dauntless voluntary line ; For fosse and turret proud to stand, Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. Thy thousands, trained to martial toil, Full red would stain their native soil, Ere from thy mural crown there fell The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. And if it come, — as come it may, Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — Renowned for hospitable deed, That virtue much with heaven may plead, In patriarchal times whose care Descending angels deigned to share ; That claim may wrestle blessings down On those who fight for The Good Town, Destined in every age to be Refuge of injured royalty ; Since first, when conquering York arose, To Henry meek she gave repose, Till late, with wonder, grief and awe, Great Bourbon's rehcs sad she saw. Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise, How gladly I avert mine eyes, Bodings, or true or false, to change, For Fiction's fair romantic range. Or for Tradition's dubious light, That hovers 'twixt the day and night : Dazzling alternately and dim, per wavering lamp I'd rather trim, Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. Creation of my fantasy, Than gaze abroad on reeky fen. And make of mists invading men. — Who loves not more the night of June Than dull December's gloomy noon ? The moonlight than the fog of frost ? And can we say, which cheats the most ? 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 CANTO I. fi The sokliei's of the guard, With musket, pike, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion, 6 Stood in the Castle-yard ; Minstrels and trumpeters were tliere, The gunner held his linstock yare, For welcome-shot prepared : Entered the train, and such a clang", K) As then through all his turrets rang. Old Norham never heard. TuE guards their morrice-pikes advanced, x The trumpets flourished brave, The cannon from the ramparts glanced, And thundering welcome gave. A blythe salute, in martial sort, 5 The minstrels well might sound, For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, lie scattered angels round. '* Welcome to Norham, Marmion ! Stout heart, and open hand ! 10 Well dost thou brook thy gallant ronn, Thou flower of English land ! " Two pursuivants, whom tab.arts deck, xi With silver scutcheon round their neck, Stood on the steps of stone, By which you reach the Donjon gaff, And there, with herald pomp and state, 6 They hailed Lord Marmion : They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town ; And he, their courtesy to requite, 10 Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight, All as he lighted down. *^ Now largesse, largesse. Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold ! '. i ' I ■ < > ^11 ^ ) : : f i: 1 -.. it > ; MARMION. i f It- I il ■H i.r ii r! 1^. ill A blazoned shield, in battle won. Ne'er guarded heart so bold."— They marshalled him to the Caatle-haU, Where the guests stood all aside, And loudly flourished the trumpet-call, And the heralds loudly cried : — " Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmiou, With the crest and helm of gold ! Full well we know the trophies won In the lists at Cottiswold : There, vainly, llalph de Wilton ittrovf 'Gainst Marmion'8 force to stand ; To him he lost his lady-love, And to the King his land. Ourselves beheld the listed field, A sight both sad and fair ; We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, And saw his saddle bare ; W^e saw the victor win the crest, He wears with worthy pride ; And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, His foeman's scutcheon tied. Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! Room, room, ye gentles gay. For him who conque. i in tlie right, Marmion of Foutenaye ! " Then stepped to meet that noble lord Sir Hugh the Heron bold. Baron of Twisell and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold. He led Lord Marmion to the deas, Raised o'er the pavement high, And placed him in the upper place — They feasted full and high : The whiles a northern harper rude Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, — 15 Xll 10 15 2(J xm 10 10 CANTO I. 7 " IIoxo the Jierce Thirlwalls, and Ridteys alf. Stout Willimondswickf And Hard-riding Dickj And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the IVall, Have set oti Sir Albany FcatherstonlMugh, IT) And taken his life at the Dead man s-shaw.^^ Scantly Lord Marmioii's ear could brook The liarper's barbarous lay ; '^'et much he praised the pains he tcnV And well those pains did pay ; 20 For ladv's suit, and minstrel's strain, By knight should ne'er be heard ir . ain. "Now, good Lord Marniion/' Heron 8ny:>, xiv ' Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space, Li this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, fi May breathe your war-horse well j Seldom hath passed a week but giust Or feat of arms befell : The Scots can rein a mettled steed. And love to couch a spear j — ' 10 Saint George ! a stirring life they lead, That have such neighbours near. Then stay with us a little space, Our northern wars to learn ; — I pray you for your lady's grace."— 16 Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. The Captain marked his altered look, xv And gave a squire the sign ; A mighty wassail-bowl he took, And crowned it high witl; wine. " Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : 5 But firpt I pray thee fair, Where hast th^^u left that page of thine, That used to serve thy cup of wine, / ii: i^l ]' I'- t H MAHMION. i 11^ ?i- i'A. Whose beauty was so rare ? Wlicn last in liaby towers we met, 10 The boy I closely eyed, Aud often marked his cheeks were wet With tears he fain would hide : Ilis was no ru Till they rolled forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there. Which gave again the prospect fair. Yc Woi Ath Howl How Audi Wit] ^Vllal O'er In e) Whal ''Th^ The I INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. To THE Rev. John Marrtot, M. A. Ashcsticl,Ett.:ick Forc!t. The scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourished once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 5 Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers — Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell. Since he, so gray and stubborn now, 10 Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; W^ould he could tell how deep the shade, A thousand mingled branches made ; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, 15 And through the foliage showed his head, With narrow leaves, and berries red ; What pines on every mountain sprung, O'er every dell what birches hun», In every breeze what aspens shooK, 20 What alders shaded every brook ! "Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, " The mighty stag at noontide lay ; The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, m-* J 1 ■" 'ki A . WIaAj ,: i:.il:' M jyH IL INTRODUCTION — CANTO H. II 1 1 ^D - -'* (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) Witli lurching step around me i)rowl, And stop, against the moon to howl ; The mountain-boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet ; While doe and roe, and red-deer good, Have bounded by through gay green-wood. Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power ; A thousand vassals mustered round. With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; And I might see the youth intent, Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; And through the brake the rangers stalk. And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; And foresters, in green- wood trim, Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet's bay From the dark covert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away. The startled quarry bounds amain. As faat the gallant greyhounds strain ; Whistles the arrow from the bow, Answers the harquebuss below ; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof -clang, hound, and hunter's cry, And bugles ringing lightsomely," — Of such proud huntings, many tales Yet linger in our lonely dales. Up pathless Ettrick, and on Yarrow Where'erst the outl^ drew his arrow. But not mora blithe that silvan court, Than we have been at humbler sport ; Though small our pomp, and mean our game, Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. Remember'st thou my greyhounds true ? O'er holt or hill, there never flew, 25 :io 35 40 45 50 uo PensivJ INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. From slip, or leash, thero never spvancr, More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. Nor dull, betv/een each merry chiifcf, Passed by the intermitted space ; For we had fair resource in store, In Classic, and in Gothic lore : Wo marked each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between ; Nur hill, nor brook, we paced along, But had its legend, or its song. All silent now — for now are still Tliy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! No longer, from thy mountains dun, The yeoman hears the well-known gun, And, while his honest heart glows warm, At tJi ought of his paternal farm. Round to his mates a brimmer fills, And drinks, ''The Chieftain of die Hills ! " No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowei«, Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh : No youthful Baron's left to grace The Forest-Sheriffs lonely chase. And ape, in manly step and tone. The majesty of Oberon : And she is gone, whose lovely face --' Is but her least and lowest grace ; Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given, To show our earth the charms of Heaven, She could not glide along the air, With form more light, or face more fair. No more the widow's deafened ear Grows quick that lady's step to hear : At noontide she expects her not. Nor busies her to trim the cot ; Pensive she turns her humming wlieel, III. •til 66 70 \ ' \ 76 80 85 M II 95 j^m r li !'• 1- ':li (i^ ■', ^^ . I I IV. IN I UonUCTION — CANTO M. Or [(onsivo cooks her orphans' iikmI ; Yut l)K!.sHt's, oro she deals their bread, Tho gentle hand by wliich they're fed. From Yair, — which hills so closely l)ind, Scarce can tho Tweed his passa^^e find, Thou^'h iimch he fret, and chafe, and toil. Till all his eddying currents boil. — Her long-descended lord is gone, And left us by the stream ah)ne. And nnich I miss those sportive boys, Compani(ms of my mountain joys. Just at the ago 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth. Close to my side, with what delight. They pressed to hear of Wallace wight, When, pointing to his airy mound, I called his ramparts holy gr(mnd ! Kindled their brows to hear me S[»eak ; And I have smiled, to feel my cheek. Despite the dilleronce of our years, Return again the glow of theirs. Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, They will not, cannot long endure ; Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, You may not linger by the side ; For Fate shall thrust you from the shore, And Passion ply the sail and oar. Yet cherish the remembrance still, Of the lone mountain, and tho rill ; For trust, dear boys, the time will come, When fiercer transport shall be dumb, And you will think right frequently, But, well I hope, without a^igh, On the free hours that we have spent Together, on the brown hill's bent. When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone, 100 105 lio iir, ]'M 125 i;k) L35 INTRODUCTION — CANTO 11. V. Soniethinjr, my friend, wo yet may gain, Tiua-e is a ploasure in this pain: It soothes tlio lovo of lonely rest, Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 'Tis silent amid worldly toils, And stifled soon by mental broils; lUit, in a bosom thus prepared, Its still small voice is often heard Whispering a mingled sentiment, Twixt resignation and content. ( )ft in my mind such thoughts awako, liy lone St. Mary's silent lake ; Tliou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the . ure lake's crystal edge; Abrupt and ojieer, the mountains sink At «mco upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand 51 arks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view ; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, Save where, of land, ycm slender line l)uars thwart the lake the scattered pino. Vet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour : Ncr thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing C(mcealed might lie ; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ; There's nothing left to fancy's guess, You see that all is loneliness : And silence aids — though the steep liiRs Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 111 summer tide, so soft they weep. The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. 140 145 150 155 100 105 170 :A- 4 :>:.'■ I • I- trij^HiL-^^. K. li ii I i ill* V. ' ti; .1 VI. INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. Nought living meets the eye or ear, But well I ween the dead are near ; For though, in feudal btrife, a foe Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil, The peasant rests him from his toil, And, dying, bids his bones be laid, Where erst his simple fathers prayed. If age had tamed the passions' strife, And fate had cut my ties to life, Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell, And rear again the chaplain's cell, Like that same peaceful hermitage, Where Milton longed to spend his age. 'Twere sweet to mark the setting day, On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; . And, as it faint and feeble died On the broad lake, and mountain's side, To say, ' ' Thus pleasures fade away ; Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey • " — - Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower, And think on Yarrow's faded Flower : And when that mountain-sound I heard, Which bids us be for storm prepared, The distant rustling of his wings, ■ As up his force the Tempest brings, 'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; That Wizard Priest's whose bones. are thrust From company of holy dust ; On which no sunbeam ever shines — (No superstition's creed divines,) Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, Heave her broad billows to the shore ; And mark the wild-swans mount the gale, Spread wide through mist their snowy sail. nr. 181) 18i 190 195 200 205 210 INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. VII. i:r. And ever stoop again, to lave Their bosoms on the surging wave ; Then, when against the driving hail No longer might my plaid avail, Back to my lonely home retire, 215 And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; There ponder o'er some mystic lay, rill the wild tale had all its sway, And, in the bittern's distant shriek I heard unearthly voices speak, 220 And thought the Wizard Priest was come, To claim again his ancient home ! And bade my busy fancy range, To frame him fitting shape and strange, Till from the task my hrovr I cleared, 225 And smiled to think that I had feared. But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, (Though but escape from fortune's strife,) Something most matchless good and wise, A great and grateful sacrifice ; 230 And deem each hour to musing given, A step upon the road to heaven. Yet hi' a, whoBe heart is ill at ease, Such peaceful solitudes displease : He loves to drown his bosom's jar ' 235 Amid the elemental war ; And my black Palmer's choice had been Some ruder and more savage scene, ,Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. There eagLjs scream from isle to shor« : 240 Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; O'er the black waves incessant driven, Dark mists infect the suumier heaven ; Through the rude barriers of the lake. Away its hurrying waters break, 245 Faster and whiter dash and cuyl. i. ' X I '.' > • i w^ VIII. INTRODUCTION — CANTO II. ! ', « • Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. Rises the fog-smoke white as snow, Thunders the viewless stream below, Diving, as if condemned to lave Some demon's subterranean cave, Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell. Shakes the dark rock with gi'oan and yoll. And well that Palmer's form and mien Had suited with the stormy scene. Just on the edge, straining his ken To view the bottom of the den, Where, deep deep down, and far within, Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, White as the snowy charger's tail. Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. Marriott thy harp, on Isis strung, To manj a Border theme has rung : Then list to me, and thou slialt know • Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 250 25r 260 265 I t 2 h L 17 ;■ t CANTO 11. 2r):. 2fin 205 THU CONVENT. The breeze, which swept away the smoke, Round Norham Castle rolled, When all the loud artillery spoke, With lightning-flash and thunder-stroke, As Marmion left the Hold. It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze, For, far upon Northumbrian sens, It freshly blew, and strong. Where, from high Whitby's cloislorcd pile, Bound to Saint Outhbert's Holy Isle, It bore a bark along. Upon the gale she stooped her side, And bounded o'er the swelling tide. As she were dancing home ; The merry seamen laughed, to see Their gallant ship so lustily Furrow the green sea-foam. Much joyed they in their honoured freight ; For, on the deck, in chair of state, The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed. With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. Like birds escaped to greenwood shades, Their first flight from the cage. How timid, and how curious too, For all to them was strange and new. And all the common sights they view, Their wonderment engage. 10 15 . \- 20 • • u « ■'- \ '. * ; f ilik hi r hi M 4.'. < ,1 1 ■ t (■ 111: m. 18 MARMION. One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, With many a benedicite ; One at the rippling surge grew pale, 10 And would for terror pray j Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh, His round black head and sparkling eye, Reared o'er the foaming spray : And one would still adjust her veil, 16 Disordered by the summer gale, Perchance lest some more worldly eye Her dedicated charms might spy j Perchance, because such action graced Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 20 Light was each simple bosom there, Save two, who ill might pleasure shave, — * The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. The Abbess was of noble blood, lii But early took the veil and hood. Ere upon life she cast a look, Or knew the world that she forsook. Fair too she was, and kind had been 6 As she was fair, but ne'er had seen For her a timid lover sigh. Nor knew the influence of her eye; Love, to her ear, was but a name. Combined with vanity and shame ; 10 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all Bounded within the cloister wall: The deadliest sin her mind could reach Was of monastic rule the breach ; And her ambition's highest aim, 16 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. For this she gave her ample dower, To raise the Convent's eastern tower ; For this, with carving rare and quaint, She decked the chapel of the Saint. 30 CANTO II. 19 r.t'i 10 15 20 And gave tlie relic-shrine of cost, With ivory and gems embossed. The poor her Convent's bounty blest, The pilgrim in its halls found rest. Black vras her garb, her rigid rule Reformed on Benedictine school ; Her cheek was pale, her form was spare ; Vigils, and penitence austere, Had early quenched the light of youth, But gentle was the dame in sooth ; Though vain of her religious sway, She loved to see her maids obey ; Yet nothing stem waa she in cell. And the nuns loved their Abbess well. Sad was this voyage to the dame ; Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came, There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold A chapter of Saint Benedict, For inquisition stern and strict, On tw apostates frbm the faith, And, if need were, to doom to death. Nought say I here of Sister Clare, Save this, that she was young and fair ; As yet a novice unprofessed. Lovely and gentle, but distressed. She was betrothed to one now dead, Or worse, who had dishonoured fled. Her kinsmen bade her give her hand To one who loved her for her land : Herself, almost heart-broken now, Was bent to take the vestal vow, And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom. Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. She sate upon the galley's prow. And seemed to mark the waves below j . o2 iv 10 16 w 10 ■f- ; I 2U MARMION. :l T n I - Nay seemed, so fixed her look and eye, To count them as they glided by. She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 6 Far other scene her thoughts recal — A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there ; There saw she, where some careless hand O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 10 To hide it till the jackals come, To tear it from the scanty tomb. — See what a woful look was given, As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — vii Tliese charms might tame the fiercest breast : Harpers have sung, and poets told. That he, in fury uncontrolled, The shaggy monarch of the wood, 6 Before a virgin, fair and good. Hath pacified his savage mood. But passions in the human frame Oft put the lion's rage to shame : And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 10 With sordid avarice in league. Had practised with their bowl and knife Against the mourner's harmless life. This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet grey. 15 And now the vessel skirts the strand viii Of mountainous Northumberland ; Towns, towers, and halls successive rise, And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay, 5 And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; They marked, amid her trees, the hall Of lofty Seaton-Uelaval ; They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods Hush to the sea through sounding woods ; 10 CANTO II. 21 25 iz They passed the tower of Widderington, Mother of many a valiant son ; At Coquet Isle their beads they tell To the good Saint who owned the cell ; Then did the Alne attention claim, 15 And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; And next, they crossed themselves, to hear The whitening breakers sound so near, "Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar, On Dunstanborough's cavemed shore ; 20 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there, King Ida's castle, huge and square, From its tall rock look grimly down.. And on the swelling ocean frown ; Then from the coast they bore away, And reached the Holy Island's bay. * The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint's domain : For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle ; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 6 The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandaled feet the trace. As to the port the galley flew. Higher and higher rose to view 10 The Castle with its battled walls, The ancient Monastery's halls, A solemn, huge, and darlc-red pile, Placed on the margin of the isle. In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned, X With massive arches broad and round, That rose alternate, row and row, On ponderous columns, sliort and low, Built ere the art was known, ft \ 'i '■^i:v4\ !l I"'l« 22 MABMION. i 1 m jft. if II : ■: ■ ;■» I* ^ I' ' li\ By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, The arcades of an alley'd walk To emulate in i e. On the deep walls the heathen Dane Had poured his impious rage in vain ; ' 10 And needful was such strength to these, Exposed to the tempestuous seas, Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, Open to rovers fierce as they, Which could twelve hundred years withstand ] ^ Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. Not but that portions of the pile, Rebuilded in a later style, Shewed where the spoiler's hand had been ; Not but the wasting sea^-breeze keen 20 Had -^om the pillar's carving quaint, And mouldered in his niche the Saint, And rounded, with consuming power, The pointed angles of each tower : Yet still entire the Abbey stood, Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. Soon as they neared his turrets strong, The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. And with the sea-wave and the wind, Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, And made harmonious close ; 5 Then, answering from the sandy shore, Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar, According chorus rose : ♦ Down to the haven of the Isle, The monks and nuns in order file, 10 From Cuthbert'e cloisters grim ; Banner, and cross, and relics there. To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; And, as they caught the sounds on air, They echoed back the hymn. 15 25 XI A CANTO II. •- onspiciioua by her xM » i i Signing the cross thlir ^'"'^' , And blessed tb'e ^^^^ ^1; ••^OPPOSE we now tl?. , " *"'"'■ Suppose the cIv ,Tn'"'T ^''''''' All throu..htZh!l^T"" '"*'** ^ Through cloil' „ ?'^ '■'""«' ^^'>erf.er:::S'::^^-/,f;w, For the . el en r^''^''' "'""'^ We^, J/e.elosedSn-^t'.-^l., -I flat their Sninfc i, "v/wu, Tmx Whitb7n„n?°"/^ ''"'" ^^ ^f-tn.eniairi:^^:^"-'''"'' So'irer^^tr-"^''^^''''-' In wrath, for fes of v '""' ^■'"" "■"»« ' Saint Hil. » r ? ^''■''" 8»'»<'. •' T),; . * ?"■=«' ve slew "J wbiie\To«r'':r'^T'^''^''---' Must Herberts " °'"' '""bo-r-pier, They ^Hrlt'h'e™'' ''"^■^ '«-" A Saxon ^rincls^^,!, .•.T'"-"^" TK« 1 ^, "^^^^ once did dwell The lovely Edelfled ; ' 23 20 xij 5 10 16 A xiii 6 10 ! J *' .f '."^ ;^N.'i .;; r •■ 1" ■ m ^;:J 24 MAHMION. 1* ,» <• II mw ii v, « 20 XIV r, And how, of tlious»an(l snakes, each one Was changed into a coil of stone, 15 When holy Hilda prayed ; Themselves, within their holy bound. Their stony folds had often found. They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, As over Whitby's towers they sail. And, sinking down, with flutterings faint, They do their homage to the Saint. Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, To vie with these in holy tale ; His body's restingplace of old, How oft their patron changed, they told ; How, when the rude Dane burne'S their pile. The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; O'er northern mountdin, marsh, and moor, From sea to sea, from shore to shore. Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore. They rested them in fair Melrose ; 10 But though, alive, he loved it well, Not there his relics might repose ; For, wondrous tale to tell I In his stone-coffin forth he rides, A ponderous bark for river-tides, 15 Yet light as gossamer it glides. Downward to Tilmouth cell. Nor long was his abiding there, For southward did the Saint repair ; Chester-le-Street and Rippon saw 20 His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw Hailed him with joy and fear; And, after many wanderings past, He chose his lordly seat at last, Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 2n« Looks down upon the Wear : C It CANTO II. 10 There, deep in Durham's (lothic shade, Ilis relics are in secret laid ; But none may know the place, Save of Ilia holiest servants three. Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, Who share that wondrous grace. Who may his miracles declare I Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, (Although with them they led Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale. And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, And the bold men of Teviotdale,) Before his standard fled. 'Twas he, to vindicate his reign, Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, And turned the Conqueror back again, When, with his Norman bowyer band. He came to waste Northumberland. But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn, If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne, Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-bom beads that bear his name : Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, Aiifl c^^d they might his shape behold. And hear his anvil sound ; A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm, And night were closing round. But this, as tale of idle fame, The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. While round the fire such legends go. Far different was the scene of woe, Where, in a secret aisle beneath. Council was held of life and death. It was more dark and lone that vault. Than the worst dungeon-cell j 3(J XV 6 10 xvi .■I 10 XVll M < il;» ■■^i M ARM ION. Old Colwulf built it, for his fault In penitence to dwell, When he, for cowl and beads, laid dowu The Saxon battle-axe and crown. This den, which, chilling every sense Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was called the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light. Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made A place of burial, for such dead, As, having died in mortal sin, Might not be laid the church within. 'Twas now a place of punishment ; Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, As reached the upper air. The hearers blessed themselves, and said, The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there. But though, in the monastic pile. Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition go, Few only, save the Abbot, knew Where the place lay ; and still more few Were those, who had from him the clue To that dread vault to go. Victim and executioner Were blindfold when Iran: ; ported there. In low dark rounds th > svches hung. From the rude rock the side-walls sprung The gravestones, rudely sculptured o'er. Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, Were all the pavement of the floor ; The mildew-drops fell one by one, With tinkling plash, upon the stone. A cresset, in an iron chain. Which served to light this drear domain. 10 16 20 XVlll 10 Id B Y H TI 01 CANTO II. 27 With damp and darkness seemed to strive, As if it scarce might keep alive ; 20 And yet it dimly served to shew The awful conclave met below. There, met to doom in secrecy, xix Were placed the heads of convents three : All servants of Saint Benedict, The statutes of whose order strict On iron table lay ; 6 In long black dress, on seats of stone, IJehind were these three judges shewn, By the pale cresset's ray : The Abbess of Saint Hilda, there, Sate for a space with visage bare, 10 Until, to hide her bosom's swell, And tear-drops that for pity fell. She closely drew her veil : Yon shrouded figure, as I guess. By her proud mien and flowing dre.'>>5, 15 Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, And she with awe looks pale : And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight Has long been quenched by age's night, Upon whose wrinkled brow alone 20 Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is shewn, Whose look is hard and stern, — Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; For sanctity called, through the isle. The Saint of Lindisfame. 25 Before them stood a guilty pair ; xx But, though an equal fate they share. Yet one alone deserves our care. Her sex a page's dress belied j The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, 5 Obscured her charms, but could not hide. • .! ■• II 28 MARMION. Hev cap down o'er her face she drew; And, on her doublet breast, She tried to hide the badge of blue, Lord Marmion's falcon crest. But, at the Prioress' command, A monk undid the silken band, , That tied her tresses fair, And raised the bonnet from her head, And down her slender form they spread, In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister professed of Fontevraud, Whom the Church numbered with the dead. For broken vows, and convent fled. When thus her face was given to view, (Although so pallid was her hue, It did a ghastly contrast bear To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) Her look composed, and steady eye, Bespoke a matchless constancy ; And there she stood so calm and pale, ^ That, but her breathing did not fail. And motion,slight of eye and head, And of her bosom, warranted That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, You might have thought a form of wax, W rought to the very life, was there ; So still she was, so pale, so fair. Her comrade was a sordid soul, Such as does murder for a meed ; Who, but of 'fear, knows no control. Because his conscience, seared and foul, Feels not the import of his deed ; One, whoso brute-feeling ne'er aspires Beyond his own more brute desiri;s, 10 ir, 20 xxi 5 10 xxn f) I I , I INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. To Richard Hebeb, Esq. Mertoun Hotcne, Christinas Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer : 6 Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane At lol riore deep the mead did drain j High en the beach his galleys drew, And feasted all his pirate crew ; Then in his low and pine-bnilt hall, 10 Where shields and axes decked the wall. They gorged upon the L.df-dresbed steer ; Caroused in seas of sable beer ; While round, in brutal jest, were thrown The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-bone : 16 Or listened all, in grim delight, Wiiile scalds yelled out the joys of fight. Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. While wildy-loose their red locks fly, And dancing round the blazing pile, 20 They make such barbarous mirth the while. As best might to the mind recall The boisterous joys of Odin's hall INTRODUCTION — CANTO VI. n; And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had rolled, A.nd brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night : On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; On Christmad eve the mass was sung ; That only night in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; The hall was dreased with holly green ; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the misletoe. Then opened wide the baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doffed his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes. That night might village partner choose ; The Lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of " post and pair. " All hailed, with uncontrolled delight, And general voice, the happy night, That to the cottage, as the crown. Brought tidings of salvation down. The fire, with well -dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide ; The huge hail-table's oaken face. Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man ; Then the giim boar's head frowned on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garbed ranger tell, 2.'- SO 35 40 45 50 55 CO dlil I I 2.- INTRODUCTION — CANTO VI. Hew, when, and where, the monster fell ; What dogs before his death he tore, A.nd all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls, Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. I'vhere the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; Nor failed old Scotland to produce. At such high tide, her savoury gooso. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roared with blithesome din ; If unmolodious was the song. It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery ; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made ; But, O ! what maskers, richly dight Can be ,.3i of bosoms half so light ! England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas' broached the mightiest ale : 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer Th« III. 65 70 rs 80 '^^'lor man's heart through half the year. 85 Still linger, in our northern clime. Some rn.rnnjints of the good old time ; And still within our valleys here, Wo hold the kindred title dear, Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claim To Southron ear sounds empty name ; For jourse of blood, our proverbs deem, Is vmrmer than the mountain-stream. sr:{} thus, my Christmas still I hold ^ "»= 3 nij great-grandsire came of old, ^> th .9mner board, and flaxen hair, Atid reveiend apostolic air — 90 ^tf 05 V..0 '. S* ri- ll III d t!> h IV. INTRODUCTION — CANTO VJ. The feast and holy-tide to share, And mix sobriety with wine, And honest mirth with thoughts divine. Small thought was his, in after-time E'er to be hitched into i\ rhyme. The simple sire could only boast. That he was loyal to his cost ; The banished race of kings revered, And lost hi& land, — but kept his beard. In these di ^ Us, where welcome kind Is with fair lib^ .. combined ; Where cordial friendship gives the hand, And flies constraint the magic wand Of the fair dame that rules the land, Little we heed the tempest drear, While music, mirth, and social cheer. Speed on their wings the passing year. And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, When not a leaf is on the bough. Tweed loves them well, and turns again, As loath to leave the sweet domain. And holds his mirror to her face. And clips her with a close embrace :— Gladly as he, we seek the dome, And as reluctant turn us home. How just that, at this time of glee. My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! For many a merry hour we've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. And leave these classic tomes in peace ! Of Roman and of Grecian lore. Sure mortal brain can hold no more. These ancients, as Noll Bluif" might say, Were "pretty fellows in their day," But time and tide o'er all prevail; — 100 105 110 111 120 12: 130 Bei INTRODUCTION — CANTO VL V. 100 105 On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — Of wonder and of war — "Profane ! What I leave the lofty Latian strain, Her stately prose, her verse's charms, To hear the clash of rusty arms ; In Fairy Land or Limbo lost, To jostle conjurer and ghost, Goblin and witch !" — Nay, Heber dear, Before you touch my charter, hear ; Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more My cause with many-languaged lore. This may I say : — in realms of death Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith ; ^neas, upon Thracia's shore, The ghost of murdered Polydore ; For omens, we in Livy cross, At every turn, locutus Bos. As grave and duly speaks that ox, As if he told the price of stocks ; Or held, in Rome republican. The place of Common-councilman. All nations have their omens drear. Their legends wild of woe and fear. To Cambria look — the peasant see, Bethink him of Glendowerdy, And shun "the spirit's Blasted Tree." The Highlander, whose red claymore The battle turned on Maida's shore, Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, If asked to tell a fairy tale : He fears the vengeful Elfin King, Who leaves that day his grassy ring ; Invisible to human ken. He walks among the sons of men. Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along Beneath the towers of Franch^mont, 135 i- i 140 •M 145 150 Ibl v\ IGO !l 1G5 i'^'^''' VI. INTRODUCTION — CANTO VL I Which, like an eagle's nest in air, Hang o'er the stream and hainlet fair ? Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, A mighty treasure buried lay, Amassed through rapine and througli wrong, By the larit lord of Franch^mont. The iron chest is bolted hard, A Huntsman sits, its constant guard ; Around his neck his horn is hung, His hanger in his belt is slung ; Before his feet his bloodhounds lie : An 'twere not for his gloomy eye, Whose w'tliering glance no heart can brock, As true a huntsman doth he lool:, As bugle f'^r in brake did sound, Or over holiood to a hound. To chase the fiend, and win the prize, In that same dungeon ever tries An aged Necromantic Priest ; It is an hundred years at least. Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, And neither yet has lost nor won. And oft the Conjurer's words will make The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; And oft the bands of iron break. Or bursts one lock, that still amain, Fast as 'tis opened, shuts again. That magic strife within the tomb May last until the day of doom, Unless the Adept shall learn to tell The very word that clenched the spell, When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. An hundred years are past and gone, And scarce three letters has he won. Such general superstition may Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; Whose gossip history has given 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 li m INTRODUCTION — CANTO VI. VII. 180 My song the messenger from Heaven, That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, Nor less the infernal summoning ; May pass the monk of Durham's tale, Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail : May pardon plead for Fordun grave, Who told of GiflFord's Goblin-Cave. But why such instances to you, Who, in an instant, can review Your treasured hoards of various lore. And furnish twenty thousand more ? Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest ; While gripple owners still refuse To others what they cannot use; Give them the priest's whole century, They shall not spell you letters thr-e ; Their pleasure in the u joka the same The magpie takes in pilfered gem. Thy volumes, open as thy heart, Delight, amusement, science, art, To every ear and eye impart ; Yet who, of all who thus employ them, Can, like the owner's self enjoy them ' — But, hark ! I hear the distant drum ! The day of Flodden Field is come. — Adieu, dear Heber ! life and health, And store of literary wealth. 210 215 220 225 230 ids" 11 , ^ rv' ■' , 1 liu- ^ni } 1 <. •t * .1 ■ t Hj 11 ' H I '1 ^H ■1 III luV' 10^ CANTO VI. TIIJE BATTLE. While great events were on f],« i And each hour bron.rhf ^^'^^^ And the demeanom^:Y "" ''?'"^^ '"^^' Of I)ouglar SeT^rf '°^^l-^d -id, A n^ I • 1 , ^ '^^ armion bold While these thin«-a ^^^J L And, with .hort iren;i^ r;:-'''. A hfe both dull and di^ed ; Dejected Clara well eo.Ud bear Soagrdt:r;,t'™^*''-d prayer, . H^-ir o'er the n.argin of tt deep 11:. 10 ; J v> 20 111 ii H ii 104 WAllMION. k> *!. Many a rude tower and rampart there Repelled the insult of the air, Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, Fj Half hreeze, half spray, came whistling by. Above the rest, a turret square Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; The Bloody Heart was in the field, 10 And in the chief three mullets stood, The cognisance of Douglas blood. The turret held a narrow stair Which, mounted, gave you access, where A parapet's embattled row 15 Did seaward round the castle go ; Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, Sometimes in platform broad extending, Its varying circle did combine 20 Bulwark, and bartisan, and line, And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign ; Above the booming ocean leant The far-projecting battlement ; The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, 2^ Upon the precipice below. Where'er Tantallon faced the land, Gate-works, and walls, were strongly manned ; No need upon the sea-girt side ; The steepy rock, and frantic tide, 30 Approach of human step denied ; And thus these lines, and ramparts rude. Were left in deepest solitude. And, for they were so lonely, Clare iii Would to these battlements repair. And muse upon her sorrows there. And list the seabird's cry ; Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide i l< ! CANTO V VI, 106 10 led; Along tlio dark-grey bulwarks' side, And ever on the licaving tide Look down with weary eye. Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, Kecal the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — A home she ne'er might see again ; For she had laid adown, So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, And frontlet of the cloister pnle, And Benedictine gown : It were unseemly sight, he said, A novice out of convent shade. Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, Again adorned her brow of snow ; Her mantle rich, whose borders, round, A deep and fretted broidery bound, In golden foldings sought the ground ; Of holy ornament, alone Remained a cross with ruby stone ; And often did she look On that which in her hand she bore. With velvet bound, and broidered o'er, Her breviary book. In such a place, so lone, so grim, At dawning pale or twilight dim, It fearful would have been, To meet a form so richly dressed, With book in hand, and cross on breast, « And such a woeful mien. Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. To practise on the gull and crow. Saw her, at distance, gliding slow. And did by Mary swear, — Some lovelorn Fay she might have been. Or, in romance, some spellbound queen: For ne'er, in workday world, was seen 10 16 20 25 80 36 11 40 l.y if' ■ k *f 106 MAUMION. 1 ,' !.,<; f '^ A form 80 witching fair. Once walking tnus, at «.'veniug-tide, iv It chanced a gliding nail ah*; Hpied, And, sighing, thought — *' Tlie Abbess there, Perchance, does to her home repair ; Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, / Walks hand in hand with Charitv ; Where oft Devotion's tranced glow Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, That the enraptured sisters see High vision, and deep mystery ; 10 The verv form of Hilda fair, Hovering upon the sunny air, And smiling on her votaries' prayer. Oh ! wherefore, to my duller eye, Did still the .Saint her form deny ! 15 Was it that, seared by sinful scorn, My heart coiu^ neither melt nor burn ? Or lie my warm affections low. With him, that taught them first to glow ? Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew, ?(> To pay thy kindness grateful due, And well could brook the mild command, That ruled thy simple maiden band. How different now ! — condemned to bido My doom from this dark tjTant's pride. 25 But Marmion has to learn, ere long. That constant mind and hate of wrong Descended to a feeble girl, From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl : Of such a stem, a sapling weak, 30 He ne'er shall bend, although he break. But see ! — what makes this armour here ? " v For in her path there lay Targe, cordet, helm ; — she viewed them near. — " The breastplate pierced ! — Aye, much I fear, Tl s] b] a] AJ 1; CANTO VI. 107 1(» Weak fenco w»>rt thou 'gainst foonian's spear, 6 Tliat hath made fatal entrance here, As these dark blood-gouts say. — Til us Wilton ! — Oh ! not corshst's ward, Not truth, as diamond pure and hard, Could be thy manly bosom's guard, 10 On yon disastrous day ! " — • She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — Wilton himself before her stood ! It might have seemed his passing ghost, For every youthful grace was lost ; 15 And joy unwonted, and surprise, (Jave their strange wildness to Ijis eyes. — Ivxpect not, noble dames and lords, That I can tell such scene in words : What skilful limner ere would choose 20 To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? Far leas can my weak line declare Each changing passion's shade ; 26 Brightening to rapture from despair, Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, And joy, with her angelic air, , And hope, that paints the future fair, Their varying hues displayed : 30 Each o'er its rival-'s ground extending, Alternate conquering, shifting, blending. Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield, And mighty Love retains the field. Shortly I tell what then he said, 86 By many a tender word delayed, And modest blush, and bursting sign. And question kind, and fond reply :— 11 f Ir. — i08 MARMION DE WILTON S HISTORY. :r 'i }l \ tiki M'l I P " FoRGKT we that disastrous day, vi Wliftu senseless in the lists 1 lay. Thence dragged, — but how I cannot kno-w, For sense and recollection fled, — I found me on a pallrt low, 5 Within my ancient headsman's 3hed. Austin, — remember'at thou, my CLire, How thou didst blush, when the old inaD, When first our infant love be^au, Said we would make a matchless pair? — 10 Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fied From the degraded traitor's bed, — lie only held my burning' head. And tended me for many a day, While wounds and fever held their sway. lo But far more needful was his carfi, When sense returned to wake despair j For I did tear the closing wound, And da.=a \\\/ \ ^ jt^Hk ii ] 11 IB-/ 114 MARMIOJS. Not far advanced was morning day. When Marndon did his troop array To Surrey's camp to ride : lie had safe-conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide : The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfry place, And whispered, in an undertone, '^ Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew. But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — ** Though something I might plain," he said, " Of cold re.'^pect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your King's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I staid ; Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — But Douglas round him drew his cloak. Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — " My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my Sovereign's will. To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my King's alone, From turret to foundation-stone — The hand of Douglas is his own ; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp." — • Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like lire, And shook his very frame for ire, And—" This to me ! " he said,— *' An 'twere not for thy hoary beard. Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head ! And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, xiii 10 16 20 25 XIV CANTU VI. 115 He, who does Enf^land's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mute: 10 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here iu thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord. And lay your hands upon your sword,) 16 I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! And if thou saidst I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here. Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " — 20 On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercarae the ashen hue of age : Fierce he broke forth, — *' And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den. The Douglas in his hall ? 25 And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? — No, by Saint Bryde of Both well, no ! — Up drawbridge, grooms ! —what. Warder, ho I Let the portcullis fall." — Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need ! 30 And dashed the rowels in his steed. Like arrow through the archway sprung, The ponderous gate behind him rung : To pass there was such scanty r«oni, The bars, descending, razed his plume. 36 The steed dlong the drawbridge flies, xv Just as it trembled on the rise ; Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim : And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 5 He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours. And shook his gauntlet at the towers. i2 II ;.;! 116 MARMION. i v/ 1 3 1 f : 3r II ■: I M " Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried; *' and chase I " But soon he reined hia fury's pace : 10 " A royal mesenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name. — A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed I Did ever knight so foul a deed ! At first in heart it liked me ill, 15 When the King praised his clerkly skill. Thanks to Saint iJothan, son of mine, Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : So swore I, and I swear it still, Let my boy-bishop fret hia fill. — 20 Saint Mar}-- mend my fiery mood ! Old aire ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried ; " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : 25 I warrant him a warrior tried." — With this his mandate he recalls. And slowly seeks his castle halls. The day in Marmiou's journe}' wore ; xvi Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, They crossed the heights of Stanrig Moor. His troop more closely there he scann'd, And missed the Palmer from the band. — 6 ^' Palmer or not," young Blount did siiy, " He parted at the peep of day ; Good sooth, it was in strange array." — " In what array ? " said Marmion, quick. " My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 10 But all night long, with clink and bang, Close to my couch did hammers clang ; At dawn the falling drawbridge rang, And from a loophole while I peep, Old Bell- the- Cat came from the keep, 16 Wrapped in a gown of sables fair, CANTO VI. 117 15 '20 25 XVI 10 15 As fearful of the morninfr air ; Beneath, when that was blown aside, A rusty shirt of nutil I spied, By Archibald won in bloody work, 20 Against the Saracen and Turk : Last night it hung not in the hall ; I thought some maiTel would befall. And next I saw them saddled lead Old Cheviot forth, the Eail's best steed ; 25 A matchless horse, though something old, Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. I heard the Sheriff Sholto say. The Earl did much the Master pray To use him on the battle-day ; 30 But he preferred " — *' Nay, Henry, cease ! Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — Eustace, thou bearst a brain — I pray. What did Blount see at break of day P " — " In brief, my lord, we both descried xvii (For I then stood by Henry's side) The Palmer mount, jmd outwards ride, Upon the Earl's own favourite f^teed ; All slieathed he was in armour bright, 6 And much resembled that same knight. Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : Lord Angus wished him speed." — The instant tflat Fitz-Eustace spoke, A sudden light on Marmion broke ; — 10 " Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! " He muttered ; " 'Twas nor fay nor ghost, I met upon the moonlight wold, But living man of earthly mould. — Oh, dotage blind and gross ! 16 Had I but fought as wont, one thrust Had laid De Wilton in the dust, My path no more to cross. — !'i "^^ ^t't 118 MARMION. lilt ^ ■ ' III' Flow stand we now ? — he told his tale To Douglas : and with some avail j 20 'Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow. — Will Surrey dare to entertain, 'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ? Small risk of that, I trow. — Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 25 Must separate Constance from the Nun — Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive! — A Palmer too ! — no wonder why I ft'lt rebuked beneath his eye : 30 I might have known there was but one, Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." — Stung with these thoughts, he urged to npeed xviii His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, Wliere Lennel's convent closed their march. (There now is left but one frail arch, Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 5 Our time a fair exchange has made ; Hard by, in hospitable shade, A reverend pilgrin Iwells, Well worth the whole Bernardine brood, That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 10 Yet did Saint Bernard'o Abbot there Give Marmion entertainment fair, And lodging for his train and Clare. Next morn the Baron climbed the tower, To view afar the Scottish power, 15 Encamped on Flodden edge : The white pavilions made a show, Like remnants of the winter snow, Along the dusky ridge. Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye 20 Unusual movement might descry Amid the shifting lines : ! U CANTO VI. 119 15 20 The Scottish host drawn out appears, For, flashing on the hedge cf spears, The eastern sunbeam shines. 25 Their front now deepening-, now extending-, Their flank inclining-, wheeling, bending, Now drawing back, and now descending, The skilful Marmion well could know. They watched the motions of some foe, 30 Who traversed on the plain below. Even so it was ; — from Flodden ridge ziz The Scots beheld the English host Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, And heedful watched them as they crossed The Till by Twisel Bridge. 6 High sight it is, and haughty, while They dive into the deep defile ; Beneath the caverned cliff they fall, Beneath the castle's airy wall. By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 10 Troop after troop are disappearing ; Troop after troop theb banners rearing, Upon the eastern banlc you see. Still pouring down the rocky den, Where flows the sullen Till, 16 And rising from the dim wood-glen. Standards on standards, men on men. In slow succession still, And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 30 To gain the opposing hill. That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; And many a chief of birth and rank, Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 25 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. II 120 MARMTON. i'm 1 1 ^c U :■ Had then from many an axo its doom, To give the inarchinj? columns room. And why stands Scotland idly now, xx Dark Floddon ! on thy airy brow, Since En^^land gains the pass the while, And ^truggl(^s through the deep defile ? What checks the fiery soul of James ? 5 Why sits that champion of the dames Inactive on his steed, And sees, between him and his land, Between him and Tweed's southern strand, Hi. >\ >st Lord Surrey lead? 10 What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand ? — O Douglas, for thy leading wand ! Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! Oh for one hour of Wallace wight, Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight, 15 And cry — " Saiut Andrew and our riglit ! " Another sight had seen that mom. From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, And Flodden had been Baunockbourue ! — The precious hour has passed in vain, 20 And England's host has gained the plain ; Wheeling tbeir march, and circling t ^'Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount; "tliou'dstbest, And listen to mir lord's behest." With kindling brow Lord Marniion said, — "This instant be our band arrayed ; The river must be quickly crossed, ' 20 That we niav ioin Lord Surrey's host. If light King Jnmes, — as well I trutjt, That light he will, and tight he must, — The Lady Clare behind our lines Shall tarry, while the battle joins." — 25 Himself be swift on horseback threw, xxii Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; t'ar less would listen to his prayer, To leave behind the helpless Clare. Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 5 And muttered as the flood tlu^v view, — '' The pheasant in the falcon's claw, He scarce will yield to please a daw : Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, So Clare shall bide with me " 10 Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, W^here to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep, He ventured desperately : And not a moment will he bide, Till squire, or groom, before him ride ; 16 Headmost of all be stems the tide. And stems it gallantly. Eustace held Clare upon her horse. Old Hubert led her rein, St atly they braved the current's course, 20 And though far downward driven perforce, ■f 122 MAltMION. The southern bank they gain ; l^ehind them, straggling-, came to shore, As best they might, the train : Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 26 A caution not in vain ; Deep need that day that every string. By wet unharmed, should shjivply ring. A moment then Lord Marmion staid, AvA breathed his steed, his men arrayed, 80 Then for'va^'d moved hi.^ band, Until, Lord Surrey's rearguard won. He halted by a cross of stone. That, on a hillock standing lone, Did all the field command. 35 Hence might they see the full array xxiii Of either host for deadly fray ; Their marshalled lines stretched east and west, And fronted north and south, And distant salutation passed 5 From the loud cannon mouth ; Not in the close successive rattle. That breathes the voice of modern battle, But slow and far between. — The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed : 10 " Here, by tiiis cross," he gently said, " You well may view the scene ; Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : Oh ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — Thou wilt not ? — Well, — no less my care 15 Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, With ten picked archers of my train ; With England if the day go hard. To Berwick speed amain. — 20 Put, if we conquer, cruel maid ! My spoils shall at your feet be laid, CANTO YI. 123 25 30 When here we meet again." — He waited not for answer there, And would not mark the maid's despair, 25 Nor heed the discontented look From either squire j but spurred amain. And, dashing through the battle-plain, His way to Surrey took. '' The good Lord Marniion, by my life ! xxiv "Welcome to danger's hour ! — Short greeting serves in time of strife : — Thus have I ranged my power : Myself will rule this central host, 5 Stout Stanley fronts their right, My sons command the vaward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless Imiglit ; Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, Shall be in rearward of the fight, 10 And succour those that need it most. Now, gallant Maiinion, well I know. Would gladly to the vanguard go ; Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstal there, With thee their charge will blithely share ; 15 There fight thine own retainers too. Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." — ** Thanks, noble Surrey ! " ]\Iarniit)n said, Nor further greeting there he paid : But, parting like a thunderbolt, 20 First in the vanguard made a halt, Where such a shout there rose Of " Marmion ! Marmion 1 " that the cry Up Floddon mountuin ylnilliu^' higli, Startled the Scottish foes. 26 Blotjnt and Fitz- Eustace rested still xxv With Lady Clare upon the hill ; On which, (for far the day was spent,) The western sunbeams now were bent. II M I Jij I p ■( M I'f -v ill Is. it 124 MA KM ION. The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 6 Could plain their distant comrades view : Sadly to Blount did Eustace say^ " Unworthy office here to stay ! No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — But, see ! look up — on Flodden bent, 10 The Scottish foe has fired liis tent." — And sudden, as he spoke, From the sharp ridges of the hill, All downward to the banks of Till, Was wreathed in sable smoke. 15 Volumed and vast, and rolling far. The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, As down the hill they broke ; Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, Announced their march ; their tread alone, 20 At times one warning trumpet blown, At times a stifled hum, « Told England, from his mountain-throne King James did rushing come. — Scarce could they hear or see their foes, '25 Until at weapon-point they close. — They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; And such a veil was there, Of sudden and portentous birth, 30 As if men fought upon tlio earth, And fiends in upper air : O life and death were in the shout, Recoil and rally, charge and rout, And triumph and despair. 35 Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye Could in the darkness nought descry. At length the freshening western blast xxvi Aside the shroud of battle cast ; And, first, the ridgo of mingled speara Abo''^ Mu' brighten".ng cloud appeai> ; r y Til * CANTO yi. Amid the scene of tumult, hich Al hough against thorn come ' Of gallant Gordons many a one A:d:rL*=''''''^™'%'''-'man, St !, ?^'^"' ""'^^'' ""^ while And x^un- the fppl.l f '"^ '^'^'^^^ With fiokle-a„.n "ottrs ° «"■'. "'""''*' Tl'en fell that Jotloa, btn T-** ' "=''*• Yet stii, L„ d „a„uion's'faleon flew With waverine- flio-iif ^u-i z. ,^.;Wdthell'*;^.^'^^«--^ew ii»e Border slogan rent the sky f 125 ■M.n ij 15 20 26 xxvii it 10 1(1 126 MARMION. n ■' »■ *- " A Home ! " "A Gordon ! " was the cry j Loud were the clanging blows; Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose j As oends the bark's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered 'mid the foes. No longer Blount the view could bear : — ** By heaven, and all its saints, I swear, I will not see it lost I Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare May bid your beads and patter prayer, — I gallop to the host." And to the fray he rode amain, Followed by all the archer train. The fiery youth, with desperate charge, Made, for a space, an opening large, — The rescued banner rose, — But darkly closed the war around. Like pine-tree rooted from the ground, It sunk among the foes. Then Eustace mounted too ; — yet staid, As loth to leave the helpless maid, When, fast as shaft can fly. Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread. The loose rein dangling from his head. Housing and saddle bloody red. Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; And Eustace, maddening at the sight, A look and sign to Clara cast, To mark he would return in haste, Then plunged into the flglit. Ask me not what the maiden feels. Left in that dreadful hour alone : Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; Perchance a courage, not her own, Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 15 20 25 30 35 40 4o xxvm 16 20 25 30 ;5o 40 45 CANTO VI. 127 The scattered van of England wheels j — She only said, as loud in air The tumult roart-d, '' Is Wilton there ? "— They fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die.—*' Is Wilton there ? "— 10 With that, straight up the hill there lode Two horsemen drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore. His hand still strained the broken brand; 15 His anus were smeared witli blood and sand : Dragged from among the liorses' feut. With dinted shield, and helmet beat, The falcon-crest and plumage gone, Can that be haughty Murmion ! . . 20 Young Blount his armour did unlace, And, gazing on his ghastly face, Said — " By .Saint Georga, he's gone ! That spear-wound has our master sped. And see the deep cut on his, head ! 26 Good night to Marmion." — " Unnurtured liJlount ! tliv brawlinj^- cease : He opes his eyes," says Eustace ; " peace ! * — When, doffed his casque, be felt free air, xxi.r Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — ** Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 6 Cry — * Marmion to tlie rescue ! ' — vain ! Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — Yet my last thought is England's : — fly. To Dacre bear my signet ring ; 10 Tell him his squadrons up to bring : — Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; Tunstall lies dead upon the held, His lifeblood stains the spotless shield : • ^i 11 ■jsn^ I ■< if i % s * r 128 MARMION. Edmund is down ; — ray lite is reft ; — 16 The Admiral alone is left. Let iSUnley charg:e with spur of lire, — With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and Enp-land's lost. — 20 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! lly ! Leave Marmion here alone — to die." — Tliey parted, and alone he lay ; Clare drew her from the sigiit away, Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, ^X\ And half he murmured, — '* Is there none. Of all my halls have nursed. Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring Of blessed water from the spring, To slake my dying thirst ! " — 30 WOMAN ! in our hours of ease, xxx Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, 6 A ministerinff aniiel thou ! — Scarce were the pitying accents said. When, with the Baron's casque, the maid To the nigh streamlet ran : Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; IC The plaintive voice alone she hears, Sees but the dying man. She stooped her by the runnel's side, ^ But in abhorrence backward drew ; For, oozing from tlie mountain's side, 16 Where raged the war, a dark red tide Was curdling in the streamlet blue. Where shall she turn ! — behold lier marh A little fountain cell. Where water, cleai' as diamond-spark, iN) In. a stone bason fell. I T F A CANTO VI. 129 20 2r. ic 16 30 XXXI 5 Ab(^ve, some half-worn letters sav, ©rinfe. iurarn. ptigrim. tfrinfe. nntr. pran. Jfar. tfac. "bints, ilowl. nf. ^vtd. ©ran. £i[3J;0. hnilL tt)tjS. cioiSiS. autr. ImcH. 25 She filled the helm, and back she hied, And with surprise and joy espied A Monk supporting Marniion's head ; A pious man, whom duty brought To dubious verge of battle fought. To shrive the dying, bless the dead. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, And, as she stooped his brow to lave — " Is it the hand of Clare," he said, " Or injured Constance, batliea my head ? " Then, as remembrance rose, - " Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! I must redress her woes. Short space, few words, are mine to spare : Forgive and listen, gentle Clave I " " Alas ! " slie said, " the while.— 10 Oh think of your immortal weal ! In vain for Constance is your zeal : She died at Holy Islel " Lord Marmion started from the ground. As light as if he felt no wound ; 15 Thougli V.) tlie action burst the tide, In torrents, from his wounded side. " Then it was truth ! " he said, " I knew That the dark presage must be true, I would the Fiend, to whom btdoiigs 20 The vengeance due to all her v^'rongs, Would spare me but a day I For wasting tire, and dying groan, And priests slain on the altar-stone, Mi^ht bribe him for dtday. 25 ii^ » ■SilUlbMtMMMMM f f'-» I'? ' , Mi 130 MARMION. 80 xxxii It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — Curse on yon base marauder's lance, And doubly curst my failing brand I A sinful heart makes feeble hand." Then, fainting-, down on earth he sunk, Supported by the trembling MonkT With fruitless labour, Clara bound, And strove to staunch, the gushing wound : The Monk, with unavailing cares, Exhausted all the Church's prayers. Ever, he said, that, close and near, 5 A lady's voice was in his ear, And that the priest he could not hear. For that she ever sung, " In the lost battle, borne down by the flytufj. Where mingles war' 8 rattle 7vith (/roans of the dying! " 10 So the notes rung ; — " Avoid thee, Fiend ! — with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — Oh look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine : 15 Oh think on faith and bliss ! By many a deathbed I have been, And many a sinner's parting seen. But never aught like this." The war, that for a space did fail, 20 Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, And— Stanley! w;is the cry; — A light pn Marmion's visage spread. And fired his glazing eye : With dying hand, above his head 26 He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted " Victory ! — " Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on I " . . . Were the last words of Marmion. By this, though deep the evening fell, Still rose tlie battle's deadly iwell, XXXIU CANTO TI. 131 xxxiu Fop still the Scots, around their King, Unbroken, fought in desperate ring*. Where's now their victor vaV^ard winp-, 5 Where Huntley, and where Home ? — Oh for for a blast of that dread horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 10 And every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died I Such blast might warn them, not in vain, To quit the plunder of the slain. And turn the doubtful day again, 15 While yet on Flodden side. Afar, the Koyal Standard Hies, And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies. Our Caledonian pride 1 In vain the wish — for far awav, '20 While spoil and havoc mark their way, Near Sybil's (Jross the plunderers stray. — '' Lady," cried the Monk, " away ! "~ And placed her on her steed ; And led her to the chapel fair, 25 Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. There all the night they spent in prayer, And, at the dawn of morning, there She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. But as they left the dark'ning heath, xxxiv More desperate grew the strife of death. The English shafts in volleys hailed, In headlong charge their horse assailed : Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep, 5 To break the Scottish circle deep. That fought around their King. But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, K2 11 132 MA KM ION. 'mm lip I \k 'Mi' iu! t Thoufrh bill-men ply the p:haatly blow. 10 Unbroken was the rinjr ; The stubborn spearmen still made pood Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where liis comrade stood, The instant that he fell. 15 No thoug-ht was there of dastard flight ; Linked in the serried phalanx tiglit, Groom fought like noble, sqidre like knight, As fearlessly and well ; Till utter darkness closed her wing 20 O'er their thin host and wounded King. Then skilful Surrey's sage commands Led back from strife his shattered bands ; And from the charge they drew, As mountain- waves, irom wasted lands, 25 Sweep back to ocean blue. Then did their loss his foemen know ; Their King, their lords, their mightiest, low, They melted from the tield as snow. When streams are swoU'n and south winds blow, .SD Dissolves in silent dew. Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, While many a broken band, ' Disordered, through her currents dash, To gain the Scottish laud ; 35 To town and tower, to down and dale, To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, And raise the universal wail. Tradition, legend, tune, and song. Shall many an age that wail prolong : 4(< Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife and carnage drear, Of Flodden's fatal field, Where shivered was fair Scotland's spenr, And broken was her shield ! 45 CANTO VI. 133 10 15 n"! \ Day dawns upon tbe mountain's side : — xxxv There, Scotland I lay tliy bravest pride, Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a ono ; The sad survivors all are gone. — View not that corpse mistrustfully, 6 Pefaced and mangled though it be ; Nor to yon Border castle high Look northward with upbraiding eye ; • Nor cherish hope in vain, That, journeying far on foreign strand, 10 The Royal Pilgrim to his land May yet return again. He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; Reckless of life, he desperate fought, And fell on Flodden plain : 16 And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clenched within his manly hand, Beseemed the monarch slain. But, oh ! how changed since yon blithe night ! — Gladly I turn me from the sight 20 Unto my tale again. Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care xxxvi A pierced and mangled body bare To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; And there, beneath the southern aisle, A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, 6 Did long Lord Marniinn's image bear. (Now vainly for its sight you look ; 'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook The fair cathedral stormed and took ; But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad, 10 A guerdon meet the spoiler had !) There erst was martial Marmion found, His feet upon a couchant liound, His liands to heaven upraised : And all around, on scutcheon rich, 16 And tablet carved, and fretted niche, It II :■!!•'.. 134 MARMION. '!. • f.-vi. .'•■■,:V His arms and feats were blazed. And yet, though all was curved so fair, And piiests for Maruiion breathed the prayor, The last Lord Marmion lay not tlure. 20 From Ettrick woods, a peasant awain Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — One of those tiowers, whom plaintive lay In Scotland mourns as '* wede away ; " Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, 25 And dnigofed him to its foot, and died. Close by the noble Marmion's side. The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain, And thus their corpses were mista'en ; And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, 30 The lowly woodsman took the room. Less easy task it were, to shew xxxvii Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. They dug his grave e'en where he lay, But every mark is gone ; Time's wasting hand has done away 5 The simple Cross of Sybil Gray, And broke her font of stone : But yet from out the little hill Oozes the slender springlet still. Oft halts the stranger there, 10 For thence may best his curious eye The memorable field desctry ; And shepherd boys repair To seek the water-flag and rush, And rest them by the hazel bush, 1/5 And plait their garlands fair; Nor dream they sit upon the grave, That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — When thou shalt find the little hill. With thy heart commune, and be still. 20 If ever, in temptation strong, CAN 10 VI I DO Noi rhyme to ihat d.,ll elr "'•l^ Whon bmvp ^. V "^^'t; I ew„.,t|,e ,:,;„,, ,,„^,^f"«, J hat, after fiolif i • ^ • , ' J'e won sStf ''"'''''" P'-". ^"o A TO that simple maid 1" w„om it must i„ terms b said ^« We..s fair Clara's eonstane;' « lio cannot, unless I relate l'i.at'blufl j'ir'jialTr ^"■""' ""■ J*«-- Aiirl n *i .^ '^^ ^^^^ ciirta n drew rtiieivtards, for many a day - ;t was held enou/to .af /"blessino. to a wedded pair," We they lihe Wilton «e Clare !"-> 1:5 )0 26 xxxviii 10 16 20 2f) 136 II iff m I! .•* MAUMION TO THE READER. Why tten a final note prolong, Or len-then out a clo.mg son^, ?u]ess to bid the gentles speed ^tolonghavelistedto|nyred^? To Statesmen grave, if such ma a , ^oreadth..nn.t.^-^^^ Sound head, cleauaand, an And patriotic h'^art-a^ 1 in • l>httasV, and merry hoMaj_ To fU to encb, a ftiv good nigH lU pleasing clvean. and dumber. UgUt. ^l) 01? MAIIMIOX. 5 in !■. 20 wp^ PHELIMINARY HEM Ale 118. MARMION. -//t)+G\v- "Alaal that Scottish raaid should sing The corahat where her lover fell ! That Scottish bard should wake the string The triumph of our foes to tell!" — Lai/den. "The present story," says Scott, "turns upon the private alventures of a fictitious character; hut is called a Tale of i''lo(lden Field, because the hero's fate is connected with that ii'inorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The design >( the Author was, if possible, to apprise liis readers, at the out- set, of the date of his story, and to prepare them for the manners ot the age in which i«. i ' laid. Any historical narrative, far more an attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a ildniantic Tale ; yet *^'b may be permitted to hope, from the pop- ularity of llie L(iy uj the Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the public." •'The Poem opens about tho commencem'ut of August, . nd concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 9th September, 1513." In his preface of 1830 he remarks, "Particular passages of tiio poem wliich was finally called Manniopt, were laboured with a good deal of care by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed. * * * » 'j^'jjg peiiod of its composition was a very ha])py one in my life; so much so, that I lemomber with plcasun;, at 138 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. P p. this moment, some of the spots in which particular passages were composed. It is probably owing to this that tlie Introduc- tions to the several cantos assumed the form of famib'ar epistles to my intimate friends, in which I alluded more than was necessary, or graceful, to my domestic occupations and amuse- ments, a loquacity which may be excused by those who remernber that T was still young, light-headed and happ3^ * * « 'pj^^, Poem was finished in too much'haste to allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not removing, 8ome of its most prominent defects. The nature of Marmion's guilt, although similar in- stances were found, and might be quoted, as existing in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to be indicative of the character of the peiiod, forgery being the crime of a com- mercial rather than a proud and warlike age. This gross defect ought to have been remedied or palliated. Yet I suft'ered the tree to lie where it had fallen." Published 1808. d/t , an^ Bevovley, Glouces- Maviuion b— having i jected lO?-' Whitby ; Constance on the other hand, took tlie veil in the convent of St. Cuthbcrt, in Holy Isle. In time Con:-itance elo})eil from the convent, but l^eing overtaken was bnritil alive in the walls of a deep cell. In the meantime Lord Marmion was sent by Henry VIII. with a message to James IV. of Scotljuid, and stopped at the hall of Hugh de Heron for a night. Sir Hugli, at his request, .I'lpointed him a guide to conduct him to the king, and the guide uure the dressof a palmer. On his r* turn, lord Marmion hears that lady Clare is in Holy Isle, and commands the abbess of Hilda to release her that she may be placed under the charge f)f her kinsman Fitz Clare, of Tantallon Hall. Here she meets De Wilton, the palmer guide of Marmion. Lor;l Marmion heinjj; killed at the battle of Flodden Field, De Wilton married lady Clare. Compared with The Lay. Kllis, as quoted by Lockhart stated: — "But, with respect to the two rivals, I think the Lay is, on the whole the greatest favourite. It is admitteil that the fn^^'" of Mann/on is greatly superior, t!iat it inspires more in- t '(-f, and that it is by no nnans inferior in point of poetical expression; but it is contended tiiat the incident of Doleraine's journey to Melrose, surpasses any thing in Alannion, and that the personal appearance of the minstrel, who, though the last, is hy far the most charming of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the idei of an author shorn of his picturesque heard, deprived of his harp, and writing letters to his intimate friends * * * * What degree of bulk may be essentially necessary to the corporeal part of an epic poem, I know not ; but sure I am that the story of Marmion might have furnished twelve books as well as six, that the masterly character of Constance would not have been loss bewitching had it been nmch more minutely painted, and that De Wilton might have hcen dilated with great ease, ami even to considerable advantage. in short, had it been your intention merely to exhiiiit a spirited romantic story, instead of making that story subservient to the manners which prevailed at a oeitain period of our history, the luunber and variety of your characters would have suited any scale of painting." "It is a good deal longer (than the Za»/), indeed and some- what more ambitious ; and it is rather clearer that it has greater 1 units than it has greater beauties — though for our own part, ue I ■ •• ..s ■ t ' ' ■ ^:h 140 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. If Is ' are inclined to believe in both pro])ositions. It has more %t and tedious passages, and more ostentation of historical anU antiquarian lore: but it has more richness and variety, botii of character and incident ; and if it iias less sweetness and pathos in the softer passages, it has certainly more vehemence and force of colouring in the loftier and busier representations of action and euiotion. * ♦ * * the ballad pieces and mere episodes which it contains have less finish and poetical beauty; buttheiu is more airiness and spirit in the delineations ; and the story if not m re skilfully conducted, is at least better complicated, and extended through a wider field of adventure. The charac- teristics of both, however, are evidently the same — a broken narrative, a redundancy of minute description, bursts of unequal and energetic poetry, and a general turn of spirit and ani- mation unchecked by timidity or affection and unchaatened hy any great delicacy of taste or elegance of fancy. " — Jeffrey The same critic grants that the poem aflbrds "great indica- tions of poetical genius " but regi-ets that the author should con- sume his time and talents in "imitations of obsolete extiavaganco.'' He laments that an attempt should be made to revive a love for tales of knight-errantry and enchantment, and considers writ ing "modern romance of chivalry" like building a "modem abbey or English pagoda." Objections Considered. Morria thus sums up and considers the objections raised by Jeffrey : '•The indictment against this poem has a fourfold count:— 1. It is irregular; 2. It is affected; 3. It is inaccurate; 4. The character of the hero is unsuited to the age in which he is placed. '■'■Answers to Charjrcs. — The first of tlie charges, that he buiii his poem upon (lothic models, that he has introduced into a a epic poem all the irregularities of a ballad, is an accusation which the poet would not have cared to meet, because he ofFendnl with his eyes open. Perhaps he did not feel equal to an e])i( poem- -perhaps the age would have been impatient of it. Hou many readers has the Excursion? What has been the succe- of Fes/us? Tennyson has not produced an Arthuriad, but tlic Idylls of the King. "The affectations are twofold — of allusions, needing notes: of language, needing a s^dossary. The first are the result of the placing of the scene in days not our ou 11 ; all tlie details of t!;*' MMMinMlMHWR^ PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 141 ;^0t and thot force ^tion tory it cated, harae- aroki'H Liicqual id ani- jned ^0' , inilicci- uldoon- vg-ancc." , love for jrs wi'it- modevn jonsiders count :— |ng noti'^ • uilt of the liils of th^- Middle Ages, the clothes and the castle ceremonies, the kirtles and tiie wliimples, the seneschals and sewers, against which JefFrey is very angry, are iucended to transport the reader more completely to the earlier times. The aflectations of langua,'j;o are due partly to tiie same cause ; but in some measure they are caused by the author's carelessness. "The inaccuracies are chiefly to be found in the host's story ill Canto III., and are probably intended to represent the in- accuracy of an uneducateil man. There arc some also for wliich lie has an excuse in poetic license, as well as in the example of Shakespeare, who in the play of Henry VIII. introduces the Earl of Surrey and his father the Duke of Norfolk, although at the same time his father is dead. In this poem of Marmion there are a tes '"g, its ! wnethei I other p( J special f (of light I Jii's fines |P"'ntin !"ve of d 1'^ less tl ^' its pic -iiutton >■ ■"^fffimmii PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 143 rent. ^yron u- en- Lp tbe s own .t that s lord- ,hat he tntiion ixo un- :ts antl which, let, aiul leved a ]ott, in- je, 'the luhitive Ut."- inetrical iceilent, jlot by ted out offence il hero, js he is bg pass- "Marmion himself is finely conceived, but the expedient of bringing about the catastrophe by representiigsuch a character, however wicked, as forging documents, is a fatal blemish to tlie probability of the intrigue in such an age and country, liut the defects of costume is amply, gloriously i-edeemed by the iiplei'.ilour, fire, energy, and livingness with which brilliant and varied scenes succeed each other in this magnificent evocation of cliivalrous days. The voya.fe of the nuns is one of the very finest pictures even in vScott's vast gallery ; the reader is carried bounding on like the bark ; the verses breathe the \ery freshness (if the sea. In the scene describing the immuring of Constance before the grim tribunal in the vaults of Landisfarn Ab))ey, Scott has ventured into the lofty regions of terror and pity ; and how wonderfully is this awful episode contrasted with the ex(iuisitc grace of the Scottish court, when the Lady Heron sings the ballad of Lochinvar ! is indeed to use the words of Shakespeare, — 'A fearful battle rcnder'd you in miisic' The majestic pomp of preparation, the breathless pause, the roaiing onset, the struggle, the carnage, — all is there : the reader feels his teeth setting, his breath held in, his blood rush- ing Inickward to the heart ; it is as real as anytj^ing in the Iliad ; and the wail of lamentation and defeat, and the death of the conscience-haunted Marmion, form a moat admirable and appropriate conclusion to that woful day 'OfFloddeu'sfatallield, Where Hhivered was fair Scotland's spear And broken was her shiold.' " — Shaw. "Judge Scott's poetry by whatever test you will — whether it be a test of that which is peculiar to it, its glow of national feel- ing, its martial ardour, its swift and j-ugged simplicity, or 1 whether it be a test of that which is most common to it with otlier poetry, its attraction for all romantic excitements, its [special feeling fcT the pomp and circumstances of war, its love [of light and colour — and tested either way, Marmion will remain lliis finest poem. The battle of Flodden Field touches his highest jfi'int in its expression of stern patriotic feeling, in its pjissionate l*ve of daring, and in the force and swiftness of its movement, I loss than the brilliancy of its romantic interests, the charm biita picturesque detail, and the glow of its scenic colouring." -llutlon. II 144 PREr.IMINARY REMARKS. : i 11 f'"J4-./' t The Introductions. "Asfor the 'epistolary dissertations,' it must, I take it, be allowed that they interfered with the How of the story, when readers Avere turning the leaves with the first ardour of curiosity ; and they were not, in fact, originally in- tended to be interwoven in any fashion with the romance of Alarmion. Though the author himself does not allude to, and had perhaps forgotten tiie circumstances, when writing the In- troductory Essay of 1830 — they were announced, by an advertise, ment early in 1807, as SSix Kpistles from Ettrick Forest,' to he published in a separate volume, similar to that of the Ealhuls and Lyrical Pieces ; and perhaps it nii,L,dit have been better that this first plan had been adhered to. ]iut however that may be, are there any pages among all he ever wrote, that one would In; more sorry he should not have written? They are among the most delicious portraitures that genius ever painted for itseii, —buoyant, virtuous, happy genius — exulting in its own energies, yet possessed and masteied l)y a clear, calm, modest mind, and happy only in diffusing happiness around it." — Lockhart. "Critics from the beginning onwards have complained of the six introductory epistles, as breaking the unity of the story. But I cannot see that the remark has weight. No poem is written for those who reacV it as they do a novel — merely to follow tlie interests of the story ; or if any poem be written for such readers, it deserves to die. On such a principle— which treats a poem as a mere novel and nothing else — you might object to Homer that he interrupts the battle so often to dwell on the origin of the heroes who arc waging it ; or to Bryon that he deserts Childo Harold to meditate on the rapture of solitude. To my mind the ease and frankness of these confessions of the author's re- collections give a picture of his life and character while writing Alarmion, which adds greatly to its attraction as a poem. ^''Hutton. Versification. Scott's versification well harmonizes with his subjects. Milton avoided rhyme in his Paradise Lost bccan-?c it seemed, he says, too liglitforso glorious a topic. "Scott has vindicated the metre of his tales as preferable to Pope's couplet; in the case of a romance which was a development of the ballad, the vind.'oition was needless. Scott's metre is the true Englisli counterpart, if there be one, of Homer, In The Lady of the Lake it is the simple eight-syllabled couplet. In the other poems variations are freely introduced with the best effect. lii PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 145 ons,' t\ow ly iu- ce of ), an«\ lie Iiv to We 5aUatl=^ er that nay Vie, ong the )Y itscii. Liid, and ■t. ed of tlie lie story. is written )lloW the X readei ^^, 3 a poeiii to Homer origin f,t ^■tsChil' j my wii'*^ [itlior's ve- lle writing L with liis 1^^ because ' Scott has 's couplti^; hie balhul, lie Englis^^ lat/y of ^^'^' I the otlier lest eliect. Scott had no ear for music l)ut he had an ear for verse." — Gold' win Sinii/i. Tiie iambic tctyainctcr rhyming couplets in which Mixnnion is chiclly wi'itten suits a romuntic subjeitt. It is a voi-y rapid metro and excellently adapted for rapid narrative. U^licn employed in a long poem it has the fault of monotony. Scott recognizing the fault relieves the monotony of this "sort of horseman stanza," as he termed it, by three kinds of moditi- cations. These are (1) variations in the metre; (2) variations in the rhyme; and (3) the introduction of songs. Metre, 'fhe prevailing metre is iambic tett-afneter hwt vai-ia- tions are made in (1 ) the kind ; and (2) the numVier of feet. A trochee is sometimes used instead of an iambus, generally at the beginning of a line, (see I. iv. I.S., II. iv. 12). Occasionally v,'c have an anapest (two unaccented followed by one accented syllable) insiead of an iamlius (see I. iv. 1., I. .'ii. 1). As regards the number of feet the most remarkable variation is in the employment of two dimeters instead of the tetrameter (See II. xxviii.), l)ut th use oi triyneters, which are generally used to mark a fall in the sense, is quite common (See I. i. 3). Rhyme. Sometimes we have what seem rhymes of spelling rather than sound as ''worth" and ** forth," **stone" and "gone;" generally these are the relics of an old pronunciation. -War" is rhymed with *'jar" and "tone" with "on." Such words as "tower" and "bower" are taken as words of one syllable, as also "heaven" and "driven." In Marmion we find three variations from the regular rhyme: 1. The use of triplets. (See I. iii., and notice also that the eighth line rhymes with the fourth, and fourteenth with the eleventh. ) 2. The rhyming of alternate lines, most commonly though not exclusively used, with the change to trimeters. (See IV., vii., 28.) 3. The introduction of double or feminine rhymes. These have generally a syllable beyond the usual number {hypet metric). See IV., i., and xv. Songs. The frequent introduction of old ballads in Scott's poems is very characteristic of his age. Then the rage for old poetry was at its height. The metre, rhyme, spirit, and quaint- iiess of language and sentiment are used wit,h admirable eti'ect 146 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. f and the variation thus afl'orded giveiu pleasing break to the mo- notony of the liiyming couplets. The I'eguhir balhid metre is not always followed and the use of obsolete and sti'ange fancy — woven melodious syllables adds a weird tone to the bcnigs. The following may be noticed ; 1. In 1. xiii. we have the fragment of a l)allad of anaj^estic metre, which consists of dimeters or tetrameters, each foot being an anapest, a dactyl, or a spondee, 2. In Constance's song in III., x, xi., the prevailing feet are dactyls (one accented and two unaccented syllables) which arc varied in three different ways: — (a) By having the secontl line in each couplet deficient of the final syllable [catalectic). {b) By the occasional introduction of an extra syllable [hyper- metric) preceding the first dactyl (see xi., 10). (A i^&^-^ NOTES TO MARMIOAT. -H- mTRODUCTION TO CANTO I. Wn.T.iAM Stewart Eosk, port and translator, (1775-1848), pro- liiioed a Navnl Historij of the Late War, a translation of Amadis lie Gaul, The Crusade of St. Louis, and otlun' ])()einH, Letters to Henry Hallam, a version of the Orlando I una tnorato, a, ivsuxida^tiou (if the Orlando Fnrioso, and other works. Part of Marmion was written at Mr. Rose's seat in the New Forest. Epitome— Winter is now setting in (1-30). Spring will return, but the patriotic dead cannot be recalled to life (37-()8). Nelson, i'itt, and Fox will not he forgotten (69-165). The great statesmen who deservedly soared ahove the vulgar crowd, rest as brothers in the tomb (166-195). The Bard they once praised, now sings their fame (196-205). Such higli themes are not for one who loves to wander on the banks of the Tweed and listen to the ancient shep- lu!rd'& tale (206-248). You understand the influence of the old romances (249-283). I, also, will venture on romance and chivalry (•2S4-309). Your own achievements encourage me to undertake buch themes. Attend then to m^- tale (310-327). 2. Sear. A. S. searion, Cf. Shakespeare, " The scar, the yel- low leaf." 3. Linn. A rocky torrent or waterfall, as Bracklin, near Cal- lander, in Perthshire. 5, CHe»' A valley, dale, dell, or dingle. 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(? 0=-: y ^W %f % /A / o 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation 3J Wr?T w,MN STREET WEBSTER, N.r. 14580 (716) 873-4503 , V' t/j 148 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO I. :• %. f \i "I * . n 6. Yon, (fee. An adverbial proposition, the correlative of " ho.'' Scarce. For " scarcely " by enwi/a^ye. See Introduction, 52. Rivulet. Give a list of suffixes forming diminutives. Ken. To discern with the eye. Cf. caw, Mason's Gram., par. 24:i 8. Trille«l. Ran with a tremulous murmur. 9. Now. Notice the antithesis with " late." 11. Glade. Properly an open space in the woods through which the light shines. Cf. " glitter," " glimmer." What poetical license in this line ? 14. T■w«^•ed. This river which rises in Peeblesshire, drains al most the whole of the East portion of the Scottish lowlands. Its course lies for the most part in a N. E. direction. It receives a number of small streams, and after a course of 95 miles, enters the North Sea, at Berwick. Its salmon fisheries are valuable. In this description of Ashestiel, and the brook which runs through it, we have one of the finest specimens of Scott's descriptive poetry. 19. K,««».tlier-bell. The flower of the heath or heather. 20. Needpath-fell. On the south bank of the Tweed, near Peebles. 22. Yair. The seat of the Pringles, of Whytbank. 24. Down. A. S. dun, a hill. 28. "Wintry. The description Scott gives of a Scotch winter is very fine. 29. Far. Modifies " beneath their summer hill." 30. Glenklnnon. The word^Zen, signifying valley, forms the first 8ylla))le of the names of many towns, pai'ishes, and valleys, m Scotland and Ireland. 82. Him. The simple pronoun used refloxively. 35. Coverinf{. L. ciiho, to lie. Ger. kauern. 37. Iinp^. Children or offsi)ring. 38. Ilelltf*. Used impersonally. 39. Iiiflui'^nre. " Whenever the word injluence occurs in our English i)oetry, down to comi)aratively a modern date, there is al ways more or less remote allusion to the skyey or planetary in fluence supposed to be exercised by the heavenly bodies on men.' — Trench. Cf. Paradisa Lost, II., 1034 : " But now at last the sacred influence of light appears." Cf. Job xxxviii, 31 : " Canst thou bind the sweet influence of the Pleiades." Cf. also "disastrous," " ascendency," "jovial," "saturnine," "ni( 1 curial," as astrolt)gioal terms still surviving. 40. Vanished. L. vanesoo. NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO I. 149 ' BO. } ir . 24.5 . hroug\i raina al idK. ItH jceives a ntevfi the In this iroui^h iv, ,e poetry. er. ^eed, near winter i^ forms the valleys, 1" Uiore is ;»^ llauetary hi lea on men ' ipears." liades." «\ue »> "ui»i 41. GambolK. Fr. gamhiller, to frisk abotit. "'Gambling' may be, as with a fearful irony it is called pUiy, but it is nearly as distant from 'gamboling' as hell is from heavt-n." — Trench. 44. Ha^vthorn. A. S. hoeg, a hedge and thurn. 48. Garloiiil. It. yhir i I nda. Lat. (//yrws, a circle. 1)3. The Monthly Bevicw of May, 1808, remarked : " The 'chance and change' of nature — the vicissitudes which are observable in the moral as well as the physical part of the creation, — have given occa.sion to more exquisite i)oetry than any other subject. Tin- author had before made ample rise of the sentiments suggested by these topics ; yet he is not satisfied, but begins again 'vith the same in his first introduction. The lines are certainly pleasing, l)ut they fall in our estimation, far below that beautiful simile of the Tweed which he has introduced into his former poem." The author very effectively contrasts the pro8i)ect of returning spring and summer with the lack of any hope of recalling to life the " warlike and wise." 61. William Pitt, the younger. 62. Nelson. 64. Even. Modifies "on the meanest flower." 65. Notice the epizeuxis. 66. N«?l8ou'« sUi-ine. Horatio Nelson (1758—1805) born in Nor- folk; son of a rector; at 13 enters royal navy ; post-captain at 21 ; in 1723 having been appointed to the Aganiemnonhe distinguished himself in the sieges of Bastia and Calvi, in Corsica; victory of the Nile, 1796; battle of Copenhagen, IHUI; Trafalgar, 1805, where the victory cost him his Ufe. He was bur-ied in St. Paul's Cathe- dral. 68. Pitt, William, the second son of the Earl of Chatham; born 175'.) ; attended Cambridge, 1773, where he became distinguished for his knowledge of classics; called to the bar, 1780; enters par- liament, 1781; becomes prime minister in 1781; effects a commer- cial treaty with France, 1786, and the union with Ireland, 1800. "He was," says Macaulay, "a minister of great talents, honest intentions, and Uberal opinions but unequal to suri)rising and terrible emergencies, and liable in such emergencies to err grievously, botli on the side of weakness and on the side of viol- ence." He was buried in Westminster Abbey. 72. Gades (hence Gadite) was the ancient name of Cadiz where Nelson died. 73. Levin. Lightning, Cf. Spenser. " As when the flashing leuin haps to shine Upon two stubborn oaks." What figure ? I?' ■' it' 150 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO I. PI i * I ll ( .1 1 I 'P^ I 76. Thunder's sound. The cannon's roar. 79. Pitt is meant. 80. "Who. See Mason's Grammar, par. 142. 81. Thunderbolt. A metaphor. Cf. Vix-gil's designation of tlie Scipios " duo fulmiua belli." 82 Httfnia. Copenhagen. Pitt was not then in oflQce. 83. Born to guide. For use of gerimdial infinitive. See Ma- on's Grammar, par. 200. EmpriMe. Undertaking. 84. Pitt was Premier at the age of twenty-three. 86. Died at the age of forty-six. 89. Pitt died i;40,00U in doht. 90. Albion, a word of Celtic origin, said to mean the White island. 96. Notice the force of the Alexandrine. See Introduction 21. "During the time of the French Revolution, and the year after- wards, there were riots, seditions, mutinies, and rebellions in England and Ireland ; Imt, at the same time, the popularity and intiuence of Pitt in favour of the cause of order were immense, and loyal declarations were signed, funds subscribed for carrying on the war, volunteers enrolled to repel invasion, and a thorough de- termination was evinced on the part of the nation to uphold tlie freedom of England, both at home and abroad." — Chambers. 97- "Watchman. Predicate nominative. 101. Beaeon-llght. Observe the continuation of the figure in '* pilot," " course," &c. 104. Tottering throne. Alluding to the lunacy of George III, who was threatened with it in 17B8, had a subsequent attack in 1804, and lost his reason in 1810. 107. Pitt was noted for the silvery clearness of his voice. 111. Pallnurus. Tlie pilot of the ship of .^neas. He fell into the sea and was murdered by the natives of the coast. From his name was derived Palinnnim (now Ciipe Palinuro), a promontory on the western coast of Lucania. See JEneid V., 835, 843, and VI., 349, &c. 117. Then. Modifies " grace." ""While on," &c.; adverbial com- plement of "grace." 120. TfMJsIn, a bell stmck to give a signal of alarm. Old Fr. toquer, to toiich, and isein, siynum, a signal-bell. 122. Convoke. Agrees with " bells." 127. Rival. Charles James Fox (1749-1800) ; educated at Etc a and Oxford ; entered Parliament at the age of 19, as member for Midhurat ; held office under ]jord North, with whom he disagreed ; NOTES TO INTRODUCTIOV.. -CANTO I. opposed coercive mpas-irp«^ . ' ^5^ (180487) : '""*'''' *" S"' Waiter Scot, ^t 2 ,rj"""- '"" »™"> "r)r„„ *'■" '""'wn couplet fe"P™,I'"'^'s grave the tear 128. n^„,,ZT'J f-J> bis rival's bt^I 135. Eeferricg to th ■■'■"• under co„siderati„o. " '^""'^ '""""■ "' ^amicing anv .. ornameuted bv fiot . "ostminster Abh»„ i. .-«!es. "^ '"'" "■■ «"'J' I'ars intorsecUxi;LK'^';f '''' ""^"na 149. See L„le, n., u. " " "t''^' -here PiIIa"d Fo?r;°T''"^ " «''«'".d proof „, ,. in April, 1807 Lor,? aT "^''t'oned togetlier Tt « '"^ P-^'oee "'0 Whig suit„^othtT'5^''«' «'.t''«fe:r"r''™"^' several line.,,- ™«'" *« •>» stili ,„,„,„ h^XTLd were added accordingly tT ' ?'^ """''«' "«»<," &o rn« ilforn47^:"^^^^^^^^^ -ere omitted A r„^1 "''"'^ ^^ sinuate that the autho/h^ J^' '^"^^^ ^^^ niahV^nan, " °" J"""'al '^^- without them accord " ^^^'^^'^tation eo^lTs;''^^^ *« "^- T mention theTircun^r,^''^ '^^ '^^'y -ere for Wht' ""^^^ "« ^^h ^\^e W'B that SCO "h d Xu "h7-r ^^ ^--"- I fee\v°^ ^-^«- t^ie absurd charge in f? ^'^* '* ^^^^th his whill . ^ ^ ^^**«^ of m Thp A ? newspapers of the day ' r ^"^ ^''^^-diot J JO. Ihe Austrians an/i T?., • ^' "~Lockhart «' Auaterlitz, ia 1^ "^^ S?,""'""'/'"-'' defeated bv th i 1«7. T.„.„„. „„^ J ., ^^ustua, Hussia, aud Swed^i"* ^°°'' f™M:e■^t^r^LV-x^^^^^^ desei-ved I.T. fk /^ ^encij. Hns timid i)nIir.Tr ^^" Russians ".■(■■ tl Ik l! '^ :i;' *i?» iiii M 152 NOTES TO INTRODUCTICN. — CANTO I. 161. Fox could not agree to the unreasonable demands of Napo- leon and broke off negotiations. 165. On the lines referring to Nelson, Pitt and Fox, .Jeffrey ro- marked : — " Wo are unwilling to quarrel with a poet on the score of pontics ; hut the manner in which he has chosen to praise tin best of these brave men is more likely, we conceive, to give offence to his admirers tlian the most direct censure. The only deed for which he is praised is for having Ijroken off the negotiation fur peace ; and for this act of firmness, it is added, Heaven rewarded him with a share in the honoured grave of Pitt ! It is then said that his errors should he forgotten, and that he died a Briton; a pretty plain insinuation that, in the author's opinion, he did not live one; and just such an encomiiun as he himself pronounces over his villain hero, Marmion." 177. Thessaly was famed for the power of its witches. 182. Notice the rhyme. 184. Taming, &c., an absolute phrase, 186. Cf. Byron, Age of Bronze. " Reader ! remember thou wert a lad, Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much, His very rival almost deem'd him such, We, we have seen the intellectual race Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face : Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea Of eloquence between which flinv'd all free, As the dark billows of the ^gean war Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore. But where are they — the rivals I a few feet Of sullen earth divide each winding-sheet. How peaceful and how powerful is the grave Which hushes all ! a calm unstormy wave Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old Of * dust to dust ; ' but half its tale untold ; Time tempers not its terrors." 188. Requiem. L. reqides, a dirge sung for the dead. 199. L«u(l«>n. Notice the hujialUif/e or change of epithet. 203. In 1801, when the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border was published, Pitt and Fox were alive. 205. Another Alexandrine. 214. Wer«. Nominatives are "tears," "ruptures," and "rush. ' 217. Ecstasy. Gr. ekstasis. 228. Farm. Ashestiel. 230. The first foot is a trochee. With " tone " is made to rhyme " ou." I' < NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CAN'IO I. 153 old iorder ^va« le to rliynie 242. Trips it. Cf. the expletive use of " it " iu Milton, L'al- legro, 33. " Com, and trip it as ye go On the light fantastick toe." 243. Meeter. It is more suitable. Cairn. A heap of stones used as a monument. 255. Donglity. A. S. do/i^iijr, V)ravo, valiant. The word is now chiefly used irouically. Cf. Pope : " She smiled to see the doughty hero slain ; But at her smile the beau revived again." 256. Weeel«. Clothes (that are wed or woven). Now generally confined to a widow's dress. 258. Sir Launcelot, chief knight of the Bound Table is meant. 259. Morgana. Morgan le Fay, daughter of queen Igrayne, and half sister of king Arthur, who revealed to him the intrigues of Sir Launcelot and Guinever. She gave him a cup containing a magic draught, and Arthur had no sooner drunk it than his eyes were opened to the perfidy of his wife and friend. 260. Cliapel Perilous. The chapel visited by Sir Launcelot. 263. Ganore. Guinever, King Arthur's queen. 265. Tarquln, For a full account of King Arthur and the "Knights of the Bound Table," Turner's History of the Anglo Saxona, Warton's History of English Foetry, and Ellis's Metrical Roynances may be consulted. 2G8. Sangreal. " The vessel fiom which our Saviour drank at the Last Supper, and which (aa it is said) was afterwords filled by Joseph of Arimathea with the blood which flowed from his wounds. This blood was reported to have the power of prolonging life and preserving chastity. The quest of this cup forms the most fertile source of adventures to the Knights of the Bound Table. The story of the Sangreal or Sangraal was first written in verse by Chiestien de Troyes (end of the tenth century) thence Latinised (thirteenth century), and finally turned into French prose by Gautier Map, by 'order of Lord Henry ' (Henry III,). It commences with the genealogy of our Saviour, and details the whole Goapei history; but the prose romance begins with Arima- thea. Its quest is continued in 'Percival,' a romance of the fifteenth century, which gives the adventures of a young Welsh- man, raw and unex;oerienc:ed, but admitted to knighthood. At his death the Sangreal, the sacred lance, and silver trencher were carried up to 1 ,..1 in the presence of attendants, and have never since been &ecn ou earth." — Urewer's Dictionary of I'hrase and Fabls, 154 NOTES TO IN IRODUCTION. — CANTO I. Ui- IJ'<' M- '^ 1: 1 ^ I'X ' f See Tennyson's Idylls of the King, Quest of the Holy Grail, and Legend of Mart d' Arthur, vol. iii., c. 46. 273. The Faerie Queene. 274. Paradise Lost. 270. Dryden had the design of writing an epic poem abont King Arthur or the Black Prince. Ho refers to the project in an Essay on Siitire, addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and prefixed to the translation of Juvenal. He says that age, poverty, and want of countenance on the part of his patrons prevented its accomplish- ment. 277. King. Charles II. 281. See " The Development of English Poetry," page 14. 283. Dryden is compared to Sampson. An Alexandrine line. 289. Talisman (Gr. talcsma, consecration). A species of charm engraved on metal or stone. 2i)2. Cf . the opening stan^ra of The Lady of the Lake. 294. Cf. Spenser, " A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine." 299. Cf . Lady of the Lake VI., 9. 312. Yfeiie. An old Saxon name for the New Forest. 314. Sir Bevis of Hampton was the hero of one of the old ro- mances. He is said to have been a Christian chami)ion against the Danes in the time of King Edgar. Through the influence of Crusades the scene of his actions is laid chiefly in the Holy Land among the Saracens. The giant, Ascapart, was an associala of Sir Bevis. 315. Red King. William Rufus, who was shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel. 320. There is an English edition by Southey of Amadis de Gaulc which was written in Portugal by Vasco Lobeyra before Jhe year 1300. 322. Orlana. The beloved of Amadis. 325. Partenopex. In 1808 W. S. Rose published a poem, Par- tenopex de Blois, which was an attempt to modernise an old romance of the fourteenth century, entitled Parthenope de Bloia. ^^OTES TO MARMIOX CANTO I._THE CASTLB. f ^. — xaji, CASTLE hostiJpinf X- "^^ ^3 nnisterino. h;^ , ^ -^^^ o^ Scotland W. The wild /atare o7thl h°™'°"'' roooption. ;;/■ The peculiar gr/et>ec"r' "'''^■-^•" ^ .-1 tXr^ ^r »f -'«? the opening incident, "^"^:^o:l - 5^^^^^^^^^^ o, .e , »l""BaIIi„l,Ce ^Ivf"'.-^'''™'-"' ^- ••'^^deT ei" "«t' "'' I'l i ' T mmmmmm SI ■ Ul I , ','.V u 156 NOTES TO CAN'i'O I. crown, after it hadl)rlnng<>cl nearly r>Ofl years to the. See of Dnrhnm, The ruins of tlie castle arn {•(HiHiclfnililtt an well a; ])i{tiin stuu-, consisting of a large shattered tower, witli many vaults, and frag- ments of other edifices surrounded by a wall. 8. Cheviot. These nioiitita"n8 separate lioxburgh, in Scotland, from Northumberland, in ?2ngland. 4. Donjon. L. domino, or perhaps from the Celtic dii,!, a hill, English downs. Dunkirk = chiirch of the sandhills. The donjon contained the strongest part of the castle, hence dungcoii. 5. IioopUole. In the walls of a fortification are made openings, usually wider within than without, through which are dibcharg* d small arms and other weapons. 10. Pai'nis. Predicate noiuinative. Notice the peculiarity of rhyme and metre. II. — 1. Saint Geor(B;e. See note xiv., 11. 4. Scarce. For "scarcely" hy eii" Huge. See Introduction 52. 6. So has the preceding proposition as its correlative. 10. Timing and linniming agre.<' with "warder." III.— 3. Hoi-ncliir-iiill. N. E. of Norham, down the Tw siewera and seneschal.s." ^^-^'^^"^ TO CANTO ,. Squire. Qld p.. - "' '^^ door of cross timi . ^ '''■^''' '^ ^'"^.^ and cou^ ^'' ^ ''"^"lonor. '^'^^•'^ filled With Xter ""o "r^"""* '^'^^"^ w.ro •-, , could be hoistod or In,. ■ /• "^ ^^'''iwbridffe ovp^ \u '"''**• "»" a^ th... inner end of [^7'?"*- ^^ ^ p.>rt ^ Sf *^^' '^Pl'^'^^ch Notice tho a..f,»„*- "^ "^^I'V'ne. have the picture Xh°° observed in Scott's ^ • promptness with wCh th' Z^'' '^' "^'^rllioZ ''"'T'^ ' mentioned in rapid s„l„ ^ directions were ?// .' ^'^'^ *1^« V.-2. Recl.roa„ ?''^°°- ^^"^'^^ ^o-aU 3. Saddlebow. Thp ^ T'^''- ^- ^"/^^^ red ^^^^:^^rr^3?s:rS^ ^t., .hich ^•'^'■'»ed kin^ nn^^^'i "^ Richmond, who l! •^"^^"'^ ^"^ kijj.d »- ir,l3, wo% d t tw^^/^'^^ of Hen;; V r ^"^^^--ediateiy prj 13. Cas„„e. i' *^^«^<^y-eight years old '^ '^^^' «i«ce this 18. CarpH-icaigH^^^^;^- i^'* ^«*^**- ' ^^th unhatcled zl^ f ^''' "^•' ^- 'He i^/;*^ V., 14, ,,,i sou remarks : «. That [^ T "" ^'"'^^^ oonside^atl. "'^^' ^"^I'ed b''nneret dubbed xf' ^^ '' ^o soldier bv m-^? ' "^'^^re John f^eration afrl:t1 *-^^ '^^'^ °^ battle, ^Jr?"' '°* ^ ^->^- P'n>ht8 receive th^;^^ °^ «ome peaeelhl """ "^^«* eon. VI 2. Mii:,f /,r%^"-^-^ -oHn wt bur"""' -^^ '« ■^^^^dle Ages for their ;kiij7;r'*"*^^^'^^We^^^^^ I'l iS8 NOTES TO CANTO I. I ■• f ■?! :t - lowing paHsaj^e, in whidi FroiRsart pivps an arcount of the- prppar- atioris niado by Henry Earl of Ilfrcford {afterwards Henry IV i and Thomas Duko of Norfolk, Karl Miirischal, for their propo'-cd combat in tho lists at Coventry: — ' Tiu'se two lords wiade aiii|il(; provisions of all things necessary for tlie combat ; and tlie Earl ..f Derby sent off messengers to Lom])ardy, to have armour from Sir Galeas, Duke of Milan. The Duke complied with joy, and gavo the knight, called Sir Francis, who had brought the message, t)io choice of all his armour for tlu' Earl of Derby. When he litd selected what he wished for in plat» d and mail armour, the Lmd of Milan, out of his abundant love for tVie Earl, ordered four of the best armourers in Milan to accompany the knight of England, that the Earl of Derby might be more completely armed ' — Johne.b's ' Froissart,' vol. iv. p. H^)!."— Scott. 6. Falcon. L. falx, a sickle, applied to a kind of hawk from its hooked talons and beak. 9, Azidv. " A mistake in heraldry; hlack on blue, a colour on a colour, is not allowed ; the rule being colour on metal ; or metal on colour. A similar mistake occurs in Ivaiihoe, chap xxx. — a pad- lock painted blue on tlie black shield' — Mr. Nassau Senior, in re- viewing, Ivankoe, pointed out this strange coincidence, wliidi argued the identity of the then anonymous novelist and Sir Wal- ter Scott " — Chambers. 11. Checks »f . TnV^^ to stop. Dight. Doomed. 14. Houiiing. Fr. housse, the ornamental covering for a horse. VII. — 3. Gilded Spurs. To be made knights and wear gilt spurs. 6. Ring. The reference to the practise of tilting at the riii;,' where the horseman with his lance was to bear off at full gallop, a small ring hung at about the level of t^-e eye. 9. Uittiei^. A. S. dihtati, to c(nupose. VIII. — 2. Halbert. An ancient military weapon intended for both cutting and thrusting, formerly carried by sergeants of foot and artillery, being a kind of combination of a spear and a battle axe with a variously formed head and a shaft about six feet long. Bill. A hatchet with a hooked point. 4. Sumpter-mules. Those having pack-saddles (Fr. soma, Gr. sagma) and carrying loads. 6. Pa jfrey. A riding-horse, from Fr. palefroi, low li.parafreduf I L. paraveredus, from Gr. para, beside, L. veredus, a post-horse. [ 6. lilstwl. It pleased. See Mason's Grammar par. 247. 8. Porlsy pennon. "A swallow's tail" is still the technieall name of a nautical pennon forked into that particular shape. -J Morns, awk from its "OTES TO CANTO I '59 M. Bahdii lot, 20. Cl«,h.y,4- »•»■'»<«, a roq„e.,t. 11. A« then j 8 V/'i' ^'•*«' V. 20. • """"' "'k*. Cf. " Morrtee.C .„e. -, 0. Angela. «*>i„tji. ,. , *'<'«-cMncera" ^-^ a]Iu«ion, as some ^^f to^ ^.^''^ ^^--^ the atam. , f . angeh. (on which stor^se^s? T"^ "' Great'^i,,,/ T f^^''^' p. 7 ^1} ,^^; he . i^., . it7ml t'^!'^^^'« 'Memorials .f r' "^"^^^^ ««d ^"'-.butitwassomeVwat':-^ '*' -^""v-iel ^r'^--// I J. Br..ic. Bear " *^""' *e^ shilhngg ..^f^ '*': ^^^erent «.— 1. Pursutvanta w ''^^^' ants on heralds ' ^ '' P°^*uivre L *, T.„art«. The Tabard n. ' * ^'^''^^^'^or, attend- sleeves, whole before ^n ^''- ^«*«^^ Was a • . their armour. It was .hi * "^f^"' '^^<5 wo^n bv J] T^'^ ^'^"«''- The most picturesque of .11 . ' «**^^i«ii" or, obtained a grant of ttlo L 1 ill w I 1 1 -''. \ i6o NOTES TO CANTO I. castle and town of Tamv/- rth, and also of the manor of Scrivelhy in Lincolnshire. One, or both, of these noble ))os8essions was held by the honourable service of being the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marraion had formerly been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the castle and demesne of Tamworth had passed through four successive barons from Robert, the family became extinct in the person of Philip de Marmion, who died in 2fth Edward I. without issue male. He was succeeded in his castle of Tamworth by Alexander de Freville, who married Mazera, his grand-daughter. Baldwin de Freville, Alexander's descendant, in the reign of Rich- ard I., by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tamworth, claimed the office of royal champion, and to do the service appertaining- namely, on the day of coronation, to ride, completely armed* upon a barbed horse, into Westminster Hall, and there to challenge the combat against any who would gainsay the King's title. But this office was adjudged to Sir John Dymoke, to whom the manor of Scrivelhy had descended by another of tlie co-heiresses of Robert de Marmion ; and it remains in that family, whose representative is Hereditary Champion of England at the present day. The family and possessions of Freville have merged in the Earls of Ferrars. I have not, therefore, created a new family, but only revived the titles of an old one in an imaginary personage." — Scott. Scott says, "It was one of the Marmion family, who in the reign of Edward II., performed that chivalrous feat before the very castle of Norham, which Bishop Percy has woven into his beauti- ful ballad. The Heitnit of WarJcworth." 7. Fontenaye. A town in Normandy, no\7 in the department of Vendue, about twenty-seven miles N. E. of La Rochelle. 8. Iiutterward. Lutterworth, in Leicestershire. The parish church contains the pulpit in which Wickliffe addressed his congregation. Scilvelbaye. Or Scrivelhy, in Lincolnshire. 9. Tamwortn. On the Tame, in Staffordshire and partly in Warwickshire. Sir Robert Peel was member for this borough. 11. Marks. The mark was originally a weight, but like pound came to designate the name of a coin. Its value in England was 13s. 4d. 13. liargefitse* L. LargUio, "This was a cry with which heralds and pursuivants were wont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to have great claims upon the liberality of the knights, of whose feats they kept a record, and proclaimed them aloud, as in the text, upon suitable occasions" — S XII.— C. liordlings. Diminutive for " lord. " NOTES TO CANTO o Of iiaines*rnd^ff!* ^^^l'^^ ^ *he edge of Mofi, .u of contest He*!™^^^ *« a line foS.Lt ^° *^ ^ ^'^^^'^^^'^ ation wold mp'n T^^ CotswoJd Hills [^cT "^^""^ ^«"&ht. ««'wt« means a Jawn or r^i„ • "^ Gloucester TViJ* The wind that beats Vh ^^"^^'son, To J. s CO o More softly roi nd f h '"^"^^ain, blows 38. Ourselves. NotiopT ^ ""^^^ ^o^'^-" «,ve." notice the poetical license in .1, ^7- ^re^t. Crests w • ^' °^^*«"°^ <>' J«; The vanqJsh d'rXr ^"^^^ — ses ---r«;!.r^,^ S^^^^^^ '-^ ^a.n, hi. ^^-b'IWd,who:S^^rchat"^°^^^r^^^^^^^^^^ sodear. Moreover. +u unarms are said +0 ho, *°^ <» tJbe famous ed. a prisoner s'c^^L^rd^"^^"^^- ^-- Z^T^^^ "^"^ ^^ '-account of his share nf^' T^ ^"rrendered bV V '""^ '"PP°«- His wife, represtt^dl^trr^^^^^^^SirRoberfKr.^'^ ^° J'^nd, was, in fact Ih^., -^^^ *^^* «« residing, at tb A Cessford. -° Hkkon's curiou "12^- ^^^ ^-tle at Fold T\^' '^"*- 3. T^viseli. Tw^l]?^ ''^''^2' ^/ ^^'« -Heron ^7^^ ^'^ ^ich- descendants of thVi " ^^'"« °^ the Ti^ b", ^"'^*^2^-"->S^-o«. '^««^. Asoon ,?T'"^^^ai- ^'^^^^^^^totheBlates 5. Dea,. Or d„^ *^' ^^"' ^"d built in 1287 h c- h,„. Oi dais, a raised floor, or pS ^ ^'' "^' ^^^O". , il. Scott remarlcs--^. Th" u '' ''^^ ^^'^ °^ « l''^^3-dontL:;thor^;^"f-^-^ A hoax temrToT''"*' ^• ^^'^« owing to the faJt th^rr'"^' ^^^ ^ucceTs 'f fh 7*' *^^"" supported by historic ',*^' ^^«*« "mentioned in .\^''""P*^"" ^r. Surtee^s' n" ^ .^ rslr ^^^P-a^y ev" dtn" ''"^' ^^'^ «^at of the ancient fan L pT '-'' ^^'^^^''^o^^.T.ic.t th , • t^^e confluence of the.\n ^'^^y- ^« situated tun t-.^ '^'""^ I' taslee > W™" '""°"« '"«■«"•. S' in r," ^""^<' <" »"■"»«* I. Id ; \ '♦ > li 1 162 NOTES TO CANTO I. m of Sir Matthew Eidley. Ridley, the bishop and martyr, was, according to some authorities, bom at Hardriding, where a chair was preserved, called the Bishop's chair. Others, and particular- ly his biographer and namesake. Dr. Glocester Eidley, assign the honour of the martyr's birth to Willimoteswick. Will of the Wa' seems to be William Ridley of Walltown, so called from its situa- tion on the great Roman Wall. Thirlwall Castle, whence tlie clan of Thirlwalls derived their name, is situated on the small river of Tipple, near the western boundary of Northumberland. It is near the wall, and takes its name from the rampart having been thirled, i. e. pierced or breached, in its vicinity. Featherston Castle lies south of the Tyne, towards Alston Moor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, the chief of that ancient family, made a figure in the reign of Edward VI. A feud did certainly exist between the Ridleys and Featherstons, productive of such consequences as the ballad narrates." Notice the anapestic metre of this ballad which may be thus scanned; — . How the fierce Stout Wil And Hard Thirlwalls, and Rid | leys all, limondswick, I riding Dick, And Hugh | ie of Haw | don, and Will o' the Wall Have set on Sir Al | bany Feat | herstonhaugh, And ta | ken his life | at the Dead | man's-shaw. 16. D«'aclman'g-»lia-w. " Another reading is ' Doadmanshaugh. jffaw^fe, according to Ogilvy, is a Scotch word, connected with German hag, an enclosed meadow, and means low-lying ground, property on the border of a river, and such as is sometimes over- flowed. So hay in Devon, Bouhay, and Shilhay, on the Exe : wl.ereas shaw is from the Saxon acurpu, a shade. It means a thicket of trees, a small shady wood. Chaucer uses it — * Gaillard he was a ^oldtiuch in the shawe.' It is still used in Staffordshire, and is^f requeut in composition of names, as Aldershaw, Gentle- shaw." XIV.— 7. OiuH<. Or joust (Fr. juste, L. juxta), a mock-fight on horseback. 11. Saint George. England's patron saint; said to have been bom in Cappadocia; bishop of Alexandria; beheaded by order of Diocletian. His life was full of cruelty and fraud. It is stated that his picture was placed on the Saxon banners by Arthur in the sixth century and that he was the patron saint before the conquest, In 1330 he was adopted as the patron of the Order of the Garter. XV.— 1. Was8all-1>owl. This was a large bowl out of which the Saxons used to pledge one another at their feasts (A. S. wals- NOTES TO CANTO I. 163 hair alar- , the Fa' litua- a tV.e small id. It [ been eratoii ilhany figure ;en the , as the oe thus all ishaugh. ted with ground, les over- the Exe '. 1 means a Gaillard fordshire, Gentle- llc-fight on lave been order of is stated Ibhur in the ) conquest, ae Garter, of which S. wals- hael). Cf. Shak. L. L. L. V. 2, 318 "At waltea and wassails" Ham. 1, 4, 9, " keeps wassail " Macbeth, 1, 7, 64, " wine and was- sail so convince." And " to drink one's health." 10. Baby to wer»4. In the county of Durham, near the Tees, not far from Gainford. Formerly the Castle belonged to the Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, but now to the Duke of Cleveland. 11. Tlie bf-y. Constance de Beverley. 3LVI. — 8. liawdlrfarn. "Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumbf rland, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient m^mastery, and from its having been theepificopal^seat of the see f^i Durham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succession of holy men held that office : but tiieir merits were swallowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " patrimony" upon the extensive property of the see. The ruins of the monas- tery upoia Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The arches are, in general, strictly Saxon; and the pillars which support them, short, strong, and massy. In some places, however, there are pointed windows, which indicate that the building has been repaired at a period long subgequent to the original foundation. The exterior ornaments of the building, being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted as described in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, as the \«en€'rable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle, for, although surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry between it and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from which it is about three miles distant."- — Scott. 11. Gra«e. Cf. " Crowns were reserved to <7race the soldiers too," —Pope. " To grace us with your royal company." — Shak. 13. Pilgrimage. Walsingham and more especially Canterbury were the chief places to which pilgrims repaired in England. XVII. — 1. Unreck'd. A. S. recan, to care for. Taunt. Nominative absolute. 7. Darki^ome. *' It looks in spelling as if the termination be- longed to our pronoun so77ie but it is really connected with a differ- ent pronoun, namely same." — Earle. 10. Margaret. Dai,'gliter of Henry VII. 12. Falcon. Falcons we\-e carried on the hand with a hood over their heads before being started in pursuit of game. 13. Lieagli. L. laqueus. Used to hold the falcons. XVIII.— 1. Bride. Margaret. 4. Notice the rhyme. 10. Warbeck. Perkin Warbeck, or Peter Osbec. He pretended to be Eichard, Duke of York. f 164 NOTES TO CANTO I. 'If- 11, Gibbet. Fr. gibet. 13. Ayton. In Berwickshire. XIX. — 3. ISiiow. Enou^'h. 4. Dunbar. In Haddingtonshire, about thirty mile-; from Edinburgh. 6. Saint Bothan. A convent of this nsune was in Berwick- Bhire. It was founded by William the Lion. There were no monks there. 6. Liauderdalc. I« the same oour.ty. 7. Oreenla^v. Capital of the county. 8. By this phrase the Borderers "jocularly intimated the burn ing of a house." XX. — 4. F«»rayer8. Perhaps derived from fodder or forage. 6, B«t. Introduces the prop., " The sight," &c. 9. Alluding to the famous Border stiifes. 16. Pardoner. One licensod to sell indulgences granted by the Pope. The system was attacked by Luther. Chaucer ridiculed it in hie poetry. 16. Pll;i;riin. L. paJagriniM. XXI.— 4. Piirsuivantl Cf. I. xi., 1. 6. Pursuivants resided in their important fortresses, and were frequently sent on necessary emr)asHies into Scotland. 7. BiMbop. Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham. 9. "Ween. A. S. wenan, to think. 10. liast Siege. In 1498. when Norham was besieged by James IV. 12. Stinted. A. S. stintaii, 15. Vicar, L. vicariiis. The vicar of a parish acts in plat r of the rector. 17. SJsoreswood. A village near Norham. 18. Tilliaouth. At the mouth of the Till. Still are to be seen the ruins of St. Cuthbert's Chapel. 26. Ne-weastle. Chief town of Northumberland. Holy-Roo«l. The palace of the Scottish kings. 29. Bede. The venerable Bede (673-735) Wrote Lives of tli.' Saints and Ecclesiastical History. It was said an angel added tli'^ term venerable to the inscription on his tomb. 32. Biigbtrig. So called from the ridge where the bugkt ov sheepfold is. 34. ^.ans. Without. 35. Cburl. For change of meaning cf. "boor," "prude," " villain." 37, Sbrieve. To receive confession and grant absolution. NOTES TO CANTO I. 165 from ■rwick- ive. no Le burn- jd by tbc ridiculed and were by James in placr to be seen Lives of th ■ \\ added th'^ le bughi or l»» "prude," llution. XXII — 1. S«li>r. " The Selbys of Biddlestown, an old North- umbriwi family, haire intermarried with the Herons." — Chambers- 4. "Woe. EKstinguish from wo. 8. An ancient gmne resembling back^am.mon. 11. Ne«clfulle«t. Terminational comparison was formerly used to a much-fjfreater extent than at present. 23. Fay. Faith. XXII. — 1. Palmes. A pilgrim to the Holy Land was privil- eged to carry a palm-staff. A Palmer was not like a pilgrim privileged to return to private life but spent his days in visivlng holy shrinee. 2. S«.l«n». Jerusalem. 3. Tomb In Jenisalem. 6. Ararat in Armenia. C£. Oen. viii. , 4. 12. lievln. Lightning. 14. The cockle-shell was sacred to James the patron saint of Spain. There was a shrine of his near Compostello. 16. Monserratt A mountain in the north east of Spain. 19. Saiitt Rosalie. A maid of Palermo, in Sicily. She lived in an almost inaccessibh^ grotto. XXIV.— 1. Saint George. A fraternity was formed in 1386, at Norwich, in honour of St. George. Merry. Cf. the phrase, " St. George and merry England." 2. Saint Thonaag. Thomas h Bccket. 3. Cuthbert. Prior, but subsequently Bishop of Landisfarne. 10. But. Notice tlie construction — he kens or 'cares as little as the wind (kens or cares), &c. 12. •' This poem has faults of too great magnitude to be passed without notice. There is a debasing lowness and vulgarity in some pasHages, which we think must ))e offensive to every reader of delicacy, and which are not, for the most part, redeemed by any vigour or picturesque effect. The venison patitiea, we think, are of this description ; and this commemoration of Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who ' Have drunk the monks of St. Bothau's ale,' &c. The long account of I'riar John, though not without merit, offends in the same sort, nor can we easily conceive how any one could vouture* in a serious poeri, to speak of • * the wind that blows, And warms itself aqainst his nose.' " — Jeffrey. XXV. — 1. Graniercy. Grand vierci, great thanks. 4. .leopavrty. Fr. jeu perdu, a lost game. Better jeu parti, a divided game. Some give Ger. gefahr, danger. f r i66 NOTES TO CANTO I. 9. Angels. Cf. X. 8. 13. «Tovial. Cf. saturnine, 'merct^ridi, and disastrous. XXVI. — 8' Sootli to tell. Adverbial complement of " mur- mured. " 18. Ave»ii. Prayers to the virgin {ave Maria, Hail Mary). Cree«l.«. L. credo. XXVII.— 8. Coirl. A roonk's hook. L. cuculltts. 12. Scallop ofetell. The shell of a molluflc. They are found abundantly on che co»3t of Palea4ine and worn by pilgrimB. 13. Ijoretto. A town on the east coast of Italy aod famocts for a shriue of the Virgin Mary. 16. Buttget. A nttle bundle. Scrip. A small ba^'. 17. Jeffrey remarkfi^ " The first presentment of the mysterious Pahner is laudable." XXVm_3. WUhal. An adverb. 8. P«er. L. p*i>r, equal. XXrX. — 7. St. Andrew!^. A town in Pifeshire, Imbous for iie university. 9. Saint Rnle. This saint lived a h^THui id a oave in the rocks overhanging the sea at St. Andrews. 12. St. Fillan. Abbot of Pittenweeu in ¥rie»bive. In Perttj- flhire there was a ^^^ell sacred to him. Cf. Lady of t}*e Lake I., 2. XXXI. — 4. Hasty masti. One taken before sona£ urgent du4y. 8. Stirrup-cup. Given to the guest after mooaiiag. 'Nir I NOTES TO MARMION. a l4r«*pf r*t,f ™«^''»». '^'^^ "" the fo«rth ^^. ^".chins,. Lurking ^2. RTewark*. tourer. a* •'^6. Mfslitsee. What ,'«, fK i- ^ 0..r.e the ttipt? '^""''' ^^ ^^ -eat. b'iTen to the gune nZ'' .J^' ^''« heart and its .., Noti""tr;*rdn;i '^IV'^ """^ <" »-ket. '» 'his parish i; i;7r """^^ ""^ "^'^"k Shepherd," w« b«„ castle on the ■ I Hi ■ ^M fr 1 1 i !■: 1 68 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO IL Tarrow. Flows into the Tweed. 55. ErMt. Formerly, the superlative of ere. OutlHMT. An outlaw, John Murray, is said to have been made ;heriflf of Bttrick Forest by a charter of James IV. in 1509. 61. Holt, A woody hill. G3. More fleet. Wha-t is the complenaent of comparison ? 64. Dull. Predicate adjective. 67. iKire. Learning. 70. Nor hill. JVor used for w^t^^er. 71. But. Equivalent to a negative and a relative. 73. Bowhill. On the delta formed by tlie confluence of the lOttrick and Yarrow. 81. Elves. Fairies. Janet. She married Tamlane who had been brought up by the fairies. See Border Minstrelsy. 83. Carterliaugh, the scene of the ballad. The termination Jtttugh is of Norwegian origin and means a meadow by the side of a river. 84. Baron. George Henry, Lord Scott, son of Charles, Earl of Dalkeith (afterwards Duke of Buccleuch and Queensbury). Lord Montagu (to wl;om Marmion was inscribed) was his uncle. The young nobleman (Mr. Marriott was his tutor) died a few days after the poem was published. 85. Forest-Slieriir. See note on 55. 86. Ape, to imitate servilely or ambitiously. Cf. Dryden : — ^^ Aping the foreigners." 87. Oberon. King of the faires. 89. Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, afterwards Duchess of Bu( cleuch. 90 Sylplild Q,neen. Queen of the fairies. Sylphs, according to the belief of the middle ages are the elemental spirits of the air. They were so named by the Rosicrucians and Cabalists from the Greek silphc, a butterfly or moth, 91. Earth. The indirect object. See Mason's Gram., par. 80. 92. Could. For the spelling, see Mason's Grammar, par. 243. 96. Noontide. Cf. " springtide," " Whitsuntide," &c. "Tide" is akin to the German (seit, 98. Pensive. L. penso, to weigh. 102. Yair. On the Tweed a couple of miles below Ashestiel. 106. I^ord. Alexander Pringle, the owner. 107. Notice the i*hyme. 108. Boys. Pringle's sons. - 113. WaUa45e. Sir WiUiam. IVlght. A person. NO'IES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO II. 169 iU madf a? le of tlic Tht up by rniination ihe side of es, Earl of ry) . Lord acle. Tlic days after rden : — 388 of BU( according of the air- Its from the I., par. 80. 1 par. 243. "Tide" shestiel. 122. Tide. A metapiiur. Notice its coutiuution. 124. Pate. Person i.fcatio?i. 1*26. Notice the meluiicholy allusion to youtliful days with their pleasing scenes and joyous associations, and the comparison with llie sterner duties of rii)or years. 147. This finely written line was suggested by the sanic; beauti- ful sheet of water which, according to Scott, drew from Wordsworth tlie lines : — "The swan on swert St. Mary s lake Floats double, swan and shadow," 154. ]»Iirror. A metaphor. 177. This chapel at the eastern extremity of St. Mary's Lock continued to be a place of worship during ihe seventeenth century. 187. Of. " And may at last my weary age f'iiKl out the peaceful liermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth show, , And every herb that sips the dew ; Till old experience do attain To something like proplietic strain." — II Penaero8o. 189. Boui-hope. A hill 2,000 feet high, on the south side of the l:ike. 195. Dryhope Tower was at the eastern end of St. Mary's r,ake, supposed to have been the birth-place of Mary Scott, the • Flower of Yarx'ow," who was bmied in the adjoining cemetery. 198. Bills. What is the object ? 202. " Wizard's grave, a mound at one corner of the burial .ground, called Binram's Corse, where tradition places the remains ;)f a priest named Binram, who had dealings with the Evil One. The ballad of Mess John, in Hogg's Mountain Bard, tells the .tory at len^ih.."— Chambers. 237, Palmer. De Wilton. 239. liocli Skene. Noted for its rough scenery. 269. liinn. A rocky torrent. 262. Giant's Grave. A long tumulus neai. the foot of the cascade. 263. MolTatdale, (Valley of Moffat). A town in Dumfriesshire, 264. Isis. The Thames at Oxford. 267. Man of woe. De Wilton. t c fo taj tra NOTES TO MARMION. -»♦- CANTO 11. —THE CONVENT. In this Canto may be noticed : — (a) The vivid picture of the places seen in the voyage from Whitby to Holy Isle. (6) The interesting description of the nuns. (c) The legends of Whitby and St. Hilda— (1) The punishment of the knights for killing a monk. (2) The story of Edelfred. (3) The fossil ammonites. (4) The sea-fowls. (d) The tales of St. Cuthbert— (1) His burial. (2) The influence of his banner at the battle of the Standard. (3) His assistance to Alfred. (4) The punishment of the Conqueror. • (5) Saint Cuthbert's beads. (e) The increased interest in the plot through Constance's stoi-y. (/) The Chapter and doom of Constance. !• — 4. Notice the effect of the compound words. 6. Breeze. The noun and pronoun are by poetical license nomi- native to the same verb. 7. Par, modifies the following adjimct. 9. "Whitby. ««The Abbey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconry t)f Cleaveland, on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A.D. 057, in consequence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northumberland. It con- tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order ; but con- trary to what was usual in such establishments, the ^^bess was superior to the abbot." — Scott^ 10. St. Cuthbert. See) Ro^e t^ Canto I., 24, 3. :•! j.-t. \:^f >i 172 NO IKS 10 CANTO II. J/ . fflH it till I' Ml-' M: Sec Mason's ll ii Holy U\f. Soo lu.to to Canto I., 1(5, 8. H. As. (She* would buiiiid if) alio were, (^'c. (Traiiinuir, par. 503. IH. Freight. The cai^o ^^'an the abbess and lums. 20. St. IIil:e convent ; a slender pittance of food ana water was deposited in it, a:^d the awful words, Vads in Face, were the signal for immuring thq criminal. It is Some edition! have " inspires." I 176 NOTES TO CANTO II. ;:* . M not likely that in latter times this punishment was otten resorted to; but, among the ruins of the Ahbey of Coidingham were some years ago discovered the remains of a female skeleton, which, from the sliape of the niche and position of the figure, seemed tc he that of an immured nun." — Scntt. XXV1._10. " Mr, Scott has judiciously combined the horrors ot the punishment with a very beautiful picture of the offender, so as to heighten the interest which the situation itself must necessarily excite ; and the struggle of Constance to speak before the fatal sentence is finely painted." — Monthly Review. XXVII.— 8. Traitor. Marmion. 13. "Who. Antecedent me applied in my» XXVIII — King. Henry Vin. Favourite. Marmion. 2. Rival. Be Wilton. 3. Plight. Plihtan, to pledge. 4. Attaints. To find guilty of a crime, especially cf felony or treason, and thereby subject to forfeiture of civil rights and cor- ruption of blood. 6. liists. The ground enclosed for a contest. Trial by wager of battle was an ancient practice in Northern Europe and especially among the Normans who introduced it into England. It was employed in (1) eases of honour ; (2) appeals of felony, and (81 (linputes as to ownership of property. The disputants might fight either personally or by champions. A notable instajice was that of Henry Bolingbroke and Norfolk, where, however, I'tchard II. hindered the combat. The last combat in a civil cage was in 1571, though authorized duels in cases of honour took place as late as 1638. Early in this century a statute was passed abolishing trial by combat in all cases. 7. Oat lis. Before joining issue, the combatants made oath that they had not called in the aid of sorcery, or other unlawfnl means, to prejudice the fight. Notice the chr nge of metre and the greatt r effect impartod. 14. According to the commojx bcliof Heaven decided the issue. XXIX. — 6. ' Previous to becoming a nun it was usual to pass :i certain time in the convent as a novice, during which period tlu' intending nun was free to change her intention. She had noi 'taken the vows;' she was 'unprofessed.' If at the end of her novitiate she still desired to retire from the world she took thf^ vows by which she was thenceforth bound." 11. CaltiflT, L. captlDii.i, through Fr. chttif, a slave or captive. Hence one morall' deT ;a< a NOTES TO CANTO II. 177 sorted ■ some ijironi r>e thai rrors of ir, 80 as essarib* he fatal felony or 8 aud cor- by wager iirope aud p England. )ny, and (B) uiglit fight e was that ^tchard II- f&B in 1571) e as late as ishing trial le oath t\iat ;fnl means. 1 the greater jthe issue. [al to pass a period thr fbe had not end of her Ihe took tli^ or captive. 12. Repair. Fr. repairer, to visit ono's native country. Be- pair, to mend, is from L. reparare, literally to prepare again. 15. DaHtartl. A coward. 16. What peculiarity in the metre ? XXX. — 9. Men of death. The executioners. 12. It. Used indefinitely. XXXI. — 2. Rome. Pronounced room, which seems to have been the old pronunciation. Cf. Shakespeare : " Now is it Eome indeed, and room entjugh." — Julius CcBsar, I., II., 16(3. "That I have room with Eome to curse awhile." —King John, III., I., 180. 6. They are warned by Constance that if Marmion's love for her should revive he would execute a vengeance on her slayers more terrible than the ravages of the Danes. See XIV., 5. 6. Rather. Modifies " shall wish." 7. " Constance is here made, by a poetical license, to foretell the Eeformation, naturally regarded as the triumph of darkness by the adherents of the old religion. At this time (A.D. 1513) the impulse which led to this great event was beginning to be felt, and the preaching of Luther was already making a stir in Germany." — Morris. 8. Crosier. A bishop's staff surmounted by a cross. 9. Henry VIII. and his minister, Thomas Cromwell, suppressed tlie monasteries. 10. Notice the example of vision and metonomy. XXXII. — 6. Her v^oice, ell," was regarded as the sign of the duath of a friend. XIV.— 1, Illarmfoii. In apposition to " him," in 7. 11. Strook. Struck. 12. That, (fee. This proposition may be regarded as the comple- iiifliit of degree to " so." 15. Featlier. Metonomy. XV. — 3, Auf^ured. Suspected. L. avis, a bird. The augurs iibserved the flight of birds before revealing the future. 19. Notice the violation of rhyme. 13. A poetical license, iil. Otlier. Otherwise. XVI. — 3. STipi)ly " conscience," with which " awakened " agrees, forming an absolute elause. 4. Say. For "tjaying." XVII. — 4. Notice the examples of metonomy, 6. Mantlefl. Covers. 7. Fleree and unfeminine. Adjectives qualifying " frenzy " and "despair." 10. The breach of convent vows was regarded as a very great crime. , 12. Metonomy. 20. I the vau^e. An absolute phrase. 23. Mandate. Tliis prevented his returning for Constance, 37. Sl»«>d. Cut. rf. CantoII.,xxxi., 3. XVm. — 3. ItiU.^ ^vliirlwiiids. A simile. 4. VennaoHar. A lake in the south-west of Perthshire. XIX. — 1. Cl«rk. Since in ancient times the clergyman was ibout the only pers(m who could read and write, the word clerical, as " clerical error," came to mean an error in spelling. As the respondent in church was able to read he was styled the clerk. (L. clcricus.) 2. .Vl«xauder. Alexander III. (1249-1286). 4. Eke. Likewise. 5, Sir Hugo. Sir Hugh Gifford de Tester lived in the 13ti'. ( tntni-y and was reputed to be a great magician. 10. Gobliu-Hall. A subterranean cave in the cattle of Gifford supposed to have been constructed by magical art. 12. Gave. Allowed. 24. Dunbar. A town in Haddingtonshire, XX, — 5. Consult History of England. H,;^ 1 86 NOTES TO CANTO IIL II n. riyde. One of the most important rivers in Scotland. 7. Haco. «« In 1263, Haco, King of Norway, came intf) the Frith of Clyde with a powerful armament and made a descent at Lai <,'s in Ayrshire. Hfre he was encountered and defeated on the 2iid October, by Alexander III. Haco retr«ftted to Orkney where he died soon after this disgrace to his arms. There axe still existing, near the place of battle, many barrows, some of which, having been opened, were found, as usual, to contain bones and urns."— Scott. 8. lVor\«reyaii. Shakespeare uses this form of Norwegian in Macbeth. 9. Examples of the genitive of reference. 11. But« and Arra,n are islands in the Frith of Clyde. The northern portion of Ayrshire is called Cunnlngliame, the central Tliyle, and the southern Carrick. 17. Mantle. Nominative absolute. 22. Pentacle. Gr. pente, five. A piece of fine linen folded with five corners, representing the five senses, and suitably in scribed with magical characters. According to some it Represents the five wounds of Christ. » 26. Combust. L. comburo, to burn. A term in astrology to indicate that a heavenly body is not above eight degrees and a half from the sun. Retrograde. An astrological term denoting motion contrar}- to the order of the signs. Trine. Denotes a triangular position of planets — a beni^ni aspect of a heavenly body. XXI. — 2. Cf . the description of " Brian " in Lady of the Lake. 6. Aa. "AiB the eyesight of one," &c. XXU_2. Racking. Drifting. 6. Still. Always. "The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined notion of their attribiites, believe in the existence of an intermediate class of spirits, residing in the air, or in the waters; to whose agency they ascribe fi..>.)'Is, storms, and all sndi phenomena as their own phUoeophy cannot readily explain. They are supposed to interfere in the affairs of mortals, sometimes witli a malevolent purpose, and sometimes with milder views." — Scott. 14. " It is a popular article of faith that those who are born on Christmas or Qood Friday have the power of seeing spirits, and even of commanding them. The Spaniards imputed the haggard and downcast looks of their Philip II. to the disagreeable visions to which this privilege subjected him." — Scott. As Alexander III. was born on the 4th September, 1241, which could not have been Good Friday or Christmas day, the careless ROTES TO CANTO III. 187 ; Frith he 2m\ aero Vio dsting, having urns."— igian ii> le. Thp e central m folcled itably in •epreseuts trology to and a half contrary -a benign ie Lake- iving any dstence of jor in the Id all Bncli lin. They limes with 1 >'__Sco^f. ^e horn on [irits, and le haggard Ijle visions Ul, which [e careless hahitsof Bperoh of the lower clasRPS are well exhibited by the poet. 19. Oramercy. Fr. grand merci, many thanks. 22. We have here an anachronism, since Richard I. died in 1199, forty years before Alexander wap born. 27. Malcolm. King of Scotland, called Caen-mohr. XXIII. — 5. I«eft-liand the tovrn. On the left hand of the town. Pirtlsli. The Picts were the ancient inhabitants of north- ern Scotland. Their character was savage and their religion Druidical. The Scots, who came from Ireland, subjugated them, 6. The religion of the Druids required human victims in its rites. 13, Bowshot. Adverbial adjunct of distance. See Mason's Grammar, par. 372. 15, Ponr points. The cardinal points. 20. EnKlanil'n King. Edward I. Wr have here another anachronism since this monarch did not ascend the throne of England till 1272. The battle of Largs was fought in 1263. He did not set out for Palestine until 1269. 26. liengtli of limb. Edward I. was surnamed Lorgshanks, 28. Consult history of England. XXIV.— 6. Visor. L. video. The part of the helmet which protected the face. 11, Ijui-gs. -'Largs is in AjTrshire, on the eastern bank of the estuary of the Clyde. In 1263 Haco, King of Norway, invaded Scotland with a powerful fleet. After taking the islands of Arran and Bute he disembarked his forces at Largs to give battle to the Scots who were assembled there under their king, Alexander III. Owing to a storm he was only able to land a part of his troops ; he therefore suffered a decisive defeat (1263). Heaps of stones stUl mark the spots under which the slain lie, and barrows which, being opened, have been found to contain urns and bones." — Morris, 37. Shadowy Kingg. Haco and Alexander seen in the vision. 18, ilavens. The traditional standard of the Scandinavians. Bo-wered. Seldom used in a transitive sease. 20. Alluding to the expedition, in 1801, against Copenhagen, It may refer to thf> attack six years later. XXV. — ^9, Dunfermline. Here Malcolm resided with his wife, sister of Edgar Atheling. 11, Our Lady. The Virgin Mary. 16. The contests during the days of chivalry. XXVI. — 1. ^uaigh. Wooden cups composed of staves hooped together. 9. Targe. A shield. if^ m ^ 1 88 NOTES TO CANTO III. XXVr?:i._7. Me. The etliical dative. 15. liarkiing. Agrees with "Eustace." XXIX. — 1, Good my youth.. My good youth, 3. C'hapelle. Chapel. 12. Elves. Faii-ies. XXXI — 8. Yode. Went. 10. SeUe. Saddle. CO. 78. 88. 89. 9.1. at the .if j- ' 101. 105. of she] 109. NOTES TO MARMION. INTEODUCTION TO CANTO IV. Skene. James Skene of Rubislaw, Aberdeenshire, was comei ill the Royal Edinburgh Light Horse Volunteers, and Sir Walter ^vaa quartermaster of the same regiment. His sketches, illustrat- iiif,' Scott's poetical works and novels, have been published. 1. Minstrel. Shakespeare. '2. See Taming of the Skrew, IV., 1. 3. Cloivn. *' Touchstone" in As You Like It. 4. Jacques. The *• Melancholy Jacques," a character in the same play. 9. Riding. Supply "we." An absolute clause. 10. Notice the hyjallago. 19. Ken. Sight. 30. Cares. Subject of "denied." 37. Places in Selkirkshire. 42. Rack. Drift. 43. Shepliei-d. Subject of "finds" in 64. 47. What peculiarity of coustructiou ? 50. Dan. Gloomy. 78. Pell. Mountain moorland. 88. An absolute clause. B9. Close. Qualifies "swain." 91. Scott mentions the fact that an unfortunate man perished at the time as here described. 95. YarroMT. The shepherd's dog. 101. Kirn. The Scottish harvest-home. 105. Arca'dla. A district in ancient Greece noted as a pf-iadint of shepherds. 199. Notice the numerous »nfla for 8mm> tiieAd placi'l th( annsnl' btion of the in the field I hiishaud of 'Earl Adair.. fiEdinhurgh. d St. Katli- 13. The thistle appears to have heen the national badge of Scotland ia the reign of James III ; the Order of the Thistle was formally instituted by James VII (11 of England) more than 150 jears after the events of the text. XVII.— 12. Woman. Lady Heron. 14. Doubly warned. From war and women. 20. Marslial. John Inglis, named in Pitscottie's accoimt of the apparition. Cast. Planned. XVIII.— 4. Liiiitening. What peculiarity of construct'.on ? 18. Even. Modifies the next prop. XIX — 9. "Wold. A forest. 15. Supply "that "before "it." XX — 3. View. For " viewed." 7. CUamplon. Partly the object of "view" and partly the subject of "rise." , XXr — 4. High. Modifies " o'er my head." 15. Notic' the faulty construction. 30. That. What peculiarity of construction ? XXII. — 7, Brian Biiliner. He meets a Scotch knight and is overthrown. The knight promised to spare him if he v/ould not pray to Go3, the Virgin or any saint. Bulmer, hearing him men- tion some obscenity, utters '. i Jesu and instantly the other fled. 10. Gleuuiore. Scott mentions a prevalent belief tiiat the place was haunted. 18. Places in the northern Highlands. 30. Howne. Make ready. XXIII.— 1. Dun-Edln. The hill [dun) of Edwin. 4. Consult life. 5. storied lore. Traditional stories. 6. Passing. See Mason's Grammar, par. 372-5. 8. Braid. Near Edinburgh beyond the Blackford hills. XXIV — 2. Wliin. Furzo. 8. Saint Giles. The cathedral. XXV. — 4. Bent. Grassy expanse. 6. This " moor" was of great extent. 8. Epanorthosis. 17. This line Hutton remarks "seems to have more of the poets Rpccial magic of expression than is at all usual with Scott. The ooiKcption of the i)eaceful green oak-wood taming the glaring v.liito of the tvnited field, is .as fine in idek as it is in relation to the pff( ( t of the mere colour on the eye." XXVI.— 1. Hel.»udes. Old name of the Hebrides. 8. Beds-wire. A part of one of the Cheviots. ,i j»' ! '« r * I* *t 194 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 4. Rosse. One of the northern counties. 11. Notice the increased liveliness by the variety of the metre. XXVII. — 9. Cannon cast by one named Borthwick. 10. Culvfrlns. A kind of long cannon. XXVIII.— 6. Pencil. Suspended. Bandrol. A kind of small flag. 18. Ramped. Heraldic term. A beast of prey^is rampant when depicted standing up on its hind-legs, XXIX. — 6. Falcon. Marmion's crest. 14. Metonom,y. XXX. — 14. xhe famous Caatle of Edinburgh is th« oldest part of the city. 20. Oclili. In Perth. 23. Fife. North of the Forth. 24. Preston. Near the Forth. Ber-M iek-lan«.n Ne-'.r North Berwick. 33. Demi-volte. Ii. .^wu', half and volte. XXXI.— 4. Sackbut. A kind of trumpet. Psaltery. A Hebrew stringed instrument. 10. Prime. An early service of the Cluiroh. 15. Saint-Rocque. No account is found of this saint though several chapels were named after him. 19. Folkland -wroods. In Fifeshire. XXXII._2. Edinburgh. 14. Leagured. Besieged. 21. Stowre. Battle or commotion. i:»« 111 metre. ampO'^^ lest part NOTES TO MARMION. ■^♦- nt though INTRODUCTION TO CANTO V. £31118. George Ellis (1745-1815) is well known as an accom- plished editcj of Specimens of the Early Encflish Poets and Metrical Romances, w^hich so much contributed to i vive the modern taste for these studies. His antiquarian tastes made him a congenial companion of Scott, who, when in England, was fre- quently his guest at Suniiir.^^hiH, near Windsor, where part of the two first cantos of Marmion was written. 1. Glooms. For a similar transitive foi'ce cf . Goldsmith, Deserfe^Z Village : " What sorrows gloomed that parting day." 2. Regard. A look. 3. Scant. Sw. skona, Ice. skanta, a measure. 4. Notice the alliteration. 5. Regui-fl. Fr. regarder, to look at, hence a glance. 6. See Introduction, page 20. 9. Tropliy. Gr. tropaion, a monument of an enemy's defeat [trope, a turning) ; a pile of arms taken from a vanquished foe, raised on the field of battle, or a representation of such in marble. 14. Parlour. Fr. parler, to speak. 15. Scott was very fond of dogs and horses. See Life. 18. Hardiest step, if //^aWafl'c, "hardiest" properly applying to him who makes the "step." 19. Path is none. There is no path. See Mason's Grammar, par. 166. Save. See Mason's Grammar, par. 282. To bring. Gerundial infinitive. 21. Conned. A. S. cunnaii. 23. Darltling. **In the dark; either, literally, in the early darkness of a December day, or, metaphorically, in allusion to his I' am ' 196 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION.— CANTO V. 17 I' heing in tho dark as to what was goinj:^ on, on account of the want of communication with the outside world occabioiied by the linger- inf< post." — Chambers. 2f;. Wains. "Waf,'ons. 27. I come, &c. The first principal proposition. 30. Foiest. Ettrick Forest in Sekirkshire. See Introduction to Canto II. Melanchioly. Gr. melas, black, and chole, bile. This is one of a class of words which arose from the old theory of medicine. According to this theory there were four i)rincipal moistures in the body, on the due proportion and combination of which tlio disposition of both mind and body depended. Consult Trench, Study of Words, lectui-e III. 33. Need. Distinguish fx'om " needs. " See Mason's Grammar, par. 247. 35. Newark. See Introduction to Canto II., 32. 37. Caledonia's Q,ueen. Edinburgh, where this Introduction was written. " The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north by a lake, now drained, and on the south by a wall, which there was some attempt to make defensible, even so late as 1745. The gates and the greater part of the wall have been pvilled down in the course of the late extensive and beautiful enlargement of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Thomas Campbell, projiosed to celebrate Edinburgh under the einthet here borrowed. But the " Queen of the North " has not been so fortunate as to receive from so eminent a pen the proposed distinction." — Scott. 38. Ranged. Qualifies " she " in 42. 39. Steepy. Steep. 41. Laky flood. The Old Town was secured by a lake, now drained, the bed of which forms the Princess Street Gardens. On the south it was guarded by a wall. 44. Save. Supply ** entrance or resort." 46. PovtcuUis. See Canto I. IV., 1, 13. 51. ** The low and narrow wicket, as compared with the wide entrance afforded by the large city gateway, was suggestive of tlie contrast between a grudging and a hearty welcome." — Chambers. ChurlLslily. A. S. ceorl, a country-man. The word is gener- ally applied to persons, but sometimes to things. Like villain and boor the word churl has become degraded. They were ap- plied to the cultivators of the soil, who it was assumed would be coarse, rude, and unmannerly. See Trench, English, Past and I'resient, lecture VII. NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. - -CANTO V. 197 S7- The author actnnll , '"'' ^'''1'""'. &". ^ '^"'™ """ 58. Pmbered Wer TT ? '">™"ny-" 61- "Instead of vl, I" *, """^'ive sense. Malbecco. a «tVn\' f *^^*- miserly and mp^r, ^_^^»^ei"ed, crabbed earl " ^.^ a^ne plural of /»,,, „;„,J ^- «■ "-'lu,., u^ilon. proi^erly the rescues Un . r V""^ '^^f^ncealed. At Jen^f h q c ^"'^^ ^"^ ^^ns, ^^'■^orma^ on t "'"'^^"' *^' '^^'^ hovv 4Vv Iffi 'u' '"'^ *^^^ ^^^ , uiciuon to serjarate Trnfh f t. ^ tiifficult it was «+ +v, |tf«««.,BookI. "= ■I'-'th from Error. See Spenser'sXtt . t.'l yfr-^m ■m 198 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO V. ■ r,' t* ifiAi't Tj 85. Dnr«t. Spe Mason's Grammar, par. 246. Pai-ldel. A male coquette whose delight was to win women's hearts and then desert them. See Spenser's Faerie Qucene, Bk. III. 88. Bitromarte. Daughter of king Kyence of Wales, whoso desire was to be a heroine. She is the impersonation of saintly chastity and purity of mind. She encounters the "savage, fiene bandit and mountaineer," without injury ; is assailed by " hag and unlaid ghost, goblin, and swart fairy of the mine," but "dashes their brute violence into sudden adoration and blank awe." She is not the impersonation of celibacy, as she is in love with an im- known hero, but of " virgin purity." See Spenser's Faerie Queeyie, Book III. 92. Than, "Than thou didst seem in that panoply of war." 94. Are fluvirit. Cf. "is come." 96. Still, Epizeuxis. 100. Scott had, some time before the publication of Marmion, taken great interest in the volunteer movement, which was occa- sioned by the fear of a French invasion. He was one of the originators of the Edinburgh Light Horse Volunteers, formed iu 1797. For, In place of. Breasts, Nominative absolute. Full. An adverb modifying " red." Mural crown. " The poet here reverts to the idea of a city surrounded by a wall, not one pinnacle of which will be allowed to suffer injury. The inural crown of the Romans was one in the form of a battlemetited wall, g^ven to the soldier who first scaled the wall of a besieged town. It has, however, no con- nection with the present passage beyond suggesting the expres- sion." — Chambers. 106. Knosp. An unopened bud and therefore, in ai:ohitecturc, an oi-nament resembling a bud. 109. Renowned, Agrees M'ith "Dun-Edin." 111. IVhose, Refers to " virtue " (hospitality). 112. See Genesis xviii, 113. "Wrestle, In allusion to Jacob wrestling with the angel at Peniel till he gained his petition. See Genesis xxxii. 114. What peculiarity of metre ? 116. The first foot is a trochee. 117. York. Edward IV. of England, a descendant of Edmuml Duke of York, son of Edward III. 118. Henry, Henry VI. of England, after his defeat at Towton by Edward of York in 1461, found refuge in Edinburgh. 101. 102. 104. 105. b of Edmund 120. Bourbon, ^-jj^ j . '99 ^•^'"^a.ned in tho Sctti, '"^^' ^^« eoux^tr;. a n ^^^' ^^^'^"'"ti^^'^ eitlier 123. Kodi,..,, "7r"; ^''-^I'^^^^i- -^ """' ^^^ l^''l Goldsmith; 0»— or. ]o.x n .. " "^"-"^r—or. ^^ to trace." ^^^" statements. "" "'^■^"^* «f the uncertaintv n . J^^7. Ba.z,i„„ , '^ *^^^* attache, to ^2S. The author fifr''''^"^^^"^"«^-" «''"lar.,l,ip. ■"""'•>' I-. called Beauclero o. France, wliich i„ a C^i, * ^'"^ ""Poal Ian,^„„„ , „ CMS. ^Utic to^sue hauded duw ^T "' ^'"""'y i« 146. M„He. Mari.f, , ™ '""' *'« Armori. »' Jirittaay, into N *™'"''^ted from the 4 . ■ 11;- ^«"- Agree, with ■ th *f ','" f-'"'" I- ,!■«"■ writers a/tLe-"^ '■««'"ou"7a' r^"'™^"'^'' - - oia „an ,i,, 200 NOTI-S TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO V. 154. Goorpo. VAVm, to borrow tJio lanpfimpro of Sir Waltor Scott, "tninslatcd all thv, playful fascinations of a Iminoiir, as d«'lif^litful aH it was uiiconniioii, into tlio forf^'otlcn portry of the ancinit min strflH, and f^avp life and pojjularity lo conipositionH wliich had till thou boon buried in thtrcloset of tho antiquary." In the publicatinn of tho Specimens of Early Eiujiinh Metrical lioniaiicr/i valuiiltlc servicos wore rendered to literature. The interniin!ii)le hallad romances of tlie middle ages liad daunted all but the few initiat ar. act if James IV. iheir weapon- achaioinga are api oiiited to be held four times a-year, under the alderm^^n or bailiffs,"— -Sco^^. 20. Vlxors, Soeni.,xxiv. 6. 23. Brlgaiidlnes. (b'r. brigand, a foot soldier). Coats of mail. Gorgets. Armour for th.) V/iiroat. ^--vht NOTES TO CANTO V. 203 ■ration. rhus at II., and )od w^'^ 1 axU'T'- th yartl.' at every .^In-oliiei-" a strengtVi. 3rn natioiiH, ^in its use. ,, the latter !ndle, and a la the saddle. 1 croup." in which he ig a comple- «inay"{y"^ [pointed to he V, spear, or a Imour to he of L hright steel liheir weapon- jar, under the looats ot mail. 24. We would have a metaphor in this line if it read " shone very silver." The metaphor expresses the resemblance without any sign such as "like" or "as." As a general rule, it may be said that the poet, in a simile, speaks with more personality, more directly from himself, than in a metaphor. The finest similes are found in epic or dramatic poems, where the poet himself tells the story; metaphors are more fitted for the quicker motion of the drama. 27. Mace of wei^^lit. Th^ mace was originally a club armed with iron, and used in war. Both sword and mace are ensigns of dignity, suited to the times when men went about in armour, and sovereigns needed champions to vindicate their rights. 28. Buckl«^rs. F. JSoMcZier, a small shield worn on the left arm. III. — 1. Yeoman. The tenants of the feudal lords. 2. " Bows and quivers w ere in vain recommended to the peasantry of Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes seem universally to have been used instead of them. Their defensive armour was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine; and their missile weapons crossbows and culverins. All wore swords of excellent temper, according to Patten ; and a voluminous handkerchief round their neck, * not for cold, but for cutting.' The mace also was much used in the Scottish army : The old poem on the battle of Flodden mentions a band — ' Who manfully did meet their foes. With leaden mauls, and lances long.' When the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, each man was obliged to appear with forty days' provision. When this was expended, which took place before the battle of Flodden, the army melted away of course. Almost all the Scottish forces, except a few knights, men at-arms, and the Border-prickers, who formed excellent light-cavalry, acted upon foot." — Scutt. 7. Ilalbeid. Fr. hallebarde, from the Ger. hcbn, a handle and bartCy an axe; so an axe with a long handle. The head generally consisted of a p-'inted spear-head with a crescent-shaped blade attached to it as an axe. It was introduced into England in the reign of Edward IV., was the peculiar weiipon of the royal guard in Henry VII.'s time and after, and continued in use till the time of George III. It combined bill, glaive and pike. 8. Hagbitt, or hackbut (Fr. haquebute, arquebuse), a musket or arquebuss. 12. Strand. By synecdoche for land. 13 Musing. Supply the ellipsis thus : — " He seemed sober — as he would seem— if he were musing' &c," i«wnu*« ;t:*-^ M^?^ NOTES TO CANTO V. See Masuu'^ Cf. T., burgli- 18. "Who. Antecedent disguised iu "theirs." Gr., par. 4(57. 20. Valour. Nominative absolute. IV. — 1. Boi'derc 1-. The frontier of England and Scotland f^om the eleventh to the. lifteentli century, was tlie ncld of constant forays, and a most fertile source of ill l^lood Ijttween nortli and south Britain. In Scott's Mi/istrelsij of tlie Scottish IP • 'cr tiie feuds and forays of clans and families arc corpmemorated in a series of ballads. The most notaljlc of these forays from th^ Scottish side is narrated in the ballad of Battle of Otterhurne, or, as it is sometimes called. Chevy Chase. 6. Slogan. The war-cry or gathering word of a clan. 8. Pricker. Que who priclis with spurs, a horseman. XIX. 3 and Faerie Queen, I., i. 1 : " A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine." Plied. Urged. Cf, Gray's Elf-gij :' "Nor busy housewife j;Z// her evening care." 12. Notice the different motives with which " vassals," ers " and "Borderers " engage in war. 15. Mo.Hs. A Swamp. 24. Brocade. A silk fabric with a raised ))attcx-a. 29. Eusedale. A valley in Dumfrieo.shire Iiiildel. A rivtn- flowing into the Esi'. 31. Ijion. Sir David LinJesay. 32. Glistering. Akin to glittering. 33. maudlin. Derived from Marij Muffdalen, who is drav,!; by old painters with eyes swollen by weeping. Pled. Painted. ■ 34. Kirtle. A kind of gown. V. — 1. Celtic. The Highlanders are of Celtic or Gaelic origii.. Cf. Celtce, Kelt(V, Galatcc, Galli, Gael, Wales, Cornwall, &c., and Cffisar, Bellum Britannicu))i, I., i. — "qui ipsorum lingua Celtce, nostri, Galli appelluntur." 5. Garlfih, or rjairish. Showy. 6. Trevi^s. Short trousers. 18. Busltins. The Greek tragic actors used to wear a sandul some two or three inches thick with high heels and buskins attached to elevate the stature. 23. Targe. A shield. The tai'ge of the HigliLinders was round in shape and made of light wood, covered with leather, and stndded with brass or iron. 27. Isles-men. Of the western islands of Scotland. 31. A« wlien. "As the noiae would be loud when &c." \ NOTES TO CANTO V. 205 asou a rtH and bed in a fi)in th. uriie, or, cf.i. burgh - 10 is draNVu raoUc orij^i' k?7, &c., and Imtur." loar a sancV-il Lad buskin- llviidcrs was leather, and Ac." VI. — 7. " Both Borderers and Highlanders were nnscmpiiloua freohootors, who would not have hesitated to rob the citizens of Kdiubur^h, even when assembled under the banner of the Scotch king to guard all Scotland from the Southern foe." — Chambers. 11. .\rinourer. A maker of arms. Aiivii. A. S. an fill, on fall. 12. "Wheel. To bend into the form of a horse-shoe. 22. Following. Feudal retainers. This word, by the way, has been, since the Author of Marmion used it, and thought it failed for explanation, completely adopted into English, and (.'Specially into Parliamentary parlance. 28. Behest. A. S. haes from hatati, to command. 30. " In all transactions of great or petty importance, and among whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of wine was a uniform and indispensable preliminary." — Scott. 33. «Don8* From do on like dnff ivoin do off. Shakespeare has dup for do up and duiit for do out. ■Weed^i. A. S. waed, clothing (lit. that which is woven); now usually confined to the mourning of a widow, " widow's weeds." VII. — 2. Wassel. A. S. waes-hael, be hale, and hence merry feasting. 10. Tourney. Tournament. A tilt of knights where the chief art of the game was so to manceuvre or turn your horse as to avoid tlie adversary's blows. 12. Qiualnl. Old Fr. coint, L. cognitiis. Some derive it from comptus, neat. It first signided agreeable or elegant and suhse- (piently old-fashioned. 21. The office of court-jester became during the middle ages a regular and indispensable office. The symbols of such a personage were — the shaven head ; the fool's cap of gay colours, with asses' ears and coxcomb; the fool's sceptre which was variously formed; bells which were mostly uttached t > the cap, but likewise to other parts of tlie dress ; and a large collar. Some of these pro- fessional fools acquired a historical I'eputation. English court- fools died out with the Stuarts. 2h. Personification. VIII.— 4. Trow. Think. Akin to true. G. Courtesy. It was at the courts of princes that minstrels and pages iiractised the refinements of the age in which they lived. 7, Dotred. See Mote to V., vi. 33. 10. Piled. Pile is the nap on velvet and other kinds of cloth. 12. Slieen. Ger. aohOn, bright. ■it. k m mm 206 NOTES TO CANTO V. 4>^ -.'i- * * ^^„ - 1 mf 1 tl mm 1 «,, II Bfri' it- •'. ■ • lt 14. Ado'wn. "The particle'a as a prefix may in some cases be ail altered of, as in adoivn, which may bo explained from tha Saxon of dfine ; or an altered on, as about from Saxon onhuton, asleep from Saxon slaepe. But in the bulk this prefix is to be identified with the French preposition (>, L. ail; and even in the alterations from Saxon, this French preposition has been influen- tial; abed, afar, afield, &c." — Earle. 16. See note to IV., xvi. 13. 17. Toledo. " A very ancient city of Spain, once its capital, situa ed on the Eiver Tagus, and thirty-seven miles south-west rf Madrid. Its architecture is chiefly Moorish, the result of the oc- cupation of Spnin by the Saracens, but its history dates from a much earlier period. It is mentioned by Livy (xxxv. 22), ' Toletum ibi parva urbs erat sed loco munito,' and (xxxix. 30) he tells us of its capture by M. Fabius Nobilior, 193 n.c. By the Goths, it was made the capital of their monarchy. It has long been fanieus for its manufacture of swords, the Moors having brought the art from the East. Charles III. had a huge building erected for this object, about two miles from the city. The sword-blades were remark able for their temper, and a y)roof of their elasticity is given by the fact that they were sometimes sold in boxes, coiled up like the main-spring of a watch. ' Compassed like a good Bilboa, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head.' Falstaff iu Shak(^speare's Merry Wives of Windsor, iii. v. 110." — Morris. 17. Balflrick. A warrior's belt. IX. — A striking peculiarity of Scott's poetry is the air of free- dom and nature which he contrives to impart to most of his dis- tinguished characters. This is especially the case with the men he describes. Kings and princes in his hands become as familiar as persons ip humble positions in life. At the same time, while such homeliness and freedom are to be recognized in his delinea- tions, he has not neglected the dignified features usually ascribed to distinguished per:-iouagen. 1. Monavoli. James IV. (1488—1513) was born 1472. Married, in 1503, Margaret the daughter of Henry VII. of England. Killed at Flodden. 8. liists. The inclosed space for the encounters in a tourna- ment. 13. Suit and pain are in apposition with the infinitives in pre- ceding line. 18. OVrcast. The verb overcast is here used transitively. 20. "Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weight of which James added certain ounces every year that he lived, Pitscottie founds his belief, that James was not slain in the bat- tm NOTES TO CANTO V. 207 ,868 be m tha hutan, a to be in the Luflueu- capita^, i-west ( { { the oc- 5 from a Toletum ellauB of as, it wa3 ain«ii9 for e art from [lis obiect, •e remark is given by up like the Iboa, in the Falstaff in orris. air of f ree- t of his d^^- 1th the men as famiUar time, while Ihis delinea- llly ascribed Married, md. KUled tn a tourna- bives in pre- kitively. to the weight liat he lived, \i in the bat- tle of Floddeu, because the English never had this token of the iron-belt to show to any Scottishman. The person and character of -Tames are delineated according to our best historians. His ro- mantic disposition, which lead him highly to relish gaiety, approaching to license, was, at the same time, tinged with enthusi- astic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a strange contrast. He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the oi-der of Franciscans ; and when he liad thus done penance for some time in Stirling, to plunge again into the tide of pleasui-e. Probably, too, with no un- usual inconsistency, he sometimes laughed at the superstitious observances to which he at other times subjected liimself." — Scott. 22. See note to IV., xv. 15. X. — 2. "It has been already noticed, (see note to stanza xiii of canto I.) that King James's acquaintance with Lady Heron of Ford did not commence until he marched into England. Our historians impute to the King's infatuated passion the delays which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. The author of " The Genealogy of the Heron Family " endeavours, with laudable anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford from this scandal ; that she came and went, however, between the armies of James and Surrey, is certain. See Pinker- ton's History, and the authorities he refers to, vol. ii., p. 99. Heron of Ford had been, in 1511, in some sort accessory to the slaughter of Sir Robert Kerr of Cessford, Warden of the Middle Marches. It was committed by his bi-other the bastard, Lilburn, and Starked, three Borderers. Lilburn and Heron of Ford were delivered up by Henry to James, and were imprisoned in .he for- tress of Fastcastle, where the former died. Part of the pretence of Lady Ford's negotiations ,with [James .was the liberty of her husband." — Scutt. Inl.,xvii. Sir Hugh had announced that his wife was at the :ottish court; in IV., ix. 10, Lindesay called her a spy for Eng- -md, and in IV., xvii. 12, the warning against woman's wiles is directed against her. "Lingard (vol. iv. ,p. 150. note), however, denies that there were any such delays, because Norham surrendered on the 2'Jth oi August, whilst Surrey reached Alnwick on the 3rd of September, and Ford, Etall, and Wark were taken in the meantime. Scott's answer to another such defender of Lady Ford, is that it is certain she came and went between the armies of James and Surrey — evi- dence, however, insufficient for conviction. Her husband had been accessory to the slaughter of Sir Robert Kerr of Cessford, Warden of the Middle Marchas, for which he had been delivered up to King James. Lady Ford's object was to obtain her husband's lib iirty," — Morris ■t: 208 NOTES TO CANTO V. m «-4 f.JlJ 5. Cessfbru. See V., xiii. 20. 10. Scott quotes from Pit^cottie's History : — "Also the Queen of France wrote a love letter to the King of Scotland, calling hire her l>)ve, showing him that she li;id suffered much rehuke in France for the defending of his honour. She believed surely that he would recompense lier again with some of his kingly support in hor necessity; that is to say, that he would raise her an army, and come three feet of ground on English ground, for her sake. To that effect she sent him a ring off her linger, with fourteen thou- sand French crowns to pay his expenses." 11. Turquols. Tarqicouo, is a bluish-green mineral from Persia, valued as a gem, and so called because first brought from Turkey. The turquois ring is probably the one preserved in the College of Heralds, Loudon. 13. The toxirnament was a favourite military sport of the middle ages, in which combatants engaged one another with the object of showing their courage and skill in the use of arms. The perform anco was usually held at the invitation of some prince in tin presence of ladies. The intending combatants hung up their armorial shields on the trefcs or tents round the arena for inspec- tion, to show that they wore worthy candidates for the honour of contending in the lists in respect of noble birth, military prow- ess, and unspotted character. The combat was generally begun on liorbclaek, but when dismounted the combatants frequently contmued on foot. The usual arms were lances or swords. Minute regulations wei'e observed, which in a measure diminished the danger. The prize was bestowed by the lady of the tournament on tlie knight to whom it had been adjudged. He reverently approached, saluting her and her two attendants. The difference between a tournament and a joust consisted in the latter being ;i single combat, while in the former a trooi) of knights encountered each other on either side. 18. Di-fst. Cf. hlcstf topt, crept, &c. 24. SooUi. Truth. 28. Margaret. Daughter of Henry VIT. of England. Through the marriage of Margaret and James lY., James VI., son of Mary Queen of Scots became heir to the English throne. After the death of James IV.', at Flodden, Margaret married Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, from whom she was divorced. Her third husband was Henry Stuart, Lord Methvin. liitligow. Linlithgow. See IV.^ xv. -1. Bower. A. S. hitr. XI. — 2. "Weeps. Used transitively witl:^" war " and "risk" aa objects. i» NOTES TO CANTO V. 209 ecn oi g him ike Jn ly tV.at port in ay. and :e. To jn tbo)i- 1 Persia, Turkey, lollege of le middli object (i perforiii- ce in ^^^' up theii [or inspce- he honour tary pro^^- ally ^egun frequently ds. Minute nished the ournament reverently difierencf ter being a ucountertnl Id. Through km of Mary After tlu' ArchihaUl Her third id "risk' 13. For. Because of. 14. Wimple. A handkerchief for the neck. 17. Scan. XII. — 1. liocliinvar. " The Gordons were Lords of Lochiiivar, a castle by a lake of the same nanio, in the imrisli of Dairy, in Kirkcudbright, beyond the borders of Dumfries. Tlie Gnibams were Lords of Netherby Hall, near Carlisle, in Cumberland, Helen Crraham was the young lady who was to be married to one of the Musgraves, by the wish of her father and mother; but Lochinvar was the lady's true-love, who carried lier off from her father's man- sion. Lochinvar crossed the Esk and rode over Cannobie Lee, a ])liiin in Dumfriesshire, divided from Cumberland by the river Liddel." — '■■ orri^i. For the metre of this song see Preliminary Remarks, 8. Eske. Flows into the Solway Firth. 16. C'rjiveii. " Your mercy is craved." " It was usual in former times to decide controversies by an appeal to battle. The combat- ants fought with batons, and if the accused could either kill his adversary or maintain the fight till sundown, he was acquitted. If he wished to call off, lie cried out "Craven!" and was held infamous, while the defendant was advanced to the honour." — Blackstone. 17. Ye. See Mason's Gram., par. 133. 20. Solway. Between England and Scotland, and remarkable for the rajud ebb and flow of its tide. See the novel liedgauntlet for a detailed picture of the phenomena. 30. Tread. Subjunctive mood. , 32. Galliarcl. Fr. gailliard, Sp. gallardo, a lively dance. Cf. gallant. 35. Bride-maidens. Bride's-maids. 41. Sca-w. "A bare place on the side of a steej) hill, from which the sward has been washed down by rains." — Jamieson. The ballad of Lochinvar is in a very sliglit degree founded on a ballad called Katharine Janfarie in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. XIII. — 1. Siren. Applied to an enticing woman, and derived from a term which in ancient mythology meant a mermaid or goddess, who enticed men into her power by the charms of music and then destroyed them. See Homer's Odyssey, xii. 39. 18. Parchment. Derived from Pei'gamus where first made. 20. " The real causes of the war betweei. England and Scotland in which Flodden was the chief battle, seem, according to Lingard, to have been three : 1. The detention by Henry VXII. of some ^^■*,«' 2IO NOTES TO CANTO V. t> '*^ :'tt jewels which Henry VII. had bequeathed to hia daughter, the Scotch Queen. — 2. The murder of Sir lloljert Kerr, the Warden of the Scottish Marches, by the bastard Heron of Ford. — 3. The death of Andrew Barton." — Morris. 21. I^ieg«^-inen. Vassals or those bound by a feudal tenure. 22. Wai-fler. Sir Kerr of Cessford. 23. Barton. " John Barton had been captured in 1476 by the Portuguese. King James gave to him and his brothers, of whom Andrew was the best known, letters of reprisal, or permission to attack auy Portuguese ships. They, however, found this business BO pleasant and lucrative, that they stopped and plundered English ships also. Henry VIII. pronounced the Bartons pirates, and in an action with au English ship-of-war, Andrew Barton was killed. There is a ballad upon Sir Andrew in Percy's Beliques." — Morris. XIV. — 1. Douglas. "Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, sur- named Bell-the-Cat, which surname he thus acquired : James III., being fond of architecture and music, was unwise enough to make favourites of his architects and musicians. One of his unworthy favourites was a stone-mason named Cochran ; him he created Earl of Mar. The nobles, taking advantage of being assembled for war with England, held a midnight council in the Church of Lau- der, to take measures to rid them of this Cochran. Lord Gray told the assembly — who were agreed as to their object, although no one would volunteer to carry it out — the fable of the mice and the cat; the mice determined that they v.-ould tie a bell round the cat's neck, so that they might hear her coming; but their excellent intentions were frustrated because no one would bell the cat. ' I understand you,' said Lord Angus; *I will bell the cat.' Accord- ingly, Cochran was seized by Lord Angus, and afterwards hanged over the Bridge of Lauder. "Earl Angus, now an old man, was strongly opposed to the Flodden war, whereupon the King insultingly told him he might go home if he was afraid." — Morris. 8. Lauder. A small town in the extreme west of Berwickshire and on the river Leader, a tributary of the Tweed. 13, Hermitage. A small river of Liddesdale, in Roxburghshire, on which stood Hermitage Castle, a strong Border tower, belong- ing to the Douglas family. The castle originally belonged to the Lords Soulis. Liddesdale. See V., iv. 29. 15. Botliwell. Both well Castle, on the Clyde, Lanarkshire. Archibald, Earl of Angus, gave Hermitage Castle to Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, in exchange for Bothwell Castle. It was once the great stronghold of the Douglas family. In 1679, the Covenanters NOTES TO CANTO V. 211 ., the ieu of i. The ire. , "by the ; whom asion to jusinesa English 1, and in as killed. -Morris. Lgus, sur- imea lH-? ki to make unworthy :ie created emhled for •ch of Lau- ,Lord Gray t, althovigh ]e mice and ll round the ]ir excellent jhe cat. ' 1 ' Accord- trds hanged )sed to the he might srwickshire Ihm-ghshire, lver,helong- [nged to the Lanarkshire. [phnrn.Earl ma once the Jovenantevs were defeated hy the royal troops under the Duke of Monmouth, near Jiuth well Bridge. The ruins exhibit the " Norman style of architecture, and consist of a large oljlong quadrangle, flanked, towards the south, by two circular towers, covering altogether an area of 234 feet in length, and 99 feet in breadth."— (Black's Scotland). 20. To fix &c. An adverbial complement of " left." 26. I'linion. Favourite. 30. "Angus was an old man when the war against England was resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure from its .- uxniuencement ; and, on the eve of the battle of I'lodden, remon- strated so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the King said to him, with scorn and indignation, ' if he was afraid he might go home.' The Earl burst into tears at this insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons George, Master of Angus, and Sir William of Glenbervie, to command his followers. They were both slain in the battle, with two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house and his country, retired into a religious house, where he died about a year after the field of Flodden."— Scott. XV.— 2. Vaunt. Boast. 5. In Silver. A metaphor. 13. Return &c. A noun proposition forming the object of " to say." liindigfarne. See Canto II., i. 10. 16. Tentallon Hold. This Castle was a principal stronghold of the Douglas family. The ruins occupy a high rock, projectiur into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Berwick. 19. Blazon. *' Blazon, here, as often in poetry, coat of arms • strictly the art of describing in technical terms the objects borne in arms. The Douglas arms consisted of a bloody heart sur- mounted by a crown, representing the heart of Bruce, which the Good Lord Douglas was commissioned to carry to the Foly Land. The motto was, Both time and hour." — Chambers. The motto seems now to be changed for Jamais arriere. Cf. VI ii 10 "bloody heart." •' • -^ , 22. Me, See Mason's Gram., par. 176. St. Stephen. The first Christian (Acts vii). 25. Dunbar. Qn the coast of Haddingtonshire. See I., xix. 4. 26. Bevy. "Properly applied to roebucks, quails, and pheasants. The word is allied to bivouac, i.e., be awake (to be on the watch)', because one of the bevy is on the watch to warn the herd of dan- ger, ".^Br^wer's Dictionary^ I' <-^ ' if , fnSmKS n'. 212 NOTES TO CAN'J'O V. 80. Keqitlwin. L. rrqides. The accusative l)t)ing used far oftcner than any other case in Latin, was the case most rommouly jiicked uj) by l);irl)arians in the dark ap;es, hence the accusative and not the nominative is the starting point fen' the derivaticm of French words from the Latin. <'»<-liraii. Created Earl of Mar, the chief of the favourites of James III., whom Angus hanged. :i:VI.— 2. To break. To Ijreaking. 7. Kriice. King Eobert Bruce. JO. Drally a prayer (A. S. hed, gebed, from hiddan, to pray, ask, demand)." — Chambers. 27. To a-vo'ul. To try to avoid. In apposition with "it," ^X* — 2. Notice the faulty construction. NOTES TO CANTO V. 213 ed lav imouly iisativc itiou t)f irites oi on of Sir the U)nu 5U, on hi^ ,er. ^^'^-_ ■iption of n. ion ahoiit .wards tli" xy is calku the Onse to room for a s, play, Cf. the iise I dent. " Chaplet, luse to count gehed, Ironi h"it." 6. Who. Cf. v., iii. 18. Scroll. A letter. 11. Balcony. Fr. 6r/icon, or porhapr? from Persian bala khana. 14. Each hoiius Both homes. XX.— 4, By. Cf. Ladu of the Lake, V., xx. 15. 5. liate. Lat(-ly. 10. Giles. The Church of St. Giles. 12. CiotUic. This kind of arciiitecturo has nothing to do with the Goths, but is a term of contempt ])est()\vedby the an^hitects of tho Renaissance period on mediseval architecture, wliich thoy termed Gothic or clumsy, fit for barbarians. 21. Bow^ne. Prepare. 23. A pentameter line. XXI. — 6. Attend. Used transitively. Deem. Supply "it "(tale). 8. The Palmer's love would be heavenly. 9. Wooed, " Tliere are passages in which the flatness and tediousness of the narrative is relieved by no sort of beauty nor elegance of dictit)n, and which form an extraoidiuary contrast with the more animated and finished pojtions of the poem. Wo shall not afilict our readers with more than one specimen of this falling off. We select it from the Abbess's explanation to De Wil- ton : — 'De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd, &c.' (and twenty-two following lines). " — Jejfrey. 10. Gloster. See VI., iv. 29. 14. Despiteously. Maliciously. 16. Martin Swart. " A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by the Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was defeated and killed at Stokefield. The name of this German general is preserved by that of the field of battle, which is called, after him, Swart-moor. — There were songs about him long current in England." — Scott. 17. Simnel. Lambert Simnel was the son of a baker. In the jeign of Henry VII., he was instigated to personate Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, son of George, Duke of Clarence, who was drowned in a butt of malmsey. 19. Stokefield. Between Newark and Nottingham in Notting- hamshire. 20. If the one challenged accepted the ti'ial he lifted the glove. 21. Wont. Accustomed. 23. Guelders. Ger. Geldern. A town in Rhenish Prussia l)etween the Rivers Rhine and Meuse. 29. AVere. Some editions give " was." Cf. III., ix. 7. 81. Henry VII. rrrmr- * •1 -.J t : I*, 214 NOTES TO CANTO V. 30. ** It was parly necessary for those who felt themselves obliged to believe iu tiie divine judj,'ment beiiif< enunciated in the trial l)y duel, to find salvos for the stranj^'e and obviously precarious chances of tlie combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used by those who tooku[) an uni-ighteous quarrel, were supposed suflicieuL to convert it into a just one. Thus, iu the romance of " Amys and Amolion," the one brother-in-arms, fighting for the other, dis- guised in his armour, swears that he did not commit tlie crime of which the Steward, his antagtmist, truly, though maliciously, accused him whom he represented." — Scutt. The occasional use of questions gives increased energy to style. In poetry they heighten the dramatic effect by bringing the sup- posed tjcene more viv .'^y before us. XXII. — 2. Recreuv.,. L. recredo, to retract; hence the van- quished in the wager of battle. 6. Pastiiii);. Exceedingly. Of. Goldsmith, D. V., 142. 6. DreiM-hed. Made drunk. 12. Vestal. Alluding to the "vestal virgins" who were de- voted to the Goddess Vesta and who were not allowed to marrj'. 17. Edolfled. See II., xiii. 11. 18.jStrftin. Origin. 19. "That she cherishes a vain sorrow for the loss of her lover." A noun prop, in apposition to " strain." 21. Cross. Trial or affliction. 23. Tunie. A tributary of the Trent into which it falls near Tarn worth. 26. Kiio-ws. See III., ix. 7-, for a similar construction. 28. Transpose: — "It would be a shame to dear Saint Hilda, and I, her humble vot'ress here, should do a deadly sin, if, her tenipio, being spoiled before mine eyes, this false Marmion should win such a prize by my consent." 31. Temple. Nominative absolute. 34. MonaicJi. Henry VIII. XXIII — 16. Supply " it " after deem. 24. Each. Used for "every." 28. House's. An objectionable n;^' uf the Saxon possets XXIV 9. Or— or. Either— or. 15. "Wolsey. Cardinal Wolsey, Lord Chancellor of En, lanr (1515 — 1529). At this time (1513) he was neither Cardinal noi Chancellor, though in high favour with the king. 21. "Wliat. Cf. the "accusative of specification." 24. Shrilly. Shrill. 't?; NOTES TO CANTO V. 215 iged d ^y s aiul ■, dia- lue of ously, ) style, lie SUV 10 vau- vere de- marry. er lovov, falls neur [i\da, and lould \viii Idiual y'^^ 28. WIthoM. ••Withold seems to have boen the saint popularly invoked against nightmare. The Ahl)ess, thensfore, invokt^s his aid against his vision." — Morris. Cf. Ivanhoe, chap, 1.; and King Lear, iii. 4, "Swithold (i.d., Sainl Withold) footed thrice the wold." 80. There can he no donht this story was designrd " a tale of peace to teach" (VI., viii. yO). Cf. " Talos of a Grandfather" (Scotland), vol. i., p. 182: "Another story, though not so well authenticated, says, that a proclamation was heard at the market- cross of Edinburgh, at the dead of night, summoning the King by his name and titles, and many of his nobles and principal leaders, to appear before the tribunal of Pluto, within the space of forty days. This also has the appearance of a stratagem, invented to deter the Bling from his expedition." Scott's works are generally grounded on actual tradition. Goethe continually urged young poets to study the real world, instead of trying to give expression to the sentiments of individuals. '* Wlien I remember," he says, "how Schiller studied tradition, what trouble he gave himself about Switzerland when he wrote hia William Tell, and how Shakespeare used the chronicles, copying into his plays whole passages word for word {o.g.. Goriolanus), I am inclined to prescribe the same course to a young poet." XXV. — 1. Cro8.s, «« The cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious structure. The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in diameter, and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the Grecian sliape. Above these was a projecting battlement, with a turret at each comer, and medallions, of rude but curious workmanship, between them. Above this rose the proper cross, a column of one stone upwards of twenty feet high, surmounted with a unicorn. This pillar is preserved in the grounds of the property of Drum, near Edinburgh. The Magistrates of Edinburgh, with consent of the Lords of Session {proh pudor f) destroyed this curious monu- ment, under a wanton pret<^xt that it encumbered the street, while, on the one hand, they left an ugly mass called the Luckeu- booths, and, on the other, an awkward, long, and low guardhouse, hich were fifty times more encumbrance than the venerable and .uoffensive cross. "From the tower of the cross, so long as it remained, the heralds published the Acts of Parliament; and its site, marked by radii diver ng from a stone centi-e, in the High Street, is still the place where proclamations are made." — Scott. The cross proper, a pillar about twenty feet in length, was re- erected in 1869 within the railings of St. Giles. r3=c: Vi ' /" J » -•J 210 NOTES TO CANTO V. 3. Octagon. Octagonal, having eight sides. 9. MallHon. (Through the Fr. from L. male — dicere ; Cf. "beuisou" froui bene — dicere). Curse. 14. Gibber. Talk rapidly. 17. As. As if. 18. Pui-8ulvants. Attendants on heralds (Fr. poiirsuivre). Ptepuie. The use of the present tense after did seem is nwkward. 21. "But jndistiuot w«.s tho appearance of the proud pageant such as thjsG forma vvhich ftincy creates out of the changui^ shapes of the chjuds when the moon flings upon her shroud a waverinfj tinge of flame.'" 27. -'This supernatural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish historians. It wati, probably, Uke the apparition at Liulitligow , an attempt, by those averse to the war, to impoiio upon the supei- stitious temper of James IV." — Scutt. XXl/I. — We have here cited the names of those who were to perish in the battle of Floddon. Tlie summons is made solemn by the character of the appeals. Cf. the language u. od with that employed in The Ladij of the Lake iu connection with the Fiery Cross. 8. Eur, Mctonomy. 8. Hearlsj. Metonoviii. 17. Notice th'i effect of liijperhaton, 27. See. I. xi. 7 31. The voice of the Palmer. Piscottie says that one of those summoned having appealed from the summons iu the nume of God and Christ was the only one who escaped deatli at Flodden, 83. Pluto, culled i'lutock. 37. Partuil. D([parted. 44. AVIiut time. At ^vh;lt time. XXVIJ.— 1. Sliift. Subjunctive mood. 3. Save. Croverns the proposition tliat follows. 7. Rt-^pair. Fr. repairer, to visit one's native country. " Repair" to mend, is from the L. reparare, literally " to prepare again." " 14. See. IV. ix. 7. 21. As if. As he would look if &o. 22. Afar. An adjective, 24. Prockti. Tiobe, XXVIII.— 2. Fh«»'. Fairly. 3. Escort'iig. Fr. Escorte, L. ex and corrigere, 12. What is the subject of " had wrought ? " NOTES TO CANTO V. fl^^mionJ^S,,:!;^"^,'' -h» Wm„„ .as hi, rival ,, SM Jv „ w """^"^'^ won in such /l,!' ^ "* ^^"'^'^^^ Wthod to ««.-2. «erS.^=f-rie7. Canto 11. »' a conical Mnli? ,'"''«^ ^"'^ Ediubumh r/'^ ""''"""J <"" ■aeruinsof th 'am 1 *"«''- "="""<» "North T<" "',*'"' '"'"' siaud about »„ . "^ °^ North Berwick " th """'■'' ^^■"''•" .eo«e |::rr''^ "^ ^ -'^ '- '•■--^^trs^s-: Ou.c», Eari o, fL.^ 1^ ^^'•' °' '^^»'"«'- "-. founded by " - about'a „,irr" ".S^it tf"" "■-* »' 'he JVith 0, Porth ^evel of the spi ^f • V , "^ ^"^re than 400 fn 7 / -''orth. 10. «::;. ^" -'"■ ^'^ ^•^"'" " ""'' "« '^"'■".-Berwick. 17. Pair •^r/'i™. ''■"'' "Abbesa... 21 i:'e„ t^"? P»»'-llorso. •^^'^'•' "■"* "■"■<"'*', a post- SB. w:"«. ^'cf't" 'fT "^ "eart.- nq f. ^^- went. " »ft 218 NOISES TO CANTO V. Cf. Shakespeaifc's iCiwgr John, (MI. iii. 12) : 'Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back.* " Morris. 34. Cistercians. " A religious order, founded by Bobert, Bene- dictine A])bot of Molesme. They derived their name from that of their first convent, which was at Citana (Cistercium), near Bearne. The rule of Cistercians was that of St. Benedict. The monks wore a white robe. The order grew very rapidly, and owned a very large number of monasteries within a hundred years of its establishment." — Morris. XXXI.— 2. State. Dignity. 4. Composed. Arranged. 8. And. What connected ? 9. One. " This relates to the catastrophe of a real Itobert de Marmion, in the reign of King Stephen, whom William of New- bury describes with some attributes of my fictitious hero : Homo bellicostcs, ferocia et astucia fere nulto suo tempore impar (a war- like man in fierceness of temper and in cleverness surpassed by hardly anyone of his own time). This baron, having expelled the monks from the chnrch of Coventry, was not long of experiencing the divine judgment, as the same monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester, Marmion 's horse fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, against a body of the Earl's followers, the rider's thigh being broken by the fall, his head was cutoff by a common foot- soldier, ere he could receive any succour. The whole story is told by William of Newbury."— -Sco^^ 10. Coventry. A city of Warwickshire about 18 miles from Birmingham. It is a place of great antiquity. " The citizens of Coventry had at one time so great a dislike to soldiers, that a woman seen speaking to one was instantly tabooed. No intercourse was ever allowed between the garrison and the town ; hence when a soldier was sent to Coventry he was cut off from all social inter- course." Hence, " to send one to Coveutry " was to take no notice of him. 11. His. Whose? 14. Plebeian. That of a common person. 18. Notice the antithesis. 20. Me. Used for "I." Cf. xxviii. 25. 22. Judith. This was a beautiful Jewess, who, in the book of the Apocrypha that bears her name, is related to have slain Holo femes, the general of Nebuchadnezzar, when he was besieging her native town, Betliulia. 23. Migiity. II()k)f(>rnos. ^pp^ NOTES TO CANTO V. 219 Jene- lat c)i same. Qonks ned ft of its 3bert de ,{ -^evr- : Somo r (a war- aased "by celled the erienciny; rnied his Chester, ais troop, gh heiug ot-9oldier, Ls told by liiles from citizens oi rs, that a utercourse ence when ocial inter- to take no 1 t\ie hook oi slain Holo ssieging her 24. Jael— Deborah. Bee Judges FV & V. 25. I«. An adverb. 27. *'Saint;Aiitouy was one of the earliest Christian hermits (third century). He was a native of the Thebaidin Egypt, from which he went forth to spend a solitary life. His temptations hy the devil are famous ; they drove him from place to place. After- wards his fame spread, and he had many followers. His life was written by Saint Athanasius. An account of him is given by Mr. Kingsley in 'The Hermits'." — Morris. Blount's exclamation is equivalent to " May St. Antony's fire seize thee " Erysipelas is thus called from the tradition that those who sought the intercession of St. Antony recovered from the pestilential erysipelas called the sacred fire, which proved extremely fatal in 1089. 31. Pond. Foolish. Cf. Shakespeare, " 'Tis fond to wall inevitable strokes." 33. Don. Cf. V. vi. 33. 34. Perforce. By force. XXXII. — 2. Despair. Not usually fallowed by the infini- tive. 8. Sanctuary. An asylum or refuge. 9. Dome. L. domus. Cf. Goldsmith D. V. 319. •' The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign." Yet. &c. The proposition introduced by " and " in line 7. Victim. Constance. Many a. See Mason's Grammar, par. 93. One. lu apposition with " blessings." Woes. In apposition with " weeping " and ** waiHng." XXXIII.— 1. Scant. Scantily. Rode. Ridden. 4. Tantallon. See V. xv. 15. 5. Broad. Referring to •' towers." 13. Court. •* It was on the Latium hills that the ancient Latins raised their cors, or cohors, small enclosures ^vith hurdles for sheep, (fee. Subsequently as many men as could be cooped or folded together were called a corps or cohort. The "cors" or cattle-yard, being the nucleus of the farm, became the centre of a lot of farm cottages, then of a hamlet, town, fortified place, and lastly of a royal residence." — Breioer's Dictionary. 19. Keep. The innermost and strongest part of a castle. 20. Cf. Virgil, "Coelo ducere." XXXIV. — 4. When they came to Tantallon reports, rapirlly carried, and changing from day to day, intimated that war liad actually begun. 15. 19. 25. la. fa r ' fi- ' '■ 220 NOTES TO CANTO V. 5. Etall. This castle, now in ruins, was embattled by Sir Eobert de Manners, a knight of Edward ILL Warlc. «< As a border cattle, was often besieged by the Scots. Edward III defended it against them. It stood on the south banks of tlie river Tweed, east of Teviotdale, not far from Kelso. At tlie Union the castle was demolished." — Morris. Cf, Percy's Hermit of Warksworth : " Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend To Wark's fiery castle bore." Ford. Separated from Flodden by the river Till. The castle was originally built by Sir William Henm, but frequc ntly altered. Here James IV is said to have lingered, lured by the charms of Lady Heron. 12. Haiiil. Metonowy. 15. That King Janie.s, &c. In apposition with '* news." 17. Dallying; olT. Transitive, Cf. " laugh at." 25* Millfield Plain. lu Northumberland on tlie border, where was once an old imlace of the Kings of Bernicia. Here tlie Scots under Lord Home were defeated, j^riiifipally through an ambus- cade, shorily before the battle of Flodden. 26. Snri-ey. Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, afterwards Duk( of Norfolk. In consequence of gaining the battle of Flodden hi' dukedom, which had been forfeited by the attainder of his father, was restored him. Cf. VI. xxiv. 14. 29. 'Vl^ooler. A town in Northumberland near Flodden. 81. Without. An adverb. 30. Xeecls. " Of necessity (A. S. nedcs,nycles,Qe\\. of )teo(l, vi/.'. necessity). In A. S. this use of the genitive case as an adverb wa . very common (compare willes, willingly ; sotJies, of a truth, &(•). In modern English, this form is retained in a very few cases (needs, once, twice, &c), but more generally the preposition o/ has taken the place of the genitive suiiix, as *' of a truth, of course, of wi evening, cdc. — Chambers. 30. "Wot. A. S. wit an, to know. 43. /gainst. By., Hi liitj %^ ^OTES TO MARMION. 2. Will A 4. Each, ^f "^^^PaJ verb. •J. Heather yet. xktu-i ^'^- Consult history. ^^ ^'"^^ '^^ 17. Scalds. <5r>..»,:j- 22. Recall, ^'^'^^^^^^^vian bards. Cf. Ger «?.;, // 23. Odin. Thp^f 1- '''' *° ^°""^^- 44. UnderogtttiiiK. W fi ^ iF-ii?n 'S' 222 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO VL f'tf •**! ' IS '^ 1 ' ' If ^*' •^ .;■?! G" ' 45. Post and pair. A game of cards. 48. 3Ietonomy. The inhal)itant8 of "cottages" aud the weftier of the " crown " are meant. 50. liogs. Yule-logs. ~ 53. Day of Grace. Christmas. 55. Mark. In feudal times, as all people of rank dined at the same table, a large salt-cellar was placed in the middle to " mark " the line of separation between the superior and inferior ranks. Persons of distinction sat above the "saler." Dependents and inferior giiesta sat below it. 56. Brawn. The pickled flesh of the swine. 59. Rosemary. L. ros dew, and mare the sea. 65. Trowls. Goes round. Cf. Lady of the Lake. VI. iv. 23 : " And while a merry catch I troll." 72. Carols. "Christmas Carols are in commemoration of the song of the angels to the shepherds at the nativity." — Brewer. 74. Mumming. Masquerading. 75. Mystery. The English mummers and the Scottish guisards present some traces of the old m,)jsteries which were the origin of the English drama. These were at first representations of Scripture stories, and afterwards virtues and vices (moralities) personified. The church favoured them. 78. Diglit. A. S. dihtan, to arrange. 82. Broaclied. To broach a cask is to bore a hole in the top for the peg {broch). The expression " To broach a new subject " alludes to beer tubs. If one is flat another must be broached. 90. Even. Modifies the succeeding proposition. 91. "We hold dear all who can claim kindred with us, even though the relationship claimed be so remote that, to English ears, it sounds an empty name." — Chambers. 92. Proverbs. « Blood is thicker than water." 95. Great-grandsire. Surnamed Bnardie. See Life. 100. " In lines 96-100, Sir Walter Scott imitates part of a poeti- cal invitation addressed by the grandfather of Mr. Scott, of Harden, to the grandfn ther of the poet. It was dated from Mertoun House, the seat of the Harden family, beautifully situated on the Tweed, where Sir Walter Scott himself was spending his Christmas witli Mr. Scott, the immediacy head of the race, when this introduction was written." — Chambers. 106. Consult Life. 110. Constraint. Subject of "flies," which is used transitively. "Wand. Metonomy, The demeanour of the " fair dame" put her guests at ease. mF'- NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CANTO VI. 123 Th^roprietor of Harden afterwards became Lord Pol* (^efii er at the marl^ " ranVs. nt9 and I. iv.2y-. on of the rewer, ^ guisards le origin of ^iScviptur^^ perso; nified. le in the top >NV bubject even though ',UBh ears, it lliife. Irtof apoeti- Itt, of Harden, lertounHouse, Vn the Tweed, lu-istmaa wiUi [3 introduction iattansitivelN^ " fair daine 111. worth. TlRs lady, " The fair dame that rules the land," was of ui)ble German descent. 117. Turns again. Having a winding course. 120. Clips. Clasps. 121. Donn". doynus, a house. Here taken literally. 128. Classic. The Romans were divided by Servius into six classes. Any citizen who belonged to the highest olass was called clascicus, all the rest were said to be infra classeni. From this the best authors were termed classici auctores, and from the high esteem of Greek and Latin at the revival of letters, the pres- ent application of the term arose. 131. IVoll Bluff. Captain Noll Bluff is a character in Con- greve's Comedy, T/ie Old Bachelor. The saying alluded to is "Han- nibal was a very pretty fellow a very pretty fellow in those days."^ 133. Cf . Somerville, The Sweet-scented Miser : "But time and tide for no man stay." 135. Profane. Profane one, nominative of address. From tliis word to " witch " is a supposed interruption by Heber. 136. Italian strain. Latin literature. Latium was the dis- trict in which Bome was built. 138. Periphrasis, or cirumlociition. 139. liimbo. L. limbus. an edge. This place was supposed to exist on the borders of hell, where the souls of pious heathens and unbaptized infants were confined. 142. ** Hear my arguments before you deny my right and war- rant for what I urge." Charter. Metonomy. 143. ILeyden. John Leyden, M. D., the poet and orientalist. Ho had been of great service to Scott in the preparation of the Border Minstrelsy, but had gone to India before the publication of Marmion. 116. Ulysses. The Greek leader. King of Ithaca, noted for his craft, was according to Virgil the one who hit upon the device of the wooden horse ; his wanderings after the fall of Troy form the subject of Homer's Odyssey. Meets. Mentioned in the Odyssey, Book XI. Ale ides. Hercules, son of Alcaeus. He was noted for his great strength. Wraith. The apparition of a person seen before or after death ; here equal to spirit or ghost. 117. .ISueas. The hero of Virgil's ^'»(!if2. 224 NOTES TO INTRODUCTION. — CAMO VI \m 147. Thrnria. Thrace ; corresponds to the modona provinces of Riimili and Bulgaria. 148. Polycl«>i-<'. Polydorus, son of Priara, King of Troy. IIi' was murdered by Polymnestcr, King of Thrace, to whose care he had been entrusted by his father, before the fall of Troy. See Virgil's JEneid. Book III. 149. Omen. M. oamen or nscinimen (os.) A sign of the futnrc. liivy. Mrtonomii. Titus LiviuB (B. C. 60— A D. 2f)j, The most illustrious of Roman historians, 150. liocutus Bos. Latin for '* an ox spoke." Such portents are chronicled by Livy. 151. The " ox " spoke as regularly and with as much importance as if he gave the price of stocks or discharged the duties of a magistrate. 157. Cambria. Wales, the land of the Cymri. 158. Gleudowercly. Owen Grlendower, a Welsh chief, descend- ed from Llewi'llyn. With Hotspur and Douglas he attempted to de- throne Henry IV, but the coalition was ruined at the battle of Shrewsbury. 159. The Spirits Blasted Tree. This is the title of a legend, ary tale by Rev. George Warrington, which is given in connection with the enmity between the two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele and Owen Glendower. 160. Claymore. A large two-handed sword used by highland, ers, 161. Maida's Shore. •' Maida is a small town of South Italy^ in the province of Catanzaro, where, in 180(), Sir John Stuart, with some British troops, including some Highland regiments, defeated a superior French force, under Ecgnier, — Chambers. 167. The Daoine shi, or men of peace, of the Scottish Highland- ers, rather resemble the Scandinavian Duerger than the Englisli Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of their existence is deeply im- pressed on the Highlanders, who think they are particularly offended at mortals who talk of them, who wear their favourite colour, green, or in any respect interfere with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Germany, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed of greater power. Some curious particulars concerning the popular superstitions of the Highlanders may bo found in Dr. Graham's Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire. 169. Praiicliemont, A small village in Belgium. derous cJio«f p"'1 ' '^ ^^^ of the vaults nf fi ^'^^''" ''^ whirh hv ^°"*^i""^ff an immense tieJ«„; ^^'^ '''''"^' '-^ ^^o"- licss „f H ""."^"""i mmoviiUe. At l„<,t ' ."' '" ™" ; the 183. WKose a , . "'^^^stantly decamp." 186. Ch«,e.- Exptr "^P^^^^^^"hi«." 188. A " necromancpr" /-a,. 7 1";^) i. a »„,i i, ,,„ ^(« -^^ ™. dead a„a „ «,, p,„. 205. PuJ^!;,,^ '"^';"«. proficient.' "'"« "P™ "^e dead. 210. Pas«. Excuse ''''^- 217. ilf^^ifowom?/ *" '^'"^- "^ 220. Grippie.* Hi • ^- May life and healtl, .e tl,i„e." """"" -"J«i™Ieut tu the wish, "1 soil teeJ I'erl Aftf groi NOTES TO MARMION. ruth-o ''•"'™'''- ^™ BATTLE. ta ™p,.t„o.sity a!,,, ooi^fu „ '!'' ''»""• -HI. luf„., " The Pat.ent a„,l ,„■„„, ,,,. the o„,.„,.„,„„„t ,,„^, h ™™"™^ "' Claro before and . IVotliing. An olijective of refpi-ence Cf. " Accusative of Bpe(;ification " in Latin. II. — 3. There. An adjective. 4. Notice the 'personal metaphor. Insult. Assault, 8. Goflilc. See V. xx. 10. 10.-. oody Heart. See V. XV. 19. Field, A heraldic term, the surface or pjound of the sliield. 11. Chief. Also a term in heraldry, meaning tlie upper part of a shield. Mullets. A mullet in heraldry is like a star with five points and represents the rowel of a spur. 12. Cognisance. Badge. The cognisance of the Douglas fam- ily was the " bleeding heart." Robert Bruce on his deathbed bequeathed his heart to his close friend, the good Lord James, to be borne in war against the Saracens. " He joined Alphonso, king of Leon and Castile, then at war with the Moorisli chief Osurga, of Grenada, and in a keen contest with the Moslems, he flung before him the casket containing the precious relic, crying out, 'Onward as thou wert went, thou noble heart, Douglas will follow thee.' Douglas was slain, but his body was recovered, and also the ])reeious casket, and in the end Douglas was laid witli his ancestors, and the heart of Bruce deposited in the church of Mel rose Abbey." — Burton's History of Scotland. 15. Parapet. • L pare, to prepare, smdpectua, the breast. 19. An example of anaphora. 21. Bulwark, Probably so called from being first made from boles or logs. Bartisan. A small overhanging turret, projecting from the angle of a square tower, or from the parapet or some other parts of a building. 22. Bastion. A bulwark projecting from the face of a fortifi cation. Vantnge-coign. A commanding corner or one from which an advantage may be gained. Cf. " coign of vantage," Macbeth. I. 6, and guviii in anthitocture (Fr. coin. L. cuneus, a wedge). 31. Mctonomij. Ill, — ]. For. Because. ^OTRS TO CANTO yj. 220 *■ "■'■■•«• Listen to Pf .. "' the church of B.,me T "'' ""'"'"'» the , I,, l IV._5. i,„^** bewitching, lines 6 and 7. * ^'"'*"'">^^'«^io/j. The samp fi 7. Tranced. Enf ^'"'" "^^^« i" 11- Cf. II. viii "*S"?^^- ^ith St. Hilda, it wks'b^r ^/'" *^« «^th miracle in o year, the form of St Vn """^ ^^^^t at a certain . °°°«^*^'«n dowsof WhitbvAKu ■^'^'^'^ ^o»W be seen ''''""° ^^^ the TF/.e%.) .onJv« fl'^- ^* ^'^ really av^"" T ^^ *^^^ ^i^! beams.^' "^"^^^ " "^^^^"on caused by the 1?'"^"" ^^^^'^'^"-^ -/ lo «ii -y ''^e splendour of f>.^ 24'Rir* ^^Wilton. '^''"^- 24. Bide. A^^.^ 27. That. A n.r.- . V.-1. Make, n "" '"'™'™ 't ThepH„c.-p.,/°''/°^^'""-'^'^---'» -. Corslet. T ^ """S "Jonght). f'ontlet, &c. "^^ ^°"-^^"^- Hence a little (/.,; cuirass Gf . 6. That. Pf V •■ ^ '^^^'^^^- Cf. bracelet. 7. Blood gouts. r» ». Truth. Ar if ,..* 1 J? Pi'otection afforded h. "*"• -Painter 7'i... i ^ ^^^e- I he poet L,i, ':""»^'-- Painter, ed meeting of Clare and ti ■ 30 NOTES TO CANTO VI. ■ si m acknowledges his inability to paint such a touching scene. He regards a true representation as impossible, like an attempt to paint the rainbow. The task is even more diflBlcult than the latter. At the same time his allusions to the beautiful tints of the pic- ture are suffi(;ient to indicate its surpassing grandeur. The "vary- uig hues " display such a rivalry of excellence that their beauty is lost in one another and love alone •' retains the field." 24. liine declare. Personal rn,etaphor. 30. Displayed. What is the subject ? 35. Shortly. Briefly. VI. — 1. Disastrous. What peculiarity in derivation ? 2. IaUU See II, xxviii. 6. 5. Pallet. Fr. 7?az7/r, L. ?)a?eflf., chaff. 6, Beadsman. Generally applied to one whose prayers are interested in behalf of a benefactor ; an almsman. A. S. bed, a prayer. Cf. V. xviii. 12. 9. Wlier Tbf repetition is objectionable. 14. Notice the anapest. to. Frantic. Gr. phrrn. 22. AVrought. " Supply a?^ effect., or similar phrase ; an effect much wrought (mainly produced) by his kind attendance." — ChaTnhers. 23. Strand. By synecdoche, for country. 2(5. Journeyed. Qsed transitively. 27. Supply "I was." 28. Dregs. Mefonomy. 39. Even tlien, &c. A noun prop, in apposition with " boon." VII. 4. MCIOHO))!!/, 8. Fi'TKonnl metdphor. 10, Slough. The cast-off dress of the Palmer, in aliusioL' to the cast-off skin of a serpent. IH. A metaphor. 20. Hostel. Sec ITT. iii. 2. VIII._1. See IIT. xiii. 12. 4. Sprite. Spirit. 9. Aphesrcsis. 10. See Canto III. 13. Cowl. L. cucullun. 16. The " boon " begged of as mentio'ird in vi. 18. An apostro])he, 19. Master. Himself. 29. Featly. Cleverly. From ¥r. ju era. h. facio. 31. Cf. V. xxvi. 34. '' f.-Vu NOTES TO CANTO V/. 2St aiiusiou to " Wlion the surnrfQo f .ts^s:;:"r«~ts=rs, „::::: 6. Dub. A S 7 ',{!"' ^ "^'^^^e. 6. Arm.. Cf V i ''' *° ''^^^«- rfi;,l,f T ''"'» '" "" °''' hootch pro phe ":, "'",'" '"'"'" l'""""- X o ^ ^- XX2IV. 26. " ^— y. Aposiopesis. 20. As in the ca^^e of i^Hp,, ?„ ,, ^ poem, Scott is not at ho^ i , ^'^ ^"'^'Z ^/ ^^''^ X^Z-. .o Jn fV 6. en,... chiefl/""'""-"*^^^-^^^- Notice the metre. faiiit liJlTt * ^"^'P^y"o^ mo(,nh>ht." Tl,. 17. aShsUop. g,,, . ^ ^ ^'^° ^■'^"^^^ only gave a J^arl of Ancrus iiolfH '''''P''''^^^^^ Bishop of T),„,k..l.l i P we have iiere another anachronism. '"*" ^''^^ 232 NOTES TO CANTO VI. m'Mt± 19. 3Iit.r«. A bishop's liopjl-dross. Rocqitet., or roeViet, a short surplice woi-n by bishops. ** Bishops wor(3 olAipjed by the canon law, to wear their rochettos whenever thoy a})])eared in public, wliich practice was constantly kept up in Euf,4and till tlie reformation ; but since that time the bishops have not xised them at any place out of the church, except in the Parlianiont House, and there always with chiraere or upper robe. " — W/i r.atly. 21. Prelacy. The office of a prelate, or Episcopacy. 23. Metonomy. 25. Diinkelil. Fifteen miles from Perth, on the river Tay The cathedral is now almost a ruin. 27. Doflrt'tl. Do-off. Go-wn and Hood are used absolutely. 82. "Wont. Was accustomed. 34. Angus is said to have cut off at one blow, in single combat, the leg of Spens, of Kilspindie, a favourite of James TV. It is stilted that S[tens having spoken slightingly of the Earl, the latter met him while hawking and cut asunder at one blow, his thigh- bone, killing him on the spot. 36. Notice the eiTect of the change of metre. XH. — Kneels. We would expect " knelt." 4. What faiilty construction? See Mason's Gram. par. 200. 8. Untrue. When ? 10. Saint Mlehael. The arch-angel. Saint Andrew. The patron saint of Scotland. 1.'). The folloM'ing account of the ceremony at the creation of a knight is from Milman's Latin Chrisfianifij. " He knelt before his godfather in this war-baptism. He was publicly sworn to maintain the right, to be loyal to all true knighthood, to protect tlie poor from oppression. He must for- swear all treason, all injustice. WJiere women needed liis aid, he miist be ever prompt and valiant : to ])rotect her virtue was the first duty and privilege of a true kniglit. He muFt fast every Friday ; give alms according to his means ; keep faith with all tl)e world, especially his brethrt>n in arms ; succour, love, honour all loyal knights. When he had taken his oath, knights and ladies arrayed him in his nrmour ; each piece had its symbolic meaning, its moral lesson. His godfather then struck him with a gentle blow, and laid liis sword tliree times on liis neck. 'In the name of God, St. Micliael (or St. Georg(% or some other tutelar saint) and (over) of Our liady, we dub tliee kuiglit.' The church- bells pealed out ; the church rang witli acclamations ; the knight mounted his lu)rse, and rode round the list<, or over the preen meadows, amid the shouts of the rejoicing multitude." ■ Mm m mimtf < i miii i filMmiwTB- -- ^'^^ NOTES TO CANTO VL 233 r.Uy ire or Tay It is LG latter 3 thigli- 200. vtionof ^ He was all true intist for- lis aid, be e was tlie Last every with all JO, honour lights and 8ynih<^ii^ lim with a « In the ^er tutelar [he church- Itions ; the 1 or over the tude." 13. Notice the three-fold duty of a kiii;^ht :— (a). To God and his rhnrch. (})). To his kiug and feudal superior, (c). To his lady and all i.tdies in distress, •20. Foul fall liim. May it foully Ix'fall him. Itli'iioliiti^. Akin to Ger. blinken, to {.^litter. Cf. Fv.hla.tc and A. S. ii/ic;a>i and our word IjJink. Cf. alao llainlot : " If he but blench, I know my course." XIII — 8 Would. Insisted to. 10. Stoop. Swoop. A technical term for the action of a bird of pruy. Is fln-wn. Has flown. 18. Sometiking. Somewhat. Plain. Ccnnplain. 17. JPi'^'i't. Subjunctive mood. 22. This would be (expected on the principle of feudalism, 23. Lists!. Used transitively. 24. P«ei". L. 2^ar, equal. i i"i , -12. Pitc'li. The hl^diest point. i2U The language of Marmion is very bold. It is that of one who feels his own guilt and evinces as a consetpieuco a lack of moral courage. 23. The reply of Douglas is most expressive. 26. Uuseatliless. A. S. .SVeafZ/rt//. to rob. 27. Saint Bride. Bryde, or Bridget. There seem to have been two saints of this nama, one Irish and the other Scotch. The Scotch was a favourite of the Douglas family and had a shrine at their castle of Bothwell on the Clyde (V. xiv. 1). The St. Bride of Ireland is one of the patron saints of that island, the others being St. Patrick and St. Columha. This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus, is not without its example in the real history of the House of Doug- las. Maclellan, tutor of Bomby, having refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by Douglas over the Baron of Galloway, was imprisctncd by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve. Sir Patrick Gray, uncle to the tutor of Bomby, obtained from the king a " sweet letter of supplication " prayiug the earl to deliver his prisoner into Gray's hands. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castle he was received with all diie honour; but while he was at (liinier, the earl caused his prisoner to be led forth and beheaded. After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the king's letter to the carl, who led him forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying ■ -— ...ji^sfts;.;-.:; 234 NOTES TO CANTO VI. If; ;,• fl' )> a-i dead, and said, " Sii* Patrick you are come a little too late ; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants the head ; take his Ijody and do with it what you will." Sir Piitrick answered again witli a sore heart, and said, " My lord if ye have taken ircm him his head, dispose ujjon the body as ye please ;" and witli that called for his horse, and when he was on horseback he said lo the earl, " My lord, if I live, you shall be rewarded for your laboijrs that you have used at thistinif, according k) your denierits." At this the earl was highly offended, and cried for horse. Sir Patrick fleeing the earl's fury, spurred his horse, but he was chased near Edinliurgh ere they left him. 2'.). Cf. I. IV. 13. 30. Roiwels. Of the spurs. 31. A simile and an liypevhole. XV. — 3. Hijperbole. 6. For the sake of the rhyme we have as in xii. a mixture of present and past tenses. 10. Mctonomy. 13. A leHer forged. " Lest the reader should partake of the earl's astonishment, and consider the crime as inconsistent with the manners of the period, I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised l)y Eobert of Artois, to forward his suit against the Countess Matilda ; which being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the remote cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars fn France. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward VI, to forge such documents as might appear to establish the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English monarchs." — Scott. Saint .Tude. Cf. III. xxii. 30. There appears no reason why the writer of theejiistle of Jude should be invoked. Some suppose that Douglas in ignorance invokes Judas Iscariot under the name of a saint. In Southey's Queen Mar>fs Ghristening, St. Jude is made to share the odium which attaches to the name of the arch- traitor. '* I never can call him Judas, It isn't a Christian name." 15. lilked. Impersonal verb. 17. Saint Hr>tlian. Cf. '^. xix. 5. Son of mine. See Mason':? Grammar, par. 114, note. 19. Learning was not valued by knights. XVI — 14. Peep. Cf. XV. G. 15. IleU-tiiie-cttt. See V. xiv. 1. 10. Fail-. Handsome. NOTES TO CANTO VI. 235 cr fly ,t\i hb led :arl, [lb at uear are of oi the at "vvith .merouii J Ko^)ert jved the ;F ranee, to fort^e oi iealty isou why |e suppose Ithe name It. Jude is (the arch- note t 21. Saracen, h. Saracenus. The inhabitants of Palestine at tlie time of thi crusades. 26. Somethjiij?. Somewhrt. 20. Master. George. The eldest son of a Scotch lord receives the title. He was now in the royal camp. Cf. VI. xii. 26. •j2. S>%'orii. So much addicted as if sworn to the practice. Horsf-courser. Horse-racer. XVII.— 7. See I. xii. 13. See Canto III. 21. Ciloomejl. Fi-owned. Subject " hrovN-." XVIII. — 3. '• This was a Cistercian house of religion, now almost entirely demolished. Lenuel House is now the residence of my venerable friend, Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well known in the literary world. It is situated near Coldstream, almost opi)osite to Cornhill, and consequeutly very near to Flodden ^c\d."— Scott. 6. Excliange^ Whin these lines were written, Lennel House was the residence of Patrick Bi'ydone {fJie reverend pilgrim), a friend of the poet, and author of Travels in Sicily a)ul Mdltu. 7. Hai-fl. An adverb. 9. Bei-nardiiie. A branch of the Cistercians, founded by St. Bernard at Clairvaux. Cf. V. xxx. 34. ii. St. lleriiaixl is said to have founded ICO mo'nasteries. He Uved 1091—11.53.. 16. Flortden. Jn Northumberland, 8 miles from Wooler. A })i]lar of granite called the king's stont, marks the spot where James fell. 26. Cf. the language in the closing part of VI. v. 31. Oti. A superfluous word here. XIX. — 5. '* On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmoor wov>d, and King James held an inaccessil»le [lositiou on the ridge of Floddeu-hill, one of the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between the armies. On the morning of the ilth September L513, Surrey marched in a north-easterly direction, and crossed the Till with his van and artillery, at Twisel bridge, nigh where that river joiaa the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing al>out a mile higher, by a ford. The movement had the double effect of placing his army between King James and his supplies from Scotland, and .»f strik- ii)g the Scottish monarch with surprise, as he seems to have relied on the depth of the river in his front. But as the pass^age, both over the bridge and thr.ough the ford, was difficult and blow, it 236 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 4il - ^ '« !:;! spemB possible that thcEn{:jlish mif^lit have lioen attacked to gre>it a(ivaiitaj,'o while struggling with these ii.itural obstneles. I kijow not if we are to impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, or to the romantic declaration wliicii Piscottie puts in his mouth, ' tliat h(> was determined to have his eneniies before him on a plain field,' and therefore would suffer no inteiTuption to be given, even by artillery, to their ]>assing the river. " The ancient biidge of Twisel, by which the English crossed the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a splendid pile of Gothic architecture, as now rebuilt l)y Sir Francis Blake, Bart., whose extensive plantations have so nuich improved the country round. The glen is ronumtic and delightful, with steep banks on both sides, covered with copse, partit-ularly witli hawthorn. Be- neath a tall rock, near tlie bridge, is a beautiful fountain, called St. Helen's well"— Scott. G. Haughty. Grand or proud. 9. Wall. Of Twisel Castle. 14. Den. A small valley. 10. Dim-wocKl. Kendered " dim " by the trees. 19. Artli. Of tlie bridge. 21. Opposing. Taken literally. Notice the change now frojit tht: narrative style. 25. Saisit Ueleu, See note to 5. The well is a petrifying one. XX. — 1. St'<>tJaiHl. Metunoniij. 4. Notice the numerous interrogations. 6. CJianipion. James. Sarcasm. Daincs. Lady H(!ron and the French Queen. See V. x. 2. 11. Kniglit-errant's brand. Metunoni/j. See note to xix. 5. where the cause is given. 12. Douglas. Lord James Douglas. See V. xv. i;j. Kaadolpli. " Sir Thomas ilaiidolph, sister's son to King Eobert Bruce, and created by him l']arl of Murray ; after a short aliouatlun at first, one of Bruce's best sup})orters. There was a sort of rivalry iMjtween him and Good Lord James Douglas (Cf. note V. XV. IB,), which should do the boldest and mo^t hazardous actiouH. — Vide " Tales of a Grandfatlur " (Scotland), vol I. chap, ix. They were both with Bruce at Bannockhurn (1314). On the death of Bruce, lilB son David 11. being only four years old, Eau- dol]>h was iiegent of B()\v-strings of the Genoese archers were so wet tliat they could iK't draw them, while the English had kepttheirs in di-y cases." — Chanihers. ;j'2. Rear-guaid. Nominative absolute. XXIII. — •' The reader cannot here expect a full account of tho battle of Floddeu ; but, so far as is necessary to understand the "-^«£iWBflBRHiw3QM 238 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 11' ' roinanor', T beg to remind him, that, when the English army, hy their Kkiii'iil ccninter march, were fiiirly j)laced between Kiii;^' Tames and liis own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to tight; and, setting fire to his tents, descended frcm the ridge of Flodden to secure the neighbouring eminence of Brankstonc, on which that village is built. Thus tlie two armies met, ahno.-t without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem of ■ rioddeu Field; ' The English line stretched east and west, And southward were their faces set; Tlie Scottish northward proudly presC, And manfully their foes they met.' The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, which hrst engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, tlie Knight Marshall of the army. Their divisions were separated trom each other; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, his brother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The centre was com- manded by Surrey in person ; the left wing by Sir Edward Stan .ey, with the men of Lancashire, and of the palatinate of Chester. Lord Dacres, with a large body of horse furnied a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved iown the hill in a similar order of battle, and in deep silence. The Earls of Huntley and of Home commanded their left wing, and 3hai*ged Sir Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to de- feat his part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner was beaten down, and he himself escaped with difficulty to his brother's division. The Admiral, however, stood firm; and Dacro advancing to his support with the reserve of cavalry, probably between the interval of Ghe divisions commanded by the brothers Howard, appears t(j have kept the victors in effectual check. Home's men, chiefly JJordciers, began to pillage the baggage of both armies ; and fcheU' leader is branded by the Scottish histori- ans with negligence or treachery. On the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow many encomiums, is said by the English historians, to have left the field after the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, whose flank tiiest chiefs ought to have attacked, availed himseif of their inactivity, and pushed forward against another large diviiuon of tlie Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls of Crawford and Montrose; both of whom were silain, and their forces routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of undisciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox and Argyle, mmmmmmmmm NOTES TO C VNTO VI. 239 v^ed to age of inc, on almoj^t oein o£ rigbt, und, tbe epavatetl brother's vas com- ird Stan- : Chester. .. When mies, was ,d moved 3nce. The ^viug, and •ely to de- ['3 banner Ity to his and Dacre probably le brothers lal check. )aggage of sh histori- .1, Huntley, ,he English re Meanwhile attacked , rd against ont, headed L were slain, ,he English ;, consisting and Argyle, was unable to sustain the chariro of Sir Edward Stanley, and especially the severe execution t)f the Lancashire arclu-rs. 'I'hc King and Surrey, who commanded the rospcctiv(^ centres of tlieir armies, were meanwhile engaged in close and dubious conflict. James, surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and impatient of the galling discharge of ari'ows, supported also by his reserve under liothwell, charged witli such fury, that tli.' sLuidardof S;ir- rey was in danger. At that critical moment, Staidey, wbo had routed tlie left wing of the Scottisli, ])ursued his career of victory, and arrived oa the rigbt flank, and in the rear of James's division, wliich, throwing itself into a circle, disputed the battle till niirbt came on. Surrey then drew back his forces; for the Scottish centrii not having been broken, and their left wing being victori- ous, he yet doubtt>d the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, felt their loss, and .abandoned the field of battle in dis- order, before dawn. Tlie\- lost, pei'haps, from eight to ten thou- sand men ; but that included the very prime of their nobility, gentry and even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but had an ancestor killed at Flodde ; and there is no province in Scotland, even at this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sensa- tioii of teri'or and sorrow. The English lost also a great number of men, perhaps within one-third of the vanquisli.'d, but they were of inferior note. — See the only distinct detail of the Field of Flodden in Finkertoit's Hisiorij, Book xi ; all former accounts being full of blunders and inconsistency. The spot from which Clara views the battle must be supposed to have been on a hillock commanding the rear of the English right wing, which was defeated, and in v/hicb conflict Marmion is supposed to have fallen." — Scott, 7. Notice the harmony between the sound of the words and the description. 19. Should England fail, Clare is requested to hasten to Ber- wick. 24. \Voulcl not. Refused to. XXIV.— 8. Bi-iaiii Tunstall. «' Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic language of the time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Englishmen of rank slain at Eloddeu." — Scutt. 20. Simile and hy;peyhole. 21. Did not halt until reaching the vanguard. XXV.— 6. Plain. Plainly. 9. Gilded spurs. The spurs of knighthood. 10. Bent. Hill-side. Fr. pente. 11. This was done (1) to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy and (2) to hide by the smoke their own advanoa. V -.^:msigvmeemm mmm 240 NOTKS JO CANTO VI. .1 ivS r. 1;'. " of fill pofttionl ^)flttlr■^ wiiifh bavn lioon fonj^ht, from tlio {lays of Hoiiier to those of Mr. Southey, thoro is none, in our opinion, iit all rornparalde, for intercstand animation, — for hr^'adth of drawing and magnificouce of effect, — with tliis of Mr. Scott's." JcJ/re//. iO. VolaiiK'd. Invohimr^. 17. Wjir. Mrtonomi/ for " army." 18. TlM-y. Why phiral ? ly. Nor— nor. Neitlior— nor. " Les(£uel3 tCscossois deseondriront la montaigne en honne ordre en la manihx'e que mai'chent hs Allemands, sans parler, ne faire aucun l)ruit." — Piifjierton's Histonj. XXVT, — Sliroiicl. A ynataphor which suggests death. The smoke and dust shrouded the battle from their view. 6. Sea.inew. Sea-gulls, called " Mother Carey's Chickens '' by sailors, and regarded a warning of au impending storm. 8. Billows. Metaphor. Cf. Lady of the Lake, VI. xvi. : " The host m'jves like a deep sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to l)rave, High swelling, dark and slow." 10. liike -^vuve. Simile. Cf. Ladi/ of the Lake, VI. xviii. : " Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Kiglit onward did Clan Alpin come. Above the tide each broadsword bright Was brandishing like beam of light, — Each targe was dark below ; And with the ocean's mighty swing, W^hen heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurled them on the fi^c." 24. IlisUlainInittu. ** In some editions, -Ba(?c'Hoc^-?»an. Bad- enoch, a district in the south-west of Inverness-shire, so called from a word meaning bushy, as it was, and still is, in some i)art-!, a rough, uncultivated, mountainous tract. Robei't It gave it to his son Alexander, who was known as the wolf of Badenoch." — Morris. 26. See note to xxiii. 1. for the position of the forces. XXVII — 1 . I^t^ft. The English left. 7. Foi-Hiiie. Personification. Uiglit. The English. S. Fu'lcle. As events ju-oved. 14. Slogan. The liiglihtnd war-cry. Cf. Lady of the Lake, VI. xvii. "At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark aiid narrow dell, As all the iioufls from Heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! " MUtMf MM mmm^ ' i< NOTES TO CANTO VI. 24' the f)UV idtb ,t'B." )onno smoke ieti'^ '" xvui. lo called le part-, jQ it to liiocU."— Uic Lalce, 10. A Sini/Ir. 21. It. Tlin i)ennoJi. 20. »i»i- Ix-ad^. Spp note to "V. xviii. 19. PaUoi- |»s-:iy«u-. Say in'ayer.s. Unoinatoineia. 2',). For u siUM-f. Of time. a;{. I^iki'. M.Klifios '* .sunk." 37. Fast. Modifies" rushed." i}8. Fyes. Nomiuativo absolute. Also "nostrils," "reiu," ' iiousiug " and " s.'.ddlc." 40. Housing. Tliu tnqjping of a horse. Cf. " house " for the .same idea of covering. 4;}. When the horse of Marraiou appears, Eustace can no longer abstain from the contest. XXVIII — 17. From among. Cf. " from under the table." 23. !•< gone. Euplietiiisin. 24. Si>»-d. Used in a causative sense. 27. Uuuurturefl. Uneducated. Brawling. Loud speech. XXIX — 1. noffecl. Do-off. Casque. Nominative absolute. 4. Hearts of tiaro. As timid as a hare. 10. Dacre. He commanded the reserve. Sigaet-riug. To stamp or " sign " documents and as a token. Cf. its use in The Lathj of the Lake.. 15. Reft. A. S. reafian, to rob or " reave." 18. C'liester. By sy>iec(loche for the Chester. lianvasliire. The nn-n of Lancashire. 21. Varlefs. " The same word as valet, originally used In a higher sense as a page or a knight's attendant. It has here some- wliat of that meaning. Both forms of the word have, however, deteriorated ; and now valet is a gentleman's servant, and varlet a rascal." — Chambers. XXX. — 1. O woman. An apostrophe. " The hero of the piece, Marmion, who has been guilty of seduc- ing a nun, and abandoning her to be buried alive, of iorgery to a ruined friend, and of perfidy in trying to seduce away from him tlie object of his tenderest affections, fights and dies gloriously, and is indebted to the injured Clara for the last drop of water to cool his dying thirst. This last act of disinterested affection ex- torts from the author the smoothest, sweetest, and tenderest lines in tiie whole poem. It is with pleasure that we extract numiiers so harmonious from the discords by which they are surround- ed." — Critical Review, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I '■■ m 6 i™^= 2.0 12.2 u i, 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► m *¥ /a '/ v^ Photographic Sciences Corporation \ «^ M V >>;* 6^ % A? 17 23 WEn .MA*;^^' 'STREIT WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 L.? 0"- zp< >•."' 242 NOTES TO CANTO VI. !»■* ,^ot r 6. Notice the force of the antithesis in the exclamation, 13. Runnel. Runlet. 31. Shrleve. A. S. serif an, to receive confession. Cf. Ger. Schreiben, L. scribo. XXXf.— 5. Remembrance. Memory. Personification. G. Shritt. Confession. Cf. " shrieve " above. 13. Holy Inle. See II. i. 10. Clare hesitates in telling the sad death of Constance. 19. Dark presaj^e. Cf. the song of Constance in Canto HI 25. " The meaning is ; The fiend might give me a little longer time on earth, since it would be spent in work pleasing to him, — namely in the slaughter of priests, and the destruction of sacred buildings (that is in taking revenge for Constance upon eccles- iastics who had put her to death)." — Chambers. 26. Notice the aposiopesis. 29. Cf. Siiakespeare, Hamlet : " Conscience doth make cowards of us all.** XXXII — 6. He. Marmion. 9. See III. xii. xiii. 13. Siintl. A metaphor. The allusion is to an hour-glass, with which a man's life is compared. XXXIII — 7. Cf. Lady of the Lake. VI. xviii. : " One blast upon his bugle-horn Were worth a thousand men." " King diaries, the Great, usually called Charlemagne. It is better, however, to translate the name than to preserve tlie French form of it ; for he was more of a Teuton than a Frenchman, reigning over France only as a conqueror. Cf. Bryce's * Holy Roman Empire,"chap. v. Gibbon (chap xlix., which see) remarks that of all the princes who have been called great, Charlemagne is the only prince in whose favour the title has been indiasohibly blended with his name.' That he deserved the title no one can denv, not only from the extent of his dominions, stretching from the Elbe to the Ebro, but from the variety and universality of his genius. (Cf. Hallam's ' Middle Ages,' chap. i. p. 12.) His titles to greatness are : — (1) as a conqueror ; (2) as a legislator ; (3) as th^ founder of the Holy Roman Empire, which be built on the pattern of the old Roman Empire of the West, and which, amidst various changes, lasted until the beginning of the present century. He was crowned, in A. D. 800, by Pope Leo III. According to the Spanish romances. King Charles fell in this struggle with the Sara<'.ena. History tells us that he died at his capital Aachen (Aix-la-Cbapelle), on January 28, A. D. 814, and V 1. m^ NOTES TO CANTO VI. 243 Ger. 5 the ni l0Ug«rC lim, — sacred ecclea- is3, with be. It is e ^i'rencb iiichinan, 8 ' Holy remarks smagne ia liasolubly one can Ihing from llity of hia [is titles to I (3) as th9 [he pattern 'at various tury. He III in this led at his 814, and was buried in the cathedral which he had built there. Milton, however, followed the romauces (* Paradise Lust,' I. o3G) : ' When Cliarlemagne with all his peerage fell By F()ntaial)ia.' An account of this battle will be found in Lockhart's ' Spanish Ballads,' the ' March of 15ernardo del Carpio.' Alphoiiso the Chaste had no son. He therefore invited Charles into Spain, proposing the succession to the crown as the price of his alUance. But Ber- nardo, thd illegitimate son of the Queen, stirred up the nobility to resist this proposal. Then Al[)houso rei)ented; and when Charles came to expel the Moors from Spain, lie f.>;md that the conscien- tious Alphonso had banded himself with the infidels against him. As his army was passiiig through) the Pyrenees, his rear-guard was attacked in the pass of Roncesvalles, or Roncevaux, when Charles was defeated, and (according to the Spanish romances) slain, with many of his followers — amongst others, Bowland and Oliver. Bowland, Roland, Rutland, or Orlando, the Paladin, possessed a magic horn, which could beheardthirty leagues di'tant, but which he refused to wind when attacked, until all his companions were slain, although King Charles was still within hearing, and might have rescued him. Roland is frequently celebrated in the early French romances, one of the earliest and best known of which, the ' Chanson de Roland,' relates this story. In the Augustinian Abbey of Roncevalles, the monks still show memorials of the illus- trious Paladin." — Morris. The mutual rivalry between Roland and Oliver, gave rise to the proverb " a Roland for an Oliver." 19. PritJe. S;inecdoche. XXXIV — 10. Blllmen. Men armed with " bills," a kind of axe. 12. The same metaphor is found in the Ladij of the Lake, VI. xvi : "Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight /ort'si frowned." And in xvii : "The spearmen's twilight wood." 1,4. Each. Nominative absolute. 20. Personification. 25. Scott is fond of this figurative style. 32. Metonomy. Also in 44 and 45. 38. " The powerful poetry of those passages can receive no illustration from any praises or observations of ours. It is supe- rior, in our api)rehen:iion, to all that this author has hitherto pro- duced } and, with a lew faults of diction, eixual to anything that w 244 NOTES TO CANTO VI. U V Ikt r' ' lias cvor been written upon similar subjects. From the momoTif the author g<'ts iu sight of Flodden field, indeed, to the end of tlic poem, there is no tame writing, and no intervention of ordinary passages. He does not on(;e flag or grow tedious ; and neither stojts to describe dresseH and ceremonies, nor to commemorate the harsh names of feudal barons from the Border. There is a fliglii of five or six hundred lines, iu short, iu which he never stou()s his wing, nor wavers in his course ; but carries the reader forward with a more rapid, sustained, and lofty movement, than any epic bard that we can at present remember." — Jejjfrey. XXXV. — 1. Cf ** Day glimmers on the dying and the dead. The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head. " &c. liyron's Lara. 2. Pride. Synecdoche. 5. Mistrustfully. Do not look on it as if you did not believe it was the king's. 7. Border Castle. Home Castle in Berwickshire. See note to 14. 11. Royal Pilgrim. See next note. 14. " There can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle of llodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, within a lance's length of tiie Earl of Surrey ; and the same account adds, that none of his division were madt^ prisoners, though many were killed ; a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their resist- ance. The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports which passed among the vulgar oi their day. Home was accused by the popular voice, not only of failing to support the king, but even of having carried him out of the field and murdered him. And this tale was revived iu my remembrance, by an onauthenti. cated story |of a skeleton, wrapped in a bull's hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, said to have been found in the welljof Home Castle ; for which, on enquiry, I could never find any better au- thority than the pexton of the parish having said, that, if the well were cleaned uut, he would not be surprised at such a discovery. Home was the chamberlain of the King, and his prime favourite ; he had much to lose, (in fact did lose all) in consequence of Janjes's death, and nothing earthly to gain by that event : but the retreat, or inactivity of the left wing which he commanded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even the circumstance of his returning unhurt, and laden with spoil, from so fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation of such a calumny against him easy and accept- able. Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the King's fate, and averred that James, weary of greatness after the carnage among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage, to merit abBolutiou for (he death of bis father, and the breach of his oath of amity NOTES TO CANTO VI. 245 • &c. Lara. believe ae note battle oi 5, within intaddri. any were )ir resi -:t- reports accused kiug, hut ■red him. authenti. irrouiideil ;of Home )etter au- Ifthe well diaoovery. favourite ; of Janjes's he retreat, r defeating , returning j, rendered Lnd accept- the King's ihe carnage abBolution lb oi amity to Henry. In particular, it was objected to the English, that thoy could never show the token of the iron belt, which, however, he was likely enough to have laid aside on the day of battle, as en- cumbering his personal exertions. They produce abetter evidence, the monarcli's sword and dagger, which are still preserved in the Herald's College in London. Stowe has recorded a degrading story of the disgrace with which the remains of the unfortunate monarch were treated in his time. An unhe^vn column marks the spot where James fell, still called the King's stone." — Scott, 19. Blithe night. At Holyrood. See V. vii. XXXVI. — 1. Care. Metonomy. 3. JLicl&field. A city in Staffordshire. Pile. The cathedral near " Tamworth tower and town," said in Canto I. to belong to Marmion. 8, " This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been garri- soned on the part of the King, took place in the Great Civil War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot with a musket ball through the vizor of his helmet. The royalists remarked that he was killed by a shot fired from St. Chad's cathedral, and upon St. Chad's day, and received his death wound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in England. The magnificent church in Question suffered cruelly upon this, and other occasions ; the principal spire being ruined by the fire of the besiegers." — Scott. 10, Saint Cliad. " Ceadda, Chad, was the first Bishop of Lich- field. He had been a pupil of St. Aidan, at Landisfarne. ile was consecrated to the See of York, but resigned it shortly afterwards, because Wilfred had by some mistake, been also consecrated to it. He then went to live near the village of Lichfield, whore his fame soon became widely extended. It was there that he accomplished tlie conversion of Wulfhere, King of Mercia, a determined pa<]fan and persecutor of the Christians. The legend runs that St. Cliad converted him by the strange miracle of hanging a cloak on a sun- beam. When the great see of Mercia was divided into five sepa- rate sees, the hermit Chad was made the first Bishop of Lichfield. He died of the plague three years later," — Morris. 11. Guerdon. Reward. " A corpse is afterwards conveyed, as that of Marmion, to the Cathedral of Lichfield, where a magnifi- cent comb is erected to his memory, and masses are instituted for the repose of his soul ; but, by an admirably-imagined act of poet- ical justice, we are informed that a peasant's body was placed be- neath that costly monument, while the haughty Baron himself was buried like a vulgar corpse, on the spot on which he died. " — Mon. Beview. II ! 246 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 13. Conchant. RecumWnt; a term in heraldry. ir>. Frc-itetl. See note to VI. i. 4. 17. ISlaz«'d. Emblazoned. A term in heraldiy. 21. Ettrlckwoo«l. In Selkirkshire. See Introduction to Canto IT. James Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, received his name from tlii, district. 24. "Wede a-way. Weeded aw«y. The allusion is to the poem, The Flowers of the Forest, given by Scott in his Border Minstrel- sy and supposed to have been written by Jane Elliott : " I've heard them lilting, at the ewe milking, Las-;es a' lilting before dawn of day ; But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning : The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae." And later, referring to Flodden Field : — " Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! Tlio English, for once, by guile won the day ; The tiowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay." Sir Walter says that the lirst and fourth lines of the first stiinza are ancient. The poem is due " to the remembrance of the fatal battle of Flodden, in the calamities accompanying which the in- habitants of Ettrick Forest suffered a distinguished share, and to the present solitary and desolate appearance of the country." XXXVIII.— 1. Elf. Fairy ; here used for fool. 9. Holliislieil or Hall. " English chroniclers, who lived about half a century after Flodden. We know very little about the '■■aily or private life of Raphael Holinshed (usually spelt with one Z). He was editor and chief author of a series of chronicles which go under his name. His share of the work has been reprinted in re- cent times. Edward Hall, an English lawyer and historian, but apparently of foreign extraction; educated at Eton and King's College, Cambridge; serjeant-at-law, of Gray's Inn. His chron- icle, called 'The Union of the Houses of York and Lancaster,' has b(vn reprinted lately. Its character seems doubtful. Hearne says it is written in an elegant and masculine style, whilst Bishop Nicholson speaks of it as only a record of the fashions of clothes." ^—Scott. 11. Faith. Loyalty. Nominative absolute. 16. In terms, In so many words, 21. IVolsey. Cf. V. xxiv. 15. 22. More. Sir Thomas More, author of Utopia, and Lord High Chancellor of England in the reign of Henry VIH'. He opposed tVie divorce of Catharine of Arra.'on and subsequently lost his bead. He was remarkable for his integrity and learning. msmwrntiff^^ \ Lord High He opposed itly lost his ing. NOTES TO CANTO VI. 247 ;3aTitoT1. rom tin-. lie pooni, Minstri'l- ning : »> ■der ! most, irst stiin/.a [ the fatal ch the iii- ire, and to itry." Sands. Sir William Sands, or Sandys, created Lord Sands, Chamberlain of Henry VIII. Denny. Sir Anthony Denny, one of the gentlemen of the Privy Chamber, to Henry VIIL He was one of the favourites of the king ; acquired a large fortune at the dissolution of the monas- teries ; endowed colleges and schools. 24. King Hal. Cf, V. xii. 34. 26. Catbarlne. Catharine of Arragon, first wife of Henry VIIL Stocking tbre-vr. As old shoes are thrown now-a-days. term borrowed subjoined to a It sometimes L'EnToy. Fr. envoyer, to send. A technical from the olc* French poetry for additional lines poem where the author bids the reader farewell, conveys a moral or address to some patron. * 3. Gentles. Gentlemen. Speed. Prosper, Rede. Tale. Intelligence — honesty — eloquence. Pitt. William Pitt, the younger. See Introduction 4. 7. 8. to Ca;ilo I. lived about it the oarly one /). He s which go inted in re- torian, but and Kin^^'s His chrou- icaster,' has iearne says ilst Bishop of clothes." •i(* ^^' Pi c4^Mm.-3 'I LIFE OP EDMUI^D BUEKE. Parents. The father of Edmund Burke, Mr. Richard Burke, was descended from some Bourkes of Limerick County, who held a respectable local position in the times of the civil wars. He was an attorney of considerable practice, a resident of Dublin, and a Protestant in religion. Mrs. Burke belonged to the Nagle family, which had a strong connection in the County of Cork, and like her an- cestors she remained ^an adherent of the Catholic faith. Birth, 1729. On the 12th of January of this year Edmund Burke was bom in Dublin. He and his two brothers were bred in the religion of their father, while their only sister foUow^ed the mother's creed. He received the first rudiments of education from Mr. O'Halloran, the village school master of Castletown Roche who many years after- wards used to pride himself on having taught Burke Latin. Like Sir Walter Scott and other distinguished men, delicate health prevented him from engaging in Vjoyish sports, and tended to make him spend much of his time in reading and pondering, sitting by himself in corners. At the age of twelve he attended, with his two brothers. Garret and Richard, a school at Ballitore, a village in Kildare mmm 250 LIFE OF EDMUND BURKE. m' ■■ , -«<'-« about thirty miles from Dublin. It was to Abraham Shackleton, a Quaker from Yorkshire, who had already earned a high reputation as teacher of this school, that Burke always professed he owed w?-atever gain had come to him from education. That deep reverence which ho always had for homely goodness, simple purity, and all tlie pieties of life, was largely due to the impressions stamped in him by this schoolmaster during the two years he was under his charge. At Trinity College Dublin, 1743. Here Burke remained until 1748 when he took his degree of B. A. When he entered college he had a stock of reading such aa few lads even in the present century carried with them from school. Like many other men of great gifts his studies were of a desultory and excursive character. After having his attention taken up at first with natural philosophy, or as he puts it, the furor mathematicus, the ft tr or logicus^ the furor historicus and the furor poeticus, absorb, in succession his mind. Of the eminent Irishmen whose names adorn the annals of Trinity College in the eighteenth century, one, the luckless sizar, who afterwards wrote the J>«.s<'rn of ihing uring sadily with ity ill n the once his training at St. Omer ; a Jacobite, ready and willing to foster rebellion. " In the following year a new and great Held opened for Burke's exertions. On the 14th of Janu- ary, 1766, he took his seat for Wendover, standing for tho lirst time on the floor of St Stephen's Chapel, whose walls were to ring so often with the rolling periods of his grand eloquence, and the peals of acclamation bursting alike from friend and foe. On the first day of his attendance he delivered a speech of such power as astonished and delighted no less a critic than the elder William Pitt, elat- ed the sturdy old Johnson and made the relatives of **Ned" proud of the name. He soon took a front rank. H is deeply rooted hatred of oppression and wrong, was maiu- fested in that luminous and persuasive eloquence, w^ uh, in a great measure, effected the repeal o^. the Stamp Act, passed by the opinion .ted and determined Grenville. The taxing of the American Colonies by Englan d appeared to him, not onlj unjust, but as tending to irritate and provokij to hostility a great and powerful community, otherwise loyally disposed towards England. A Landed Proprietor, 1768. Burke now became a landed proprietor. He bought an estate at Beaconsfield, in Buckingham, at a cost of £22,000. In spite of the remuneration he received from his literary and other labours and in spite of the large assistance given by Lord Rockingham h6 remained in debt all his life. Like Pitt, he was too deeply absorbed in the service of his country to have for his private affairs the solicitude that would have been prudent. The next year he wrote his Observations on the State of the Nation^ in reply to a bitter pamphlet Dy George Grenville. T*he revival of high doctrines of preroga- tive in the Crown was accompanied by a revival of high doctrines of privilege in the House of Commons. The un- constitutional prosecution of Wilkes was followed by the fatal recourse to new plans for raising taxes in the Ameri- can Colonies. In 1770 appeared Thoughts on the cause of the Present Discontents; a powerful argumentative treatise I i !. Bi U'l 'H ■ f ■ 'XjTFi ; ,1 \' ■:' If ; w 254 LIFE OF B:DMUND BURKE. Si.. » If' the object of which was to press for the hearty concurrence both of public men and of the nation in combining against "a faction ruling by the private instructions of a court against the general sense of the people." Here as well as in later publications a strong vein of conservative feeling was manifest. Among the works ascribed to his pen were those remarkable letters, signed Junius. Elected for Bristol, 1784. At the general election of 1784, Burke was returned for the borough of Malton, in Yorkshire. In a few weeks afterwards, he received the great distinction of being chosen one of the representatives of Bristol. His independence in voting in favour of a bill brought in for relief of the Roman Catholics did not suit classes too easily influenced by such fanaticism as produced the Gordon riots and he paid the penalty in being obliged to decline a contest in that constituency at the next election. In the meantime his political genius, as displayed in parlia- ment, shone with an effulgence that was worthy of the great affairs over which it shed so magnificent an illumina- tion. His speeches are monuments of the struggles for the liberty of the people. That on Americau ConeiUation in 1775 and that on Taxation exhibit that deep ethical quality which is the prime secret of their convincing power. A Minister, 1782. The Tory government of Lord North was forced to resign in 1782, and the Rockingham party returned to power once more. Burke was made a privy councillor, and obtained the office of Paymaster of the Forces. Ho continued to sit during the rest of his parlia- mentary life for Malton. His office was one to which various irregular gains were attached. With singular dis- interestedness he introduced a thorough reform of the department, and refused to receive anything beyond the salary for his office. The tenure of power by the new Ministry was brief. In July Rockingham died ; Lord Shel- bume took office ; Fox declined to serve under him, and Burke with his loyalty to Fox followed him out of office. Lord Shelburno was obliged to retire and a Coalition Min- l i' LIFE OF EDMUND BURKE. 255 ence ainst court )ll as ieling were ection ton, in 3d the itatives f a bill ot suit roduced obliged jlection. n parlia- j of the lUumina- kles for iciWation 3 ethical ig power, of Lord jkingham s made a master of lis parlia- to which ^gular dis- of the jyond the the new ,ord Shel- him, and ,t of office, ition Min- istry under Lord Portland was formed. It contained such an indefensible alliance as that of Fox and Lord North, Burke taking his old p<>st at the pay-oflice. They were not in office long. The misgovernment of India had long been a scandal throughout the world. F(jx's India Bill weakened the power of the Crown by giving a mass of patronage to the party which the king hated. The measure was thrown out by means of a royal intrigue in the Lords, and the ministers were instantly dismissed. In the election of 1784, the prime minister, young Pitt, was sustained, the action of the king against the Portland combination approved of by the nation, and the hopes whicli Burke had cherished for a political life-time were irretrievably ruined. Trial of Warren Hastings, 1788. Though the rout of the orthodox Whigs was followed by a period of re- pose for the country, it was also followed by one of the most memorable trials recorded in English history. In the famous impeachment of Warren Hastings, Burke stood up in the cause of oppressed millions, against a tyraimy that surpassed the worst injustice inflicted upon the American colonies. A tyrant, without pity, remorse, or fear, sat enthroned by the British senate as Governor- General of India. The story of Hasting's crimes, as Macaulay says, made the blood of Burke boil in his veins. The organized' extortion and fraud ; the infliction of outrages, insults, and tortures ; a total denial of the rights of the natives as sub- jects of the English government, consolidated oppression into a system against which there was no appeal. Already in 1785, he delivered one of the most famous of all his speeches, that on the Nabob t)f Arcot's debts. Now the " crown of his glory as an orator was won in the great Hall of Westminster, where, in the presence of the noblest and fairest, the wisest and the most gifted of the land, he uttered the thunders of his eloquence in the impeachment of Warren Hastings, the Governor-General of India. Open- ing the case in February 1788 in a speech of four days, he continued his statement during certain days of April, and ml' f ill-. PL; *• Hm **j^ p ■■:■ ' IW-'V 1: •* jfi' . 8-';' ... 256 LIFE OF EDMUND BURKE. wound up his charges with an address, wliicli began on the 28th of May and lasted for the nine succeeding days. As he spoke, the scenery (Vf the East — rice-field and jungle, gilded temple an(\ broad-bo.somed river, witli a sky of heated copper glowing ov^r all— infolded itself in a brilliant picture before the kindlebespierre, who, after condenuiing countless nund)er3 to the guillotine, suilered each in turn a simi- lar fate. When the people were wearied of bloodshed and anxious for peace, tlie brilliant exploits of Napoleon Bonaparte in Italy, turned men's thoughts to other chan- nels. The revolution hid reached a turning point, A di- rectory was formed to atlminister the government and the year 179? saw i>ona[)arte omnipotent in Italy and rapidly advancing to supreme power in France. Impressions in England. The conflict of opinion in England regarding the French revolution led to ttie breaking up of the old distinctions of Whig and Tory. Burke, Fox and Sherid m, from the beginning of the ad- ministration of Pitt, h;-d been closely united as the chief leaders of the Wnigs. The party of Fox recognized a law- ful relation between tlie English revolution of 1G88 and the political convulsioris in France. It was, they con- tended, a struggle for lib .rty. It would only end in making the king of Franci subordinate to a ministry responsible to the people. Pitt viewed the movement with marked cool- ness and with no distrust. To many it was a surprise and a satisfaction to see the ** terrible monarciiy of France collapse without a blow, and England's hereditary foe de- prived, to all appearance, of all power of injury or retalia- tion." That the new government would favour his liberal commercial views was anticipated by the prime minister. Those who clung to the most libera' inter[>retation of the revolution of 1(188, were pointed out as Jacobins — the title which became identitied with all that wati most 'evoltinji in r '-'^ '' ' >4«f;" . pte* ■ if' ■ ■'■ ■ m KM|£s' "J ff .V 3, P^ u I'm" 270 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. the French revolution, Hence the Tories became pnti- Jac- obins. With them democratic oj)inions were proscribed and liberty and Jacobinism regarded as synonymous. In parlianjent the anti-Jacobin cries had little eficct. But the majority of the English people did not think all would " culminate in general harmony and regular order." Their cautious good sense, their love of law, their distaste for violent changes and for abstract theories, and their rever- ence for the past, were rousing throughout the country a dislike of the revolutionary movements across the channel. Neither side rdalized as Burke did the magnitude of the event. In his early denunciations of the revolution, he stood almost alone. The word revolution had for a centu- ry been sacred to Englishmen. France was still what she had been during the middle ages ; but now feudalism was to be shaken down and trampled to the dust. Conspicu- ous among the agencies that were at work was the new power of public opinion. Burke saw this, and to public opinion he successfully made his appeal. As he could find no audience in the House of Commons he addressed the nation at large. He recognized what is now obvious enough, that England's policy must depend on a reasonable democracy. Already democracy had become a power. The immorality of many politicians of the day had awakened distrust, and a demand for reform arose. It was a time of great uncertainty as to the future and of general distrust of the existing frame- work of society. Burke refutes the notion that the revolu- tion in France resembled the English revolution. That of 1G88, he held was a revolution not made, but prevented. The French revolution had aiders and abettors in England, who openly avowed their purpose to bring about a similar catastrophe in their own country. Some of these English " sympathisers " were persons long politically hateful to Burke. His aim was not so much to attack the French, as the English revolutionists — not so much to asperse Mira- beau, as Dr. Price and Lord Stanhope. m *p ■aRc- ti-Jac- icribed 18. Ill 5ut the would Tlieir iste for r rever- )uutry a jhannel. 3 of the tion, he a centu- what she ilism was Jonspicu- ew power pmioiihe audience 1 at large. Ingland's Already of many demand ,nty as to Lg frame- ,e revolu- That of revented. lEngland, a similar e English latef ul to 'rench, as •se Mira- c REFLECTIONS ON THE EEYOLUTION IN FRANCE, -:o:- I find a preacher of the gospel profaning the beauti- ful and pi'ophetic ejaculation, commonly called " nunc dimittis^'^ made on the iirst presentatioai of our Saviour in the temple, and applying it, with an inhuman and unnatural rapture, to the most horrid, atrocious, and afflicting spectacle that perhaps ever was exhibited to the pity and indignation of mankind. This " lead- ing in tnumph," a thing in its best form unmanly and in-eligious, which fills our preacher with such unhallow- ed transports, must shock, I believe, the moral taste of every well-bom mind. Several English were the stupi- fied and indignant spectators of that triumph. It was (unless we have been strangely deceived) a spectacle more resembling a procession of American savages, en- tering into Onondaga, I'after some of their murders, called victories, and leading into hovels hung round with scalps, their captives, overpowered with the scolis and buffets of women as ferocious as themselves, much more than it resembled the triumphal pomp of a civil- ized, martial nation ;— if a civilized nation, or any men who had a sense of generosity, were capable of a per- sonal triumph over the fallen and afflicted. This, my dear Sir, was not the triumph of France. I must believe that, as a nation, it overwhelmed you 5 10 15 20 if fl! 1 1 Kli -f REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. with shame and horror. I must believe that the Nation- 2.5 al Assembly find themselves in a state of the greacest humiliation in not being able to punish the authors of this triumpli or the actors in it ; and that they are in a situation in which any inquiry they may make upon the subject must be destitute even (jf tlie appearance 30 of liberty or impartiality. The apology of that assem- bly is found in their situation ; but when we approve what they m^ist bear, it is in us the degenerate choice of a vitiated mind. With the compelled appearance of deliberation, they 35 vote under the dominion of a stern noc«^"ssity. They sit in the heart, as it were, of a foreign republic ; they have their residence in a city whose constitution has emanated neither from the charter of their king, nor from their legislative power. There they are surround- 40 ed by an army not raised either by the authority of their crown, or by their command ; and which, if they should order to dissolve itself, would instantly dissolve them. There they sit, after a gang of assassins had driven away some hundreds of the members ; whilst 45 those who held the same moderate principles, with more patience or better hope, continued every day ex- posed to ov'trageous insults and murderous threats. There a majority, sometimes real, sometimes pretended, captive itself, compels a captive king to issue as royal 50 edicts, at third hand, the polluted nonsense of their most licentious and giddy coffee-houses. It is notori- ous, that all their measures are decided before they are debated. It is beyond doubt, that under the terror of the bayonet, and the lamp-post, and the torch to their 55 houses, they are obliged to adopt all the crude and des- perate measures suggested by clubs composed of a mon- strous medley of all conditions, tongues, and nations. Among these are found persons, in comparison of whom Catiline would be thought scrupulous, and Cethegus a 60 man of sobriety and moderation.. Nor is it in these ie«ji«M»d>t-'- REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH RFTOLUTION. 273 25 t •^ rv e i- re 36 30 35 ey nor ad- ^ of hey 3lve had lilst vith ex- ats. led. r>yal heir tori- are of 40 45 50 l)r Iheir 55 dea- hon- lons. Ihom lu8 a 60 Iheae clubs alone that the public measures are deformed into monsters. They undergo a previous distortion in Jicad- emies, intended as so many seminaries for these clubs, which are set up in all the places of public resort. In these meetini^s of all sorts, every counsel, in proportion as it is daring, and violent, and perfidious, is taken for the mark of superior genius. Humanity and gompass- ion are ridiculed as the fruits of superstition and igno- rance. Tenderness to individ ' lals is considered as treason to the public. Liberty is always to be estimated per- fect as property is rendered insecure. Amidst assassi- nation, massacre, and confiscation, perpetrated or med- itated, they are forming plans for the good order of fu- ture society. Embracing in their arms the carcases of base criminals, and promoting their relations on the title of their oflfences, they drive hundreds of virtuous persons to the same end, by forcing them to subsist by beggary or by crime. The Assembly, ^hoir organ, acts before them the farce of deliberation with as little decency as liberty. They act like the comedians of a fair before a riot- ous audience ; they act amidst the tumultuous cries of a mixed mob of ferocious men, and of women lost to shame, who, according to their insolent fancies, di- rect, control, applaud, explode them ; and some- times mix and take their seats amongst them ; dom- ineering over them with a strange mixture of servile petulance and proud, presumptuous authority. As they have inverted order in all things, the gallery is in the place of the house. This assembly, which over- throws kings and kingdoms, has not even the physiog- nomy and aspect of a grave legislative body — nee color imperii, nee frons ulla senatiis. They have a power gi v en to them, like that of the evil principle, to subvert and destroy ; but none to construct, except such machines as may be fitted for further subversion and further de- struction. ou 70 75 80 85 90 05 T¥i it '.' ^* 274 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Who is it that admires, and from the heart is attach- ed to national representative assemblies, but must turn 100 with horror and disgust from such a profane burlesque, and abominable perversion of that sacred institute ? Lovers of monarchy, lovers of republics, must alike abhor it. The members of your assembly must them- selves groan under the tyranny of which they have all 105 the shame, none of the direction, and little of the profit. I am sure many of the members who compose even the majority of that body must feel as I do, not- withstanding the applauses of the Revolution Society. Miserable king ! miserable assembly I How must that 110 assembly be silently scandalized with those of their members who could call a day which seemed to blot the sun out of heaven, "wn heau jour !" ^ How must they be inwardly indignant at hearing others, who thought fit to declare to them, ** that the vessel of the state 116 would fly forward in her course towards regeneration with more speed than ever," from the stifi" gale of treas- on and murder, which preceded our preacher's triumph ! What must they have felt, whilst, with outward pa- tience, and inward indignation, they heard of the 120 slaughter of innocent gentlemen in their houses, that **the blood spilled was not the most pure ! " What must they have felt when they were besieged by com- plaints of disorders which shook their country to its foundations, at being compelled coolly to tell the com- 125 plainants that they were under the protection of the law, and that they would address the king (the captive king) to cause the laws to be enforced for their protec- tion ; when the enslaved ministers of that captive big had formally notified them , that there were neith- 130 ts law, nor authority, nor power left to protect ! What xvmt they have felt at being obliged, asa felicitation on ilvo prc^ient new year, to request their captive king to forgot the stormy period of the last, on account of the great good which he was likely to produce to his ]ieo- 135 1 Gth of October, 1789, 1, ho M: REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 275 100 . 105 it 110 Lr le 3y ht Lte 115 on aa- hl )a- ihe 120 lat iiat im- its )m- bhe tive tec- tive 125 ith- 130 [hat on to [the noo- 135 pic ; to the complete attainment of which good they adjourned the practical demonstrations of their loyalty, assuring him of their obedience, when he should no longer possess any authority to command ! 140 This address was made with much good nature and aftection, to be sure. But among the revolutions in France must be reckoned a considerable revolution in their ideas of politeness. In England we are said to learn manners at second-hand from your side of the 145 water, and that we dress our behaviour in the frippery of France. If so, we are still in the old cut ; and have not so far conformed to the new Parisian mode of good breeding, as to think it quite in the most refined strain of delicate compliment (whether in condolence or in 150 congratulation) to say, to the most humiliated creature that crawls upon the earth, that great public benefits are derived from the murder of his servants, the at- tempted assassination of himself and of his wife, and the mortification, disgrace and degradation that he has 155 personally suftered. It is a topic of consolation which our ordinary of Newgate would be too humane to use to a criminal at the foot of the gallows. I should have thought that the hangman of Paris, now that he is liberal- ized by the vote of the National Assembly, and is al- 160 lowed his rank and arms in the herald's college of the rights of men, would be too generous, too gallant a man, too full of the sense of his new dignity, to employ that cutting consolation to any of the persons whom the leze 7iation might bring under the administration of 165 his eucecutive power. A man is fallen indeed, when he is thus flattered. The anodyne draught of oblivion, thus drugged, is well calculated to preserve a galling wakefulness, and to feed the living ulcer of a corroding memory. Thus to 170 administer the opiate potion of amnesty, powdered with all the ingredients of scorn and contempt, is to hold to his lips, instead of " the balm of hurt minds," 276 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. ;ffli|jt» W'' m 1 f, 5-J^ ■ the cup of human misery full to the brim, and to force liinito drink it to the dregs. 175 Yielding to reasons, at least as f<. hie as those which were so delicately urged in the compliment on the new year, the king of France will probably endeavour to forget those events and that compliment. But history, who keeps a durable record of all our acts, and exer- 180 cises her awful censure over the proceedings of all sorts of sovereigns, will not forget either those events, or the era of this liberal refinement in the intercourse of mankind. History will record that on the morning of the Gth of October 1789, the king and queen of 185 France, after a day of confusion, alarm, dismay and slaughter, lay down, under the pledged security of public faith, to indulge nature in a few hours of respite, and troubled, melancholy repose. From this sleep, the queen was first startled by the voice of the sentinel at 190 her door, who cried out to her to save herself by flight — that this was the last proof of fidelity he could give — that they were upon him, and he was dead. Instant- ly he was cut down. A band of cruel ruffians and ass- assins, reeking with his blood, rushed into the cham- 195 ber of the queen, and pierced with a hundred strokes of bayonets and poniards, the bed from whence this persecuted woman had but just time to fly almost nak- ed, and, through ways unknown to the murderers, had escaped to seek refuge at the feet of a king and hus- 200 band, not secure of his own life for a moment. This king, to say no more of him, .^:\d this queen, and their infant children, (who once would have been the hope and pride of a great and generous people,) were then forced to abandon the sanctuary of the most 205 splendid palace in the world, which they left swim- ming in blood, polluted by massacre and strewed with scattered limbs and mutilated carcases. Thence they were conducted into the capital of their kingdom. Two Jiad been selected from the unprovoked, unresisted, 210 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 277 e 175 ih w to Jj jr- 180 all ts, rse ing of 185 md r of ite, the a at 100 ight give ant- jvss- am- 195 okea this nak- hacl hus- 200 leen, I been )ple,) I most 205 Iwim- with they Two listed, 210 promiscuous alaughter, wliich was made of the gentle- men of birth and family who composed tlio king's body- guard. These two gentlemen, with all the parade of an execution of justice, were cruelly and publicly dragged to the block, and beheaded in the groat court of the 215 palace. Their heads were stuck upon spears and led the procession ; whilst the royal captives who followed in the train were slowly moved along, amidst the hor- rid yells and shrilling screams, and frantic dances, and infamous contumelies, and all the unutterable abomin- 220 ations of the furies of hell, in the abused shape of the vilest of women. After they had been made to taste, drop by drop, more than the bitterness of deatli, in the slow torture of a journey of twelve miles, protract- ed to six hours, they were, under a guard, composed of 225 those very soldiers who had thus conducted them through this famous triumph, lodged in one of the old palaces of Paris, now converted into a bastile for kings. Is this a triumph to be consecrated at altars ? to be commemorated with grateful thanksgiving ? to be offer- 230 ed to the divine humanity with fervent prayer and en- thusiastic ejaculation ? — Those Theban and Thracian orgies, acted in France, and applauded only in the Old Jewry, I assure you, kindle prophetic enthusiasm in the minds but of very few people in this kingdom : al- 235 though a saint and apostle, who may have revelations of his own, and who has so completely vanquished all the mean superstitions of the heart, may incline to think it pious and decorous to compare it with the en- trance into the world of the Prince of Peace, proclaim- 240 ed in a holy temple by a venerable sage, and not long before not worse ainiounced by the voice of angels to the quiet innocence of shepherds. At first I was at a loss to account for this fit of un- guarded transport. I knew, indeed, that the sufterings 245 of monarchs make a delicious repast for some sort of palates. There were reflections which might serve to |! t; 2r,o 278 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. keep this appetite within some bounds of temperance. But when I took one circumstance into my considerta- tion, I was obliged to confess, that much allowance ought to be made for the society, and that the tempta- tion was too strong for common discretion ; I mean, the circumstance of the lo Pjiean of the triumph, the ani- mating cry which called " for all the BISHOPS to be hanged on the lamp-posts,"^ might well have brought 255 forth a burst of enthusiasm on the foreseen consequen- ces of this happy day. I allow to so much enthusiasm some little deviation from prudence. I allow this prophet to break forth into hymns of joy and thanks- giving on an event which appears like the precursor of 2G0 the Millenium, and the projected fifth monarchy, in the destruction of all church establishments. There was, however, (as in all human affairs there is,) in the midst of this joy, something to exercise the patience of these worthy gentlemen, and to try the long-suffering 2C5 of their faith. The actual murder of the king and queen, and their child, was wanting to the other auspicious circumstances of this " beautiful day." The actual mur- der of the bishops, thougl:^ called for by so many holy ejaculations, was also wanting. A group of regicide 270 and sacrilegious slaughter, was indeed boldly sketched, but it was only sketched. It unhappily was left unfin- ished in this great history-piece of the massacre of in- nocents. What hardy pencil of a great master, from the school of the rights of men, will finish it, is to be 275 seen hereafter. The age has not yet the complete bene- fit of that diffusion of knowledge that has undermined superstition and error ; and the king of France wants another object or two to consign to oblivion, in consid- eration of all the good which is to arise from his own 280 L } Tous les Eveques u la lanterne. REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTIOM. 279 Q. a- 30 250 a- he li- be rht 255 m- am Ilia ks- • of 2G0 , in ere the B of fing 265 sufferings, and the patriotic crimes of an enlightened age.' 1 It is proper here to refer to a letter written upon this suhject hy an eye-witness. Tiiat eye-witiie.ss was one of the most honest, iiitelhj,'uiit, 285 and eloquent mcniljors of the National As>euibly, one of tlie n»ost ac- tive and zealous reformers of tlie state. lie was oblij,'ed to secede from the assembly ; and he afterwards became a volimtar\ exile, on account of the horrors of this pious triumph, and the dispositions of men, who, <^v^^ profiting of crimes, if not causing them, have talien the lead in public ^ JO affairs. Extract of M. de Lalbj TollendaVs Sccowl Letter to a Friend. " Parlons du parti que j'ai pris ; il est bien justifn^, dans ma conscience — Ni cette ville coupable, id cette asscmbldc plus coupable encore, ne meritoient que je me justifie ; mais j'ai k cceur que vous, et les per- 295 sonnes qui pensent comme vous, ne me condanuient pas. — Ma santd, je vous jure, me rendoit mes fonctions impossibles ; mais mfime en les mettant de c6t6 il a i't^ au-dessus de mes forces de supporter plus long- terns I'horreur que me causoitce sanj,'.--ces tt'tes— cette va'mQ jiro^que e^jorijie, ce roi, — amen6 sclane, — entranti\ Paris, au milieu deses assas- 300 sins, et pr^ct3d6 destetes de ses malheureux grades— ces perfides janis- saires, ces assassins, ces femniescannibales, ce cri de tous les k.vbql'es \ LA LANTERNE, datis le moment ou le roi entre sa capitale avec deux evt'quesde son conseil dans sa voiture— un coup de f'unil, que j'ai vu tirer dans un des caronsen de lareine. M. Bailly appellant cela un beau 305 jour — rassembl(5e ayant declare froidement le matin, qu'il n'6tf)it pas de sa dignitc d'aller touteentidre environner le roi — M. Mirabeau disant iupun^ment dans cette assembld'C que le vaisseau del'etat, loins d'etre arretedans sa course, a'dlanceroit avec plusde rapidity que jamais vers sa r(Sg6n6ratJon — M. Barnave, riant avee lui, quand des flots de sang 310 coulaientautourde nous— le vertueux Mounier* 6chappantpar miracle h vingt assassins, qui avoient voulu faire de sa teteun troph^edeplus : Voili ce qui me lit jurer de ne plus mettre le pied dans cette cavenie d' anif'npophacfes [the National Assembly] oii je n'avois plus de force d'^lever la voix;, oii depuis six yemaines je I'avois elev^e en vain. 315 " Moi, Mounier, et tous los honnetes gens, ont pense que le dernier eflFort k faire pour le bien Melt d'en sortir. Aucune id^e de crainte ne s'est approch^e de moi. Je rougirois de m'en d^fendre. J'avois en- core reed sur la route de la part de ce peuple, moins coupable que ceux qui I'ont enivr^ de fureur, des acclamations, et des applaudissements, 320 dont d'autres auroient 6t6 fiatt^s et qui m'ont fait fremir. C'est h I'indignation, c'est h I'horreur, c'est aux convulsions physiques, que le seul aspect du sang me fait ^prouver que j'ai cede. On brave une seul mort ; on la brave plusieurs fois, quand elle pent etre utile. Mais aucuno puissance sous le Ciel, mais aucune opinion publique ou privde 325 n'ont le droit de me condamner k souffrir inutilement mille supplices par m'nute, et i perir de ddsespoir, de rage,au milieu des ^rmwp/ie*, du crime que je n'ai pu arreter. lis me proscriront, ils confisqueront mes biens. Je labourerai la terre et je ne les verrai plus. — VoilA ma justification. Vous pourrez la lire, la montrer, la laisser copier ; tant 330 pis peu ceux qui ne la comprendront pas ; ce ne sera alors moi qui auroit en tort de I i leur donner." This military man had not so good nerves as the peaceable gentle- man of the Old Jewry.— See Mons. Mounier's narrative of these trans- actions ; a man also of honour, and virtue and talents, and therefore a 335 fugitive. * N. B. Mr. Mounier was then speaker of the National Assembly, ITe has since been obliged to live in exile, though one of the firmest as* sertors of liberty, ii: 280 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. i;J»i;l r:/-:r »^'; ... 1 .'-s ' Althouijh this work of our new light and knowledge 340 did not ;^o to tlio length tliat in all probability it was intended it should bo carried, yet I must think that sucli treatment of any human creatures must be shock- ing to any but those who are made for accomplishing lie volutions. But I cannot stop here. Influenced by 345 the inborn feelings of my nature, and not being illumi- nated by a single ray of this new-sprung modern light, I confess to you, Sir, that the exalted rank of the per- sons suti'ering, and particularly the sex, the beauty, and the amiable qualities of the descendant of so many 350 kings and emperors, with tlie tender age of royal in- fants, insensible only through infancy and innocence of the cruel outrages to which their parents were ex- posed, instead of being a subject of exultation, adds not a little to my sensibility on that most melancholy 355 0(^casion. I hear that the august person, who was the principal object of our preacher's triumph, though he supported himself, felt much on that shameful occasion. As a man, it became him to feel for his wife and his children, 3G0 and the faithful guards of his person, that were mas- sacred in cold blood about him ; as a prince, it became him to feel for the strange and frightful transformation of his civilized subjects, and to be more grieved for them than solicitous for himself. It -derogates little 3G5 from his fortitude, while it adds infinitely to the hon- our of his humanity. I am very sorrr' t(/ Bay it, very sorry indeed, that such personages are in a situation in which it is not unbecoming in us to praise the virtues of the great. 370 I hear, and I rejoice to hear, tli.t the great lady, the other object of the triumph, has borne that day (one is interested that beings made for suffering should suffer well), and that she bears all the succeeding days, that she bears the imprisonment of her husband, and 375 her own captivity, and the exile of her friends, and the REFLECTIONS ON PHE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 28 1 340 345 ^ y 350 1- X- ds )ly 355 pal :ed 3 a m, las- Liiie lion for 360 btle 3C5 Lon- [ery in of 370 the [one )uld i^ysj an d 376 the insulting adulation of addresses, and the whole woii^dit of her accuiuuhitod wrongs, with a serene patience, in a manner suited to her rank and race, and becoming tlie offspring of a sovereign di: ^inguished f(^r her piety 380 and her courage : that, like her, she has lofty senti- ments ; that she feels with the dignity of a Roman matron ; that in the last extremity she will save her- self from the last disgrace ; and that, if she must fall, she will fall by no ignoble hand. 385 It is now sixteen or soventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles , and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the 390 elevated sphere she just began to move in, — glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. Oh ! what a i evolution ! and what a heart must I have to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall ! Little did I dream when she added 395 titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant 400 men, in a nation of men of honour, and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators, lifis 405 succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submis- sion, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, 410 the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, 282 re: LECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. J If' that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, w iilch felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage 415 whilst it mitigated feroc'ty, which ennobled whatever it touched, under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness. This mixed system of opinion and sentiment had its origin in the ancient chivalry ; and the principle, 420 though varied in its appearance by the varying state oV human aiiairs, subsisted and influenced through a long succession of generations, even to the time we live in. If it should ever be totally extinguished, the loss I fear will be great. It is this which has given its 425 character to modern Europe. It is this which has dis- tinguished it under all its forms of government, and distinguished it to its advantage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from those states which flourished in the most brilliant periods of the antique world. It 430 was this, which, without confounding ranks, had pro- duced a noble efjuality, and handed it down through all the gradations of social life. It was this opinion which mitigated kings into companions, and raised private men to be fellows with kings. Without force 435 or opposition, it subdued the fierceness of pride and power ; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to elegance, and gave a dominating vanquisher of laws to be subdued by manners. . 440 But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illu- sions, which made power gentle and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private 445 society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery of life is to be rudely torn off. All the super-added ideas, furnished from the wardrobe of moral imagina- tion, which the heart owns, and the understanding 450 '■] ' ^n tills sf'hernr* rf +i,- queen is but a wo.'nan „ ^'' * '''"^ '« l"" a man a .- stition, corruptiiK/ iurisnrn ? * ^''^^'^^^ of super 4rr> bishop, or fl f..fi, ^* a kinir or a n.,/ and nto which wo ought nnf/ "!°" Pardonable 4fi5 scrutiny. "*■"' not to make too severe a , On the scliomo of tl,;, v„ r !» the offsprinjf „f cold he„r, °!" P''"<'«ophy, ^^hich ■ng.% and «,„t.h i, j' t^^'^f'^^ddy ,^,dtt,. ' destUute of ,.11 t.-iste and ,1 '"" '''"'om as it i„ 47,. ported only by the r "ttr^' '''"' ^" *° ^^ "P wluch each indivi.Iual mav HnT' ^^'^ ''^" *« -oncen. P"v.te speculations oVc2 '" ""''" f™'" his ow Pnvate interests. I.', ^U^'^r;:/;; '!"■- '-" '- o:„" bodied, if In„y use tho ""' '=■'"' ""« be^n' sometimes as supple.nent^ ':':"^"^^'«-^^-'reirit of our old manners and opinions is not easy to say ; but as such causes cannot be indifterent in their operation, we must presume, that, on the whole, their oi)cration was beuetieial. We are but too apt to consider things in the state in 520 which we find them, without suiHciently adverting to the causes by which tliey have boen produced, and possibly may l^e 'i]>lield. Nothing is more eertaiu, than that our manners, our civilization, and all the REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 285 a '■e it le 495 ,u- rev it. ■tyy igs 50C be ons 'en- ody ,ver, 50 r ot" rom ikeii Iron) 5 nor lope , Icoii- )ted. the y to ^heir bheiv te m o^l and Itaiii, the .15 good things which are connected with manners and 525 with civilization, have, in this European workl of ours, depended for ages upon two principles ; and were in- deed the result of both combined ; I mean the spirit of a gentleman, and the spirit of religiv)n. The nobility and the clergy, the one by profession, the other by 530 patronage, kept learning in existence, even in the midst of arms and confusions, and whilst governments were rather in their causes, than formed. Learning paid back what it received to nobility and to priest- hood ; and paid it with usury, by enlarging their 535 ideas, and by furnishing their minds. Happy if tliey had ; Jl continued to know their indissoluble union, and oh<>^i" proper place ! Happy if learning, not debauched by ambition, had been satisfied to continue the instruc- tor, and not aspired to be the master ! Along with its 540 natural protectors and guardians, learning will be cast into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude.^ If, as I suspect, modern letters owe more than they are always willing to own to ancient manners, so do 545 other interests vdiich we value full as much as they are worth. Even commerce, and trade, and manu- facture, the g'>di of our economical politicians, are themselves, i>u. effects, which, as first causes, we choose to worsh:-» Tliey certainly grew under the same 550 shade in w^lu'^l: ''awning nourished. They too may decay with their natural protecting principles. Witli you, for tho present at least, they all threaten to dis- appear together. Where trade and manufactures are wanting to a people, and the spirit of nobility and religion 555 remains, sentiment supplies, and not always ill supplies, their plan'^ ; but if commerce and the arts shou I be lost in .>,<• •?/periment to try how well a state may 1 See the fare ot Bu'lly ana Coiulorcei, supposed to be here particu- larly alluded to. Co- ipu'-e fr'\a circumstances of the trial and execution 5G0 of the former \vrith thiu prediction. '',7 1 u r^iii 286 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. stand without these old fundamental principles, what sort of a thing must be a nation of gross, stupid, fero- cious, and, at the same time, poor and sordid, barbar- ians, destitute of religion, honour, or manly pride, 5(55 possossiiig nothing at present, and hoping for nothing hereafter '( I wish you may not be going fast, and by the short- est cut, to that horrible and disgustful situition. Already there appears a poverty of conception, a 570 coarseness and vulgarity in all the proceedings of the Assembly and of all their u '^- 'ctors. Their liberty is not liberal. Their science ' esumptuous ignorance. Their humanity is savage and brutal. It is not clear, whether in England we learned those 575 grand and decorous principles and manners, of which considerable traces yet remain, from you, or whether you took them from us. But to you, I think, we trace them best. You seem to me to be— gentis Aicunahula nostne. France has always more or less influenced man- 580 ners in England ; and when your fountain is chok>^d up and polluted, the stream will not run long, or not run clear, with us, or perhaps with any nation. This gives all Europe, in my opinion, but too close and con- nected a concern in what is done in France. Excuse 585 me, therefore, if I have dwelt too long on the atrocious spectacle of the Cth of October, 1789, or have given too much scope to the reflections which have arisen in my mind on occasion of the most importiint of all revolu- tions, which may be dated from that day, I mean a re- 590 volution in sentiments, manners, and moral opinions. As things now stand, with everything respectable de- stroyed without us, and an attempt to destroy within us every principle of respect, one is almost forced to apolo- gize for harbouring the comm.on feelings of men. 595 Why do I feel so difl'erently from the Reverend Dr. Price, and those of his lay flock who will choose to adopt the sentiments of his discourse ? — For this plain reason REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH RFTOLUTION. 287 565 a 570 e LS e. se 575 ch ler ice da - 580 ,u \ot Ihia m- lae )US boo jlu- re- ms. de- 585 590 us )lo- 595 [opt [son — because it is natural I should ; because we are so made, as to be affected at such spectacles with melancholy 000 sentiments upon the unstable condition of mortal pro- sperity, and the tremendous uncertainty of human great- ness ; because in those natural feelings we learn great lessons ; because in events like these our passions in- struct our reason ; because when kings are hurled from 605 their thrones by the Supreme Director of this great drama, and become the objects of insult to the base, and of pity to the good, we behold such disasters in the moral, as we should behold a miracle in the physical, order of things. We are alarmed into reflection ; our 610 minds (as it has long since been observed) are purified by terror and pity ; our weak, unthinking pride is hum- bled rnder the dispensations of a mysterious wisdom. Some tears might be drawn from me, if such a spect- acle were exhibited on the stage. I should be truly 615 ashamed of finding in myself that superficial, theatric sense of painted distress, whilst I could exult over it in real life. With such a perverted mind, I could never venture to show my face at a tragedy. People would think the tears that Garrick formerly, or tliat Siddons 620 not long since, have extorted from me, were the tears of hypocrisy ; I should know them to be the tears of folly. Indeed the theatre is a better school of moral senti- ments than churches, where the feelings of humanity are thus outraged. Poets who have to deal with an audi- 625 enco not yet graduated in the school of the rights of men, and who must apply themselves to the moral con- stitution of the heart, would not dare to produce such a triumph as a matter of exultation. There, where uion follow their natural impulses, they would not bear tlie 630 odious maxims of a Machiavelian policy, whether ap- plied to the attainment of monarchical or deuKJcratic tyranny They would reject them on the modern, as they once did on the ancient stage, where they could not bear even the hypothetical proposition of such wicked- 635 4ii * 1 w 'I. 288 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. ml" r.i i • ness in the mouth of a personated tyrant, though suit- able to the character he sustained. No theatric audi- ence in Athens would bear what has been borne, in the midst of the real tragedy of this triumphal day ; a prin- cipal actor weighing, as it were in scales hung in a shop 640 of horrors, — so much actual crime against so much con- tingent advantage, — and after putting in and out weights, declaring that the balance was on the side of the advantages. They would not bear to see the crimes of new democracy posted as in a ledger against the 645 crimes of old despotism, and the book-keepers of politics finding democracy still in debt, but by no means unable or unwilling to pay the balance. In the theatre, the first intuitive glance, without any elaborate process of reasoning, will show, thar th-\ method of political compu- 650 tation would j ustify every extent of crime. They would see, that on these principles, even where the very worst acts were not perpetrated, it was owing rather to the fortune of the conspirators, than to their parsimony in the expenditure of treachery and blood. They would 655 soon see, that criminal means once tolerated are soon preferred. They present a shorter cut to the object than through the highway of the moral virtues. Jus- tifying perfidy and murder for public benefit, public benefit would soon become the pretext, and perfidy 660 and murder the end ; until rapacity, malice, revenge, and fear more dreadful than revenge, could satiate their insatiable appetites. Such must be the conse- quences of losing, in the splendour of these triumphs of the rights of men, all natural sense of wrong and right. 065 But the reverend pastor exults in this "leading in tri- umph," because truly Louis the Sixteenth was "an arbitrary monarch ;" that is, in other words, neither more nor less than because he was Louis the Sixteenth, and because he had the misfortune to be born king 670 of France, with the prerogatives of which, a long line of ancestors, and a long acquiescence of the people/ 1 t e i- p 640 1- it es le 645 cs >le he of ►u- 650 lid rat ;he in lid 655 on ct s- lic dy 660 e, ,te e- i it. 065 iri- lan ler bh, Ing 670 [ne le, REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION!. 289 without any act of his, had put him in possession. A misfortune it has indeed turned out to him, that he was born king of France. But misfortune is not crime, nor 676 is indiscretion always the greatest guilt. I shall never think tliat a prince, the acts of whose whole reign were a series of concessions to his subjects, who was willing to relax his authority, to remit his prerogatives, to .ill his people to a share of freedom, not known, perhaps 680 not desired, by their ancestors ; such a prince, though he should be subjected to the common frailties attached to men and to princes, though he should have once thought it necessary to provide force against the des- perate designs manifestly carrying on against his per- 685 son, and the remnants of his authority ; though all this should be taken into consideration, T shall be led with great difficulty to think he deserves the cruel and insulting triumph of Paris, and of Dr. Price. I tremble for the cause of liberty, from such an example to kings, 690 I tremble for the cause of humanity, in the unpunish- ed outrages of the most wicked of mankind. But there are some people of that low and degenerate fashion of mind, that they look up with a sox't of complacent awe and admiration to kings, who know to keep firm in their 695 seat, to hold a strict hand over their subjects, to assert their prerogative, and, by the awakened vigilance of a severe despotism, to guard against the very first ap- proaches of freedom. Against such as these they never elevate their voice. Deserters from principle, listed 700 with fortune, they never see any good in suffering virtue, nor any crime in prosperous usurpation. If it could have been made clear to me, that the king and queen of France (those t mean who were such before the triumph) were inexorable and cruel tyrants, 705 that they had formed a deliberate scheme for massacr- ing the National Assembly, (I think I have seen some- thing like the latter insinuated in certain publications,) I should think their captivity just. If this be true, K? SI, ■■ h'. f^S it* [!''>!< '^ , •» ' J^^ tn In* * 290 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. much more ought to have been done, but done, in my 710 opinion, in another maimer. The punishment of real tyrants is a noble and awful act of justice ; and it has with truth been said to be consolatory to the human mind. But if I were to punish a wicked king, I should regard the dignity in avenging the crime. Justice is 715 grave and decorous, and in its punishments rather seems to submit to a necessity, than to make a choice. Had Nero, or Agrippina, or Louis the Eleventh, or Charles the Ninth, been the subject ; if Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, after the murder of Patkul, or his predecessor 720 Christina, after the murder of Monaldeschi, had fallen into your hands, Sir, ot into mine, I am sure our con- duct would have been different. If the French king, or king of the French, (or by whatever name he is known in the new vocabulary of 725 your constitution,) has in his own person, and that of his queen, really deserved these unavowed, but un- avenged, murderous attempts, and those frequent in- dignities more cruel than murder, such a person would ill deserve even that subordinate executory trust, which I understand is to be placed in him ; nor is he fit to be called chief in a nation which he has outraged and op- pressed. A worse choice for such an office in a new commonwealth, than that of a deposed tyrant, could not possibly be made. But to degrade and insult a 735 man as the worst of criminals, and afterwards to trust him in your highest concerns, as a faithful, honest, and zealous servant, is not consistent with reasoning, nor prudent in policy, nor safe in practice. Those who could make such an appointment must be guilty of a 740 more flagrant breach of trust than any they have yf t committed against the people. As this is the only crime in which your leading politicians could have acted inconsistently, I conclude that ther-.' is no sort of ground for these horrid insinuations. I think no bet- 745 ter of all the other calumnies. f 730 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 191 r 710 1 3 1 i 8 715 s d IS )f )r 720 sn n- 3y of 725 of n- in- Hd ch 730 In England, we give no credit to them. We are generous enemies : we are faitlifnl allies. We spurn from us with disgust and indignation the sl-mders of those who bring us their anecdotes with the attestation 750 of the flower-de-luce on their shoulders. We have Lord George Gordon fast in Newgate ; and neither his being a public proselyte to Judaism, nor his having, in his zeal against catholic priests and all sorts of ecclesi- astics, raised a mob (excuse the term, it is still in use 755 here) which pulled down all our prisons, have preserved to him a liberty, of which he did not render himself worthy by a virtuous use of it. We have rebuilt New- gate, and tenanted the mansion. We have prisons al- most as strong as the Bastile, for those who dare to libel 760 the queens of France. In this spiritual retreat, let the noble libeller remain. Let him there meditate on his Thalmud, until he learns a conduct more becoming his birth and parts, and not so disgraceful to the ancient religion to which he has become a proselyte ; or until 765 some persons from your side of the water, to please your new Hebrew brethren, shall ransoin him. He may then be enabled to purchase, with the old hoards of the synagogue, and a very small poundage on the long compound interest of the thirty pieces of silver, 770 (Dr. Price has shown us A^hat miracles compound in- terest will perform in 1790 years), the lands which are lately discovered to have been usurped by the Gallican church. Send us your Popish archbishop of Paris, and we will send you our Protestant Rabbin. We 775 shall treat the person you send us in exchange like a gentleman and an honest man, as ho is; but pray let him bring with him the fund of his hos])itality, boui'ty, and charity ; and, depend upon it, we shall never con- fiscate a shilling of that honourable and pious fund, 780 nor think of enriching the treasury with the spoils of the poor-box. , To tell you the truth, my dear Sir, I chink the honour of our nation to be somewhat concerned in the 292 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. §*;■. M lit -' L^'-r-'-l 4-^ ■n r t disclaimer of the proceedings of this society of the Old 785 Jewry and the London Tavorn. I have no man's proxy. I speak only for myself, when I disclaim, as T do with all possible earnestness, all communion with the actors in that triumph, or with the admirers of it. When I assert anything else, as concerning the people 790 of England, I speak from observation, not from auth- ority ; but I speak from the experience I have had in a pretty extensive and mixed communication with the inhabitants of this kingdom, of all descriptions and ranks, and after a course of attentive observation, 795 began early in life, and continued for nearly forty years. I have often been astonished, considering that we are divided from you but by a slender dyke of about twenty-four miles, and that the mutual intercourse between the two countries has lately been very great, 800 to find how little you seem to know of us. I suspect that this is owing to your forming a judgment of this nation from certain publications, which do, very erron- eously, if thfa^ do at all, represent the opinions and dispositions generally prevalent in England. The 805 vanity, restlessness, petulance, and spirit of intrigue, of several petty cabals, who attempt to hide their total want of consequence in bustle and noise, and puffing, and mutual quotation of each other, make you imagine that our contemptuous neglect of their abilities is a 810 mark of general acquiescence in their opinions. No such thing, I assure you. Because half a dozen grass- hoppers under a fern make the field ring with their im- portunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, re- posed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the 815 cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field ; that, of course, they are many in number ; or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome, insects 820 of the hour. • 1 € Y] n a ti b REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 293 795 le a 810 \o le 816 LO Its 820 I almost venture to affirm, that not one in a hundred amongst us participates in the "triumph" of the Revo- lution Society. If the king and queen of France, and their children, were to fall into our hands by the chance 825 of war, in the most acrimonious of all hostilities, (I deprecate such an event, I deprecate such hostility), they would be treated with another sort of triumphal entry into London. We formerly have had a king of France in that situation ; you have read how he was 830 treated by the victor in the field ; and in what manner he was afterwards received in England. Four hundred years have gone over us ; but I believe we are not matt erially changed since that period. Thanks to our sul- len resistance to innovation, thanks to the cold slug- 835 gishness of our national character, we still bear the stamp of our forefathers. We have not (as I conceive^ lost the generosity and dignity of thinking of the four- teenth century ; nor as yet have we subtilized ourselves into savages. We are not the converts of Rousseau ; 840 we are not the disciples of Voltaire ; Helvetius has made no progress amongst us. Atheists are not our preachers ; madmen are not our lawgivers. We know that ive have made no discoveries, and we think that no discoveries are to be made, in morality ; nor many 845 in the great principles of government, nor in the ideas of liberty, which were understood long before we were bom, altogether as well as they will be after the grave has heaped its mould upon our presumption, and the silent tomb shall have imposed its law on our pert 850 loquacity. In England we have not yet been completely embo welled of our natural entraiL? ; we still feel within us, and wo cherish and cultivate, those inbred senti- ments which are the faithful guardians, the active monitors of our duty, the true supporters of all liberal 855 and manly morals. Wo have not been drawn and trussed, in order that we may be filled, like stuffed birds in a museum, with chaff and rags and paltry 294 RKFLKCTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 1 ' , -» ' blurred sljreds of papor about tlio rii^hts of man. We preserve the wli(>le of our feelings still mitive and on- 800 tire, uu80])histicated by pedantry and intidolity. We fear CJod ; wo look up with awe to kings ; with affec- tion to parlianients ; with duty to magistrates ; with reverence to priests; and with respect to nobility.^ Why ? Because wihen such ideas are brought before 865 our minds, it is natural to be so afi'octed ; because all other feelings are false and spurious, and tend to cor- rupt our minds, to vitiate our primary morals, to ren- der us unfit for rational liberty ; and by teaching us a servile, licentious, and abandoned insolence, to be our 870 low sport for a few holidays, to make us perfectly fit for, and justly deserving of, slavery, through the whole course of our lives. You see, Sir, that in this enlightened age I am bold enough to confess, that we are generally men of 875 untaught feelings ; that instead ot casting away all our old prejudices, we cherish them to a very considerable degree, and, to take more shame to ourselves, wo cher- ish them because they are prejudices; and the longer they have lasted, and the more generally they have 880 prevailed, the more we cherish them. We are afraid to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason ; because we suspect that this stock in each man is small, and that the individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and 885 capital of nations and of ages. Many of our men of speculation, instead of exploding general prejudices, employ their sagacity to discover the latent wisdom V t m i 1 The English are, I conceive, misrepresented in a letter published in • one of the papers, by a gentleman thought to be a d'ssenting minister. 890 —When writing to Dr. Price of the spirit which prevails at Paris, he says, " The spirit of the people in this place has abolished all the proud diMinctio7i.t which the kiiiir and nobles had usurped in their minds ; whether they talk of (he kinfj, the noble, or the j)riest, their whole language is that of the most enlightened an I liberal aniamjst the Eng- 895 lish." If this gentleTuan means to confine the terms enlightened and liberal to one set of men in England, it may be true. It is not y:enorally so. REB'LECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. '■9S re 880 id 885 ^m in ler. 890 Ihe lud 5le - 895 t/id lot which prin-ails in tliem. Tf thi^y find wliat they seek, and they seldom fail, they think it more wiao to con- 900 tinue the prejudice, with the reason involved, than to castaway the coat of prejudice, and to leave nothini^ but the naked reason ; because prejudice, with its rea- son, has a motive to give action to that reason, and an ati'ection which will give it permanence. Prejudice is 905 of ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and vir- tue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled, and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit; and not a 910 series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature. Your literary men, and your politicians, and s- > do the whole clan of the enlightened among us, essentially differ in these points. They have no respect for the 915 visdom of others ; but they pay it off by a very full icasure of confidence in their own. With them it is a sufficient motive to destroy an old scheme of things, because it is an old one. As to the new, they are in no sort of fear with regard to the duration of a build- 920 ing run up in haste; because duration is no object to those who think little or nothing has been done before their time, and who place all their hopes in discovery. They conceive, very systematically, that all things which give perpetuity are mischievous, and therefore 925 they are at inexpiable war with all estu-blishments. They think that government may vary like modes of dress, and with as little ill effect ; that their needs no principle of attachment, except a sense of present con- veniency, to any constitution of the state. They 930 always speak as if they were of opinion that there is a singular species of compact between them and their magistrates, which binds the magistrate, but which has nothing reciprocal in it, but that the majesty of the people has a right to dissolve it without any reason, 935 296 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. ■\ 'i rr n but its will. Their attachment to their country itself is only so far as it at^rees with some of their fleeting projects; it begins and ends with ^hat scheme of polity which falls in with their momentary opinion. These doctrines, or rather sentiments, seem prevalent 940 with your new statesmen. But they are wholly differ- ent from those on which we have always acted in this country. I hear it is sometimes given out in France, that what is doing among you is after the example of England. 945 I beg leave to aftirm, that scarcely anything done with you has originated from the practice or the prevalent opinions of this people, either in the act or in the spirit of the proceeding. Let me add, that we are as unwill- ing to learn thewe lessons from France, as we are sure 950 that we never taug^it them to that nation. The cabals here, who take a sort of share in your transactions, as yet consist of but a handful of people. If unfortunately by their intrigues, their sermons, their publications, and by a confidence derivtid from an expected union 955 with the counsels and forces of the French nation, they should draw considerable numbers into their faction, and Ail consequence should ;.eriously attempt anything herein imitation of what has been done with you,, the event, I dare venture to prophesy, will be, that, with 9C0 some trli8liea against it. 080 I hear on all hands ch.'it a cabal, calling itself phihjs- ophic, receives the glory of many of the late proceed- ings ; and that their opinions and systems are the true actuating spirit of the whole of them. I have heard of no party in En;;land, literary or political, at any time, 985 known l>y such a description. It is not with you com- posed of those men, is it ? whom the vulgar, in their blunt, homely style, commonly call atlieists and infi- dels? If it be, I admit that we too have had writers of' that description, who made some noise in their day. 99C At present they repose in lasting oblivion. Who, born within the last forty years, has read one word of Collins, and Toland, and Tindal, and Chubb, and Mor- gan, and that whole race who oallsd themselves Free- thinkers? Who now reads Bolingbroke ? Who ever 995 read him through? Ask the booksellers of London what is become of all these lights of the wc^ld. la a few years their few successors will go to the family vault of "all the Capulets. '' But whatever they were, <'r are, with us, they were and are wholly uncon-1000 nectf^'^ individuals. With us they kept the common nature of their kind, and were not gregarious. They never acted in corps, or were known as a faction in the state, nor presumed to influence in that name or char- acter, or for the purposes of such a faction, on any ofl005 our public concerns. Whether they ought so to exist, and so be permitted to act, is another question. As such cabals have not existed in England, so neither has the spirit of them had any influence in establishing M i ,>"'- il n < i^ «Vi.i 2 98 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. the original frame of our constitution, or in any one oflOlO the several reiJai-ations and improvements it has under- gone. The wliole has been done under the auspices, and is coiiliniuid 'by the sanctirms, of relii^ion and piety. The whole has emanated from the simplicity of our national character, and froui a sort of native p]-'n-1015 ness and directness of understanding, which for a long time characterized those men wlio have successfully ob- tained authority amongst us. This disposition still re- mains ; at least in the great body of the people. We know, and what is better, we feel inwardly, thatl020 r^^ligion is the basis of civil society, and the source of ail good and of all comfort. ^ In England we are so convinced of this, that there is no rust of superstition, with which the accumulated absurdity of the human mind might have crusted it over in the course of ages, 1025 that ninety-nine in a hundred of the people of England would not prefer to impiety. We shall never be such fouls as to call in an enemy to the substarce of any sys- tem to remove its corruptions, to supply its defects, or to perfect its construction. If our religious tenets 1030 should ever want a further elucidation, wo shall not call on atheism to explain them. We shall not light up our teini)le from that unhallowed fire. It will be illuminated with other lights. It will be perfumed with other incense, than the infectious stuff which isl035 Imported by the smugglers of adulterated metapliysics. If our ecclesiastical establishment should want a revi- sion, it is not avarice or rapacity, public or private, that we shall eini)loy for the audit, or receipt, or appli- cation of its consecrated revenue. Violently condemn-1040 I Sit igitur hoc ab Initio persiiasuin civllnH, doininos esse omnium renim ac 1 oderatoros, doos ; caquo, f this ini])rovement was our not de- spising the ])atrimony of knowledge which was left us by our forefjvth(!rs. It is from our attachment to .1 church establishment, 1470 that the English nation did not think it wise to entrust that great, fundamental interest of the whole to what they trust no part of their civil or military public service, that is. to the unsteady and precarious con- tribution of ir.divi.luals. They go further. They cer-1475 tainly never have sulFered, and never - will suffer, the fixed estate of the church io be converted into a pen- sion, to depend on the treasury, and to be delayed, withheld, or perhai)3 to be extinguished, by fiscal difH- culties : which difficulties may sometimes be pretendedl480 for political purposes, and are in fact often brought on by thu extravagance, negligence, and rapacity of i^oliti- cians The [)eoide of England think that they have constitutional motives, as well as religious, against any project ')f turning their independent clergy into ecclesi-1485 astical pensioners of state. Thoy tremble for their liberty, from the influence of a clerg}' dependent on the crown ; they tremble for the jmblic tranquillity from the disorders of a factious clergy, if it were made to depend upon any ocher than the crown. Theyl490 therefore made their church, like tlieir king and their nobility, independent. KFOFLKCTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 3 1 I 11480 1485 1490 From tlio united considerations of religion and con- stitutional policy, from their opinion of a duty to ni.iko sure provision for tlie consolation of the feeble and th«jl4i)r> instruction of the iu;nor;uit, they have incorporated and identified the estate of the church with the mass of privdti' prnpr.rfy, of which the state is not the proprietor, either for use or dominion, but the guardian only and the regidator. They have ordained that the provision ir>fJO of this estal)lishment might bo .as stable as the earth on which it stands, and should not fluctuate with the Euri- pus of funds and actions. The men of England, the men, I mean, of light and leading in England, whose wisdom (if they have arfy)1505 is open and direct, would be ashamed, as of a silly, de- ceitful trick, to profess any religion in name, which, by their proceedings, they a[)peard to contemn. If by their conduct (the only language that rarely lies) they seemed to regard the great ruling principle of the moral andloJO the natural world, as a mere invention to keep th«' vul- gar in obediences, they apprehend that by such aconduct they would defeat the politic purpose they have in view. They would find it difficult to make otliers believe in a sysl«!iii to which they manifestly give nol5]5 credit ihtniisclves. The Christian atatesmen of this land would indeed first provide for the multitude ; be- cause it is the miiUitude ; and is therefore, as such, the first object in the ecclesiastical institution, and in all instituti(m8. They have been taught, that the circum 1520 stances of the gospel's being preached to the poor, waB one of the great tests of its true missicm. They think, therefore, that those (b. not believe it who do not take care it should be [)reached to the poor. But as they know that charity is not confined to any onedescri[)-l52r> tion, but ought to apply itself to all men who have wants they are not deprived of a due and anxious sensation of pity to the distresses of the miserable great. They are not repellc'l *hrough a fastidious delicacy, at the r (I ' >1; i". „?•:•? .#1 , h4 m It ■ « 312 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. stench of their arrogance and presumption, from al530 tnedicinal attention to their mental blotches and run- ning sores. They are sensible, that religious instruc- tion is of more consequence to them than to any others ; from the greatness of the temptation to which they are exposed ; from the important consequences that 1535 attend their faults ; from the contagion of their ill ex- ample : from the necessity of bowing down the stub- born neck of their pride and ambition to the yoke c/f moderation and virtue ; from a consideration of the fat stupidity and gross ignorance concerning what im-1540 ports men most to know, which prevails at courts, and at the head of armies, and in senates, as much as at the loom and in the field. The English people are satisfied, that to the great the consolations of religion are as necessary as its in3truc-1545 tions. They too are among the unhappy. They feel personal pain, and domestic sorrow. In these they have no privilege, but are subject to pay their full con- tingent to the contributions levied on mortality. They want this sovereign balm under their gnawing caresloSO and anxieties, which, being loss conversant about the limited wants of animal life, range without limit, and are diversified by infinite co'ubinations, in the wild and unbounded regions of imagination. Some charitable dole is wanting to these, our often very unhappy 1555 brethren, to fill the gloomy void that reigns in minds which have nothing on earth to hope or fear; something to relieve in the killing langour and over-laboured las- situde of those who have nothing to do ; something to excite an appetite to existence in the palled satietyl560 which attends on all pleasures which may be bought, where nature is not left to her own process, where even desire is anticipated, and therefore fruition defeated by meditated schemes and contrivances of delight ; and no interval, no obstacle, is interposed between the wish andl565 the accomplishment. m REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 313 )S1550 ig it. m 10 idl565 The people of England know how little influence the teachers of religion are likely to have with the wealthy and powerful of long standing, and how much less with the newly fortunate, if they appear in a mannerl570 no way assorted to those with whom they must associ- ate, and over whom they must even exercise, in some cases, something like an authority. What must they think of that body of teachers, if they see it in no part above the establishment of their domestic servants '( Iflo^Tr) the poverty were voluntary, there might be some differ- ence. Strong instances of self-denial operate j^ower- fully on our minds ; and a man who has no wants has obtained great freedom, and firmness, and even dignity. But as the mass of any description of men are but men, 1580 and their poverty cannot be voluntary, that disrespect, which attends upon all lay poverty, will not depart from the ecclesiastical. Our provident constitution has therefore taken care that th(jse who are to instruct pre- sumptuous ignorance, those who are to be censors overl585 insolent vice, should neither incur their contempt, nor live upon their alms ; nor will it tempt the rich to a neglect of the true medicine of their minds. For these reasons, whilst we provide first for the poor, and with a parental solicitude, we have not relegated religion (likelSOO something we were ashamed to show) to obscure munici- palities, or rustic villages. No ! we will have her to exalt her mitred front in courts and parliaments. We will have her mixed through the whole mass of life, and blended with all the classes of society. The people of 1595 England will show to the haughty potentates of the world and to their talking sophisters, that a free, a generous, an informed nation honours the high magistrates of its church ; that it will not suffer the insolence of wealth and titles, or any other species of proud pretension, tolbOO look down vith scorn upon what they look up to with reverence ; nor presume to trample on that acquired personal nobility, which thoy intend always to bo, and b' 'ii' 314 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Iff .'.■'» * • wliich often is, the fruit, not the reward, (for what can be the reward !) of learning, piety, and virtue. TheylG05 can see, without pain or grudging, an archbishop precede a duke. They can see a bishop of Durham, or a bishop of Winchester, in possession of ten thousand pounds a year ; and cannot conceive why it is in worse hands than estates to the like amount in the hands of this earl, 1010 or that s(i[uire ; although it may be true, that so many dogs and horses are not kept by the former, and fed with the victuals which ought to nourish the children of the people. It is true, the whole church revenue is not always employed, and to every shilling, in charity ; norlG15 perhaps ought it; but something is generally so employ- ed. It is better to cherish virtue and humanity, by leaving much to free will, even with some loss to the object, than to attempt to make men mere machines and instruments of a politicc*l benevolence. The worldlC20 on the whole will gain by a liberty, without which vir- tue cannot exist. When once the commonwealth has established the estates of the church as property, it can, consistently, hear nothing of the more or the less. Too much and 1625 too little are treason against property. What evil can arise from the quantity in any hand, whilst the supreme authority has the full, sovereign superintendence over this, as over all property, to prevent every species of abuse; and, whenever it notably deviates, togivetoitalG30 dii-ection agreeable to the purposes of its institution. In Euirland most of us conceive that it is envy and maliguit>i towards those who are often the beginners of their own fortune, and not a love of the self-denial and mortification of the ancient church, that makes somel636 look askance at the distinctions, andhonours, and reven- ues, which, taken from no person, are set apart for vir- tue. The ears of the people of England are distinguish- ing. They hear these men speak broad. Their tongue betrays them. Their language is in the patois oflG40 REFLECTIONS ON THE FRENCH KEVOLUTION. 315 fraud ; in the cant and gibberish of hynocrisv Th. people of Enwlfind miiaffi • ^ "'• "ypocnsy. Jhe affect to cwrv Wk h! f' J'''"" ^^"'^ P™*"-^ in them (S IV u 'f'"*' ""^ht affrays to exist bodv t^ ti,^ . ! • ."*'*' *'''*" *'»'* '^«Ja««" "f that i>«Jdes of ],fe, when indeed tlie whole order of hnl f^r., haa undergone a total revolut^n W S beheve those reformers til ^r, +^ K u vve shall not, as now we hl^Wh! l .' ^'"''* enthusiasts, 1G50 wp L. /r I *^^^"^' ^^^^*8 and deceivers when msFid'i W^h ;? 1 ■ wKi ! . ' *N*u** i> ;-t' i ff' ,4 1 III- ( > ,r "v* r ii**' PEELIMIISTAIIY HEMARKS. -♦♦- THE REFLECTIONS. Origin of the Reflections. The members of an association which called itself the Revolution Society and which was com- posed chiefly of Dissenters, met as was their custom, on the 4th of November, the anniversary of the landing of the Prince of Orange, to hear a sermon in commemoration of the glorious day. Dr. Price was the preacher, and both in the morning ser- mon and in the festivities of the afternoon, the Revolutionists in France were loudly extolled. These harmless proceedings aroused Burke's anger and scorn. He set to work upon the denunciation of Price's doctrines. His design grew as be went on with the undertaking. Every piece of additional news that came across the Channel supplied new material to his contempt and his alarm. When it was known that he was writing a pamphlet, the literary world was stirred with the liveliest ex- pectation. The "great rhetorical fabric arose." With inde- fatigable industry he revised, erased, wrote and rewrote for ex- actly a year, until in Novem])er of 1790 he gave to an anxious public his masterpiece. It was addressed to M. Dupont, "a very young gentleman at Paris," who afterwards translated the work into French. Epitome. In the preceding portion of the Reflections Burkt after referring to the sermon of Dr. Price shows that it misre- presents the English Constitution. He disclaims the right "to choose our own governors," "to cashier them for misconduct,'' or "to form a government for ourselves." He compares the I' 'I If w '' it f '^K' %4 i 318 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. proceedings of the English Revolutionists in 1688 with those of the French Revolutionists in 1789. The National Assembly is described; the representatives of the Tiers Etat; the clergy; the turbulent nobles. Jacobinical fallacies regarding political power, property, and liberty are discussed and the true Rights of man explained. The illiberality and inhumanity of the sermon are pointed out and Price is compared with Peters, the pi eacher who "conducted the triumph" at the trial of Charles I. In the selection given here the treatment of the King and Royal Family of France is contrasted with the spirit of old Euro- pean manners and opinions, which being natural and politic, still influences Englishmen. Louis is regarded as no tyrant amd the author thinks the honour of England is concerned for the repudiation of Dr. Price's doctrines and sentiments. He proceeds to exhibit the true picture of the English political system which is based on (1) the Church, (2) the Crown, (3) the Nobility, (4) the People. Religion is grounded in nature, and most necessary where there is most liberty, aiding to enforce the obligation which ought to subsist between one generation and another* The Church is valuable as a cementing and pervading principle, controlling education and equally necessary to rich and to poor, The rights of property apply to the Estates of the Ch'jrch, and are grossly outraged by the confiscation of Church property in France. In the concluding part of the Reflections Burke shows that the efforts of the different classes are to destroy the Church • that the abuses of the monarchical government in France are not incurable ; that the spirit of the late government was sound the nobility friends of liberality, and the clergy deserving of respect. He then criticises the policy of the National Assembly, showing their ignorance of statesmanship and the evils of their legislattire, executive power, judicature, army and financial system. NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS. a that Ihuroh ; ice are Isound ring of jmbly, If their [xiiucial 1. Preacher. Dr. Price, the Unitarian minister. 2. dimiU-s. " Now dismiss." See i/zAv;, TL, 29. 7. Leading »" triumpli. The language of Price and others. 10. Transports. Ecstasy. 14. American Savage;;. Pi'ohably a reminiscence of the author's reading. 15. Onondaga. Then a station of Jesuit missionaries. 18. "Women. In his Sett, in America the author refers to the ferocity of the women. 25. ^'ational Assembly. The States-general convoked by Louis XVI. consisted of two privileged orders, clergy and nobility and of the tiers-etator commons. As the privileged orders refused to deliberate with the third estate tlie latter assumed the title of AssemhUe Rationale. The court was compelled to make the nobles and clergy join the Assembly. 32. llieir situation. Depending on the will of the mob. 34. Vitiated mind. The English sympathisers were not like the Assembly obliged to act from necessity. 38. Whose constitution. " The municipal government of Paris which had passed out of the hands of the 300 electors, was at this time shared by 60 departments. Each dep; vtment was a caricature of a Greek democratic state, was considered by its inhabitants as a sovereign power, and passed resolutions, which had the force of laws within its limits. This division into 60 depai-tments was flrs^ introduced to facilitate the election of the St ites-general; but tho easy means which it afforded of summoning the people of eacli district upon short notice, and of communicating a show of regu- larity and unanimity to the proceedings, made it too useful a system to he discarded. Much of that appearance of order and 320 NOTES 'JO THE RKFLLCTIONS. ?* \t JtL . ^:>! mi m government which characterises the first year of tlie Eevol-.ition is due ratlier to thin device, than to that self-restraiut \vhich inad« ' auarcliy tolerable' in Massachusetts." — Fayne. 39. Emanated. &c. They were the result of temporary ar- rangements, Necker, by a grave error recognized the 3UU electors as a legal body. Their fnnc^tions properly extended only to the election of representatives but thty were subsequently entrusted with power by the people because they were the only body in whom the public could confide. 62. It is notorious. The clubs governed in the departments of Paris, and through them in the Assembly. 67. Monstroiiis medley. Germans, Swiss, Italians, Spaniards and English. The nobles and clergy took a lead tliere. GO. Catiline. Lucius Sergius Catiline who plotted to assassinate Cicero and overthrow the Roman government. Cetliegus. Another of the conspirators. 63. Distortion. Perversion. Academies. The French Conciliabnlea. 73. Confiscation. L, con and fiscus, a basket, the piTblic treasury; hence the act of adjuding to be forfeited to tVie state. 75. Entbracing, &c. "Burke refers to the circumstances at- tending the condemnation for a bank-note forgery, of the brothers Agasse, which occurred in the middle of January, 1790. Dr. Guillotin had some'time previously proposed^to the Assembly to in- flict the punishment of death in a painless manner, and to relieve the relations of the criminal from the feudal taint of felony. The Abbb P^pin, on this occasion, procured the enactment of the last of these changes; and while the criminals lay under sentence of hanging, their brother and cousin, with the view of marking this triumph of liberty, were promoted to be lieutenants in the Grenadier Company of the Battalion of National Guards fortl.# district of St. Honore', on which occasion, in defiance of public decency and natural feeling, they were publicly feasted and com- plimented." — Payne. 82. Comedians. Gr. ko7ne, & viWage and ode a, Hoag. 86. Explode. L. ejsplodo, to reject or hoot off. 89. Petulance. Impudence. 90. Gallery, &c. In allusion to the House of Commons. 93. Nee color, &c. Neither any complexion of government no^ any aspect of the senate. 94. Power given, &:c. See Bevelntions, xiii., 101. Burlesque. L. burleschug, X02. Ittstitute. Institution, n NOTKS TO THE REFLECTIONS. 321 v^nlntion is ioh mail" porary ar- )U electors Lily to tlin entrusted y in whom partmenta Spaniards iBsassinate ihe public e state, stances at- 16 brothers 790. Dr. nbly to in- to relieve ony. The of the last ' sentence marking its in the ds for t!>« of public and coni- ns. anient nor 113. The beau Jour. The languaj^e is that of M. Bailly. 115, That the vestt^l. Tlif words of Mirul)eau. 121. Slaugliter of innocent geiitemcn. Foulonand Berthiof were murdered by the lanterne " with every circumstance of refined insult and cruelty. 122. The blood spilled. The words of Barnave when this liorrid scene was described and Mirubeautold liim "it was a time to tliink rather than to feel." 182. Pell<-ltation, ifec, alludiuf,' to tlie address presented to the king and queen on the 3rd of January by a deputation of the Assembly. Notice the Sarcasm. 146. Frippery. 1 Poean. A song of Apollo to avert some dreaded evil. It was so called from the words with which it began. 261, Millenium. See J8et>. xx., 2, 322 NOTES ON THE REFLEC'l IONS. lit. I. i«y' ' ■i Fifth monarchy. The dream of a set of cntliUHiasta in the Puritan times. 270. Regicide. Burke saw the inevitable reHult. 271. Sacrilcgloun. The persons of tlie n)yal family were re- garded sacred. 274. Harily pencil. Burke thought the queen would be the first victim. 347. Sarcasm. 355. Not a little. Litotes, 865. Derogate*. Detracts. 371. Grea.t lady. Marie Antoinette. y72. Tviuniph. The " J"yous entry " of the 6th of October. 380. A sovereign. Marie Theresa, Empress of Austria and mother of the Queen. 382. llomun luulron. Such as Lucretia. 383. I«thela»l c-xtreiiiity. Alhiding to the queen's carrying poison about with her. 386. It In now. In a letter to Sir. P. Francis, Burke says the scene actually drew tears from hiis eyes. 387. Uauphineets. Marie Antoinette had been married to the grandson of Louis XV. while he was still the dauphin. 388. This oi-i», &c. In this famous passage we have metaphor, simile, ecphonesis, vision, apostrophe, hyperhiie, ifcc., brought into requisition. 394. Klevaiion fall. Antithesis* 396. Titles. As that of queen. 398. Antidote. The poison. 399. Little did I dr**uni. Anaphora* 402. Ten thousand. Mcionomy. 404. Age of chivalry. The lament for the dvcay of chivalry is an old one. 405. Sophister*. Sophists. 408. Generous loyalty. The idea of loyalty was to be effaced from the French mind. Proud submission. Modestie superbe. 411. Exalted freedom. Bolinghroke, Gibbon and others con. sidered that the spirit of freedom breathed throughout the feudal institutions. 415. Felt a stain. &c. "And if the conscience has not wholly lost its native tenderness, it will not only dread the infection of a wound, but also the aspersion of a blot."— -*Sow^/t. 416. Ennotole, &c. Cf. Johnson's epitaph on Goldsinith "Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit." asts in the y wore re ild be tli(* ■tober. Ltitria and 3 carrying D Bays the ried to the metaplior, jught into hivah'y is )e effaced lera eon. le feudal )t wholly tion of a aldsmitb NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS. 323 420. Chivalry. Tlio compleraent of feudalism. It had its origin about the ilth century. Under it the privilegea, duties and manners of the knights were recognized. 436. Folio wn. Equals. 441. Illusionx. Distinguish from delusions and allusiong, 444. A»»lmtlatlon. Converting into a like substance. 449. Wardrobe. "Life is barren enough surelj' with all her trappings; let us therefore be cautious how we strip her." — John- son. Payne considers the influence of Johnson on Burke may be traced here. 455. Scheme. That of the Revolutionists and political theorists. Notice the climax. 469. Cold hearts, &o. Cf. Pope, Dunciad. "A brain of feathers and a heart of lead. " 476. Vista, or visto. A view as through an avenut. 478. Meehanir. Mechanical. 493. Poiver. Misdirected, he anticipates, after the dtatruction of polished manners. 607. Kings, (fee. A very expressive paragraph, 612. Port. Metonomy. 623. Nothing is more, (fee. To cherish Honour was the princi- pal business of chivalry. While chivalry flourished Burke says, "No citiiseii of Europe could be altogether an exile in anv part of it." 633. Learning. The clergy were almost the only learned persons during the middle ages. 636. Happy. Euphoneais. 539. The iuMtractor. The Revolutionists followed " reason " go called. 643. Swinish multitude. Cf. Matthew, vii., 6. " The much resented expression ' swinish multitude ' afterwards became a toast with the English Jacobins." — Payne. 548. The gods, (fee. Burke shows that wealth, which some valued more than the preservation of "nobility" and "religion"' depended upon the preservation of these. 575, Itia not rlear, (fee. Hallam calls France "the fountain of chivalry." Probably Burke'here alludes to the legendaxy chivalry of the Court of Arthur, of which Brittany had its share. 581. When your fountain. "This passage has not been verifi- ed. England and Germany are likely to transmit to future generations much that is worth preserving of the spirit of chivalry." 501. A resolution in sentiments, (fee. Public opinion was in. deed cliangiug. 324 NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS 504, Apologize. A strong expression. 600. Great drama. That of life. 61.5. Stage. Burke was a great lover of the stage. 620. Garriclt. David Garrick (171(j— 177t)) the celebrated actor. SiddoiiM. The celebrated actress. 623. Si-liool. A metaphor. 631. Mac-liiaveliaii. Like the pernicious political princi')lep. of Niccolo del Machiavelli, of Florence, as set forth in his work called The, Frince. According to this book rulers may resort to any treachery or artifice to uphold their arbitrary power. 662. Fear laore dreadful, &c. A striking jTophecy of tlu' horrors of the iieign of Terror. 671i. lleiult Iii-i pierogatives, &c. This statement is not correct. Such remissions had been wrested from the king by parliament. 685. Pi-ovide force, &c. Alluding to the arrest of magistrates. 694. Couiplatent awe. lieferriug probably to Frederick the great. 695. KnoTrn ;o keep. A French form for " know howto keep." 599. Never elevate, &c. Under weak kings nations have often obtained more hberty. 700. Lilwted. Enlisted. 701. Any good any crime. Antithesis. 718. Ne»'o. A very wicked eiTi])eror of Home. Agflppina. Wife of the emperor Claudius and one of the most detestable of women. JLouiH cy of the nt is not e king by ap^istrates. derick the w to keep." have ofteu one of the founder of I personal 1 in!) 7 and jainst tlie lim under d in] 707. id been a )ni posed a 1 dra^/ged 0th, Ui57. ihis crime s thou^'ht ing of t)ie 751. Flo wer-flt— lure. The royal badge. Burke here a]liid*>s to the HcandaloussU^ries of the Queen of France which those al>out the court V)rought over. 702. I-i{;(- Uordnn. " This mischievous maniac had been convicted June Gth 1787, amongst other things for a hbel on the queen of France; but before the time fixed for corning up to receive sentence, he made off to the continent. He soon retained and in August took up his residence in one of the dirtiest streets of Birmingham, where he Vjecame a ]jroselyte to the rehgion, and as- sumed the dress and manners of the Jews. He was arrested tljere on the 7tli of Decemljcr on a warrant for cojL'^mpt of court and committed to Newgate, wIhh' his freaks were fr r sometime a i()[)ic ' of public amusement, as may be seen from the contemporary news- papers." — Paijne. 753. ProHelyte. He as^iumed the name and stylp of the Kight Hon. Israel Bar Abraham George Gordon, wore a long heard and rtifused to admit Ui his i)resence any Jew who appeared without one. 765, Rained a mob. The terrible '* No-Popery riots" of June 6th 1780 set blazing six-and-thirty fires in various parts of London and " everything served to impress the mind with ideas of universal anarchy and apfu'oaching desolatior," 703. Tl»ttli»u«l. The fundamental code ol Jewish law. 771. Dr. Prlci^ liiiH shown. In his Treatise on lie ue raionar y paijmpnts and other works. 772. Thirty pi«'r«H. In allusion to Jtulas. 773. Gallii'un. Of France. 7<)0. Forty yearm. Burke came to England in 1750. 808. Buu«Ie and nois.<«-. Plurd, in a sermon states tliat; "A few fasliionable men make a n(,if;(: in the world; and tliis elamour being echoed on al' side., from the shallow circb^s of their admirfr4, misleads the unwarj i itn an opinion that the irreligious spirit iH universal and uncontr(»iiable." Canning in a speech gives expres- sion to a similar idea. gl2. Gra«Hlio|i|ier«, (^'0. Cf. Virgil Gcorg., iii.,327, and also the htory of the foolish traveller who dismounted to kill the grass- hoi)i)er3 wliich disturl)edhiB meditations. 827. I t'«P>'«'fatf, d'f. Paraleipsis. 829. A kliiK of Franco. Jolm who was taken at tlie battle of Poitiers, l.'jrjO. h;wJ. Vou iiav«» read. In the Chroiucle of Froissart. K.ll. Vic-tor. The Black Prinee 838. OeneroHity and dignity. Excessive praisi- was given in Burke's time to the period of Edward HI. 326 NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS. 83!). Subtilized, (Lc Rousseau is now supposed to influence France as Lycurgus did Sparta. 840. Roussejiu, See. The free-thinkin^', infidel spirit, so characteristic of the last century came from Italy with the period of the Renaissance. 842. Atheists. Over 50,000 are said to have been in Paris alone a century before the Revolution. 857. Trussed. Bound up. 859. Blurred. Blotted. 801. Unsopliisticated. Uncorrupted. Pedantry. Show of learning. 87G. Our old prejudiees. Well might some of Burke's Whig friends become amazed at such views. 88G. Men of speculation. Like Addjson, Johnson and other essayists. 900. ConHnue the prejiudice. Chesterfield in one of his essays defends prejudices and regards them safer guides than reason- 926. luexpiiihle war. Cf. Livy, iv., 35. 932. Species of conipact,. Plato sets up the same fictitious compact according to Bishop Horsely. 951. Cabal!*. Fr. cabale. The word has been popularized from the " Cabal Ministry." 9(52. Refused. In the reign of John. 974. Part of our iutereatt. The politics had influenced various European governments. 97G. Panacea. A univei'nal cure. Panacea, the daughter of Esculapius, the god of medicine. 979. tiiuirantiiie. "The forty days that a ship suspected of being infected with some contagious disorder ii obliged to lie off ])ort." — Brewer. <)81. PhlloKophic. Then signifying, in France, unbelief in Christianity. 993. Collins, &(\ Payne says, "All that is worth knowing of these writers niay bo read in Mr. Pattison's essay on the Tcndencie)^ of Religious Thought in EngJaiid, 1688—1760. The representative man of the sect was Tindal." 995. Boiingbrooke. Henry St. John (1G78— 1751) ; a prominent Tory politician; his talents were brilliant and versatile and his style of writing polished; he was unscrupulous, dissipated, and a noted infidel. 998. F«>w successors, Tlie allusion is to Hume. 999. tapulet.*. Cf. liovieo and Juliet, i\.,l. "Thou shalt lie borne to that same anci(-nt vault ■V'htre all the kindred of the Capulets lie." NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS. 327 The Capulets were a noble house of Verona, the rival of that of Montafjfue. Juliet is one of the former and Romeo of the latter. 1002. Oregarious. L. grex, a flock. 1011. Reparations. Amendments. 1015. IVative plainness. For good illufitrntions of Enj3:lish fharaoter see Butler's Hudibras, Addison's Sir lioger tie Coverlet/ and Boswell's Life of Savin pJ Johnson. 1017. TUos© wlio, (fee. Ilol)ert Walpole, Lord Chatham and Lord Rockingham, 1027. "We shall never, &e. In England Dissenting bodies sprani^ into existenc^e as a result of the spirit of inquiry. 1033. Unhallowed fire. Cf. Numbers, xvi. The allusion is most likely to the sacred fire on the altar of Vesta at Rome. 103G. Adulterated metaphysics. The sentiments of the scr^ptics. 1048. Greek, (fee. Burke speaks elsewhere of these " four grand divisions of Christianity." He was a strong friend of toleration. . Armenian. So called from Armenia where Christiaiiitv was introduced in the second century. They attribute only one nature to Christ, hold that the spirit proceeds from the Father only, and adore s'lints. 1055. ludilTeience, (fee Antitlirsis. 1059. Alembie, Avessel formerly used by chemists for distilling. 10G5. IVot endure a void. The worship of humnnitij and the Sunday services of "Secular" societies prove the statement. 1091. Ancient Rome. Athens was visited by the Romans, in the time of Pericles and the Decemvirate which is here referred to established at home. 1144. Act in trust. A favourite view of Burke's regarding those placed in power. 1159. Jani^i^aries. The name was first applied to a celebi'ated militia of the Ottoman erupire raised by Orcliiui in 1526. 1162. Alisoiute, cfec. The stock arguments against democracy. 1166. Ia^ss under responsibility. Is this true? 1171. Inverse ratio. Discuss this opinion. 1199. Sycopliants, Gr. sukophantes, from sukon a fig. The term was prob;(,bly first applied to those who informed against persons exporting figs and hence an informer, a {liirasite, a flatterer. 1206. Will and reason the .-*uiue. A conclusion of the achool- men. 1209 Will not appoint, ifef. l:sotice the anhthpsis. 1227. liife-renters. Tenants for life. 12:^1. Kntall. Fr. cn-tnillrr. An ctitail is an p«ta!e rut fiowj tlve power of a testator. It nui:;t go to tlio legal hci>s. .■) 28 NOTES ON THE REFLECTIONS. i ; 1232. Commit -waste. Permanent injury do! e on a landed estate, as pulling down houses, cutting timber &e. 1240. CoiitJiiiuity. Burke holds that the liberties of England form an " entailed inheritance." 1244, Jurispiudf lire. In Burke's time practical jurispriadence in England stood sadly in need of reform. In France matters were about as corrupt as they very well could be. 1284. Approacti to. Pleonasm. 12. )2. I" pieces. Alluding to the legend of the daughters of Pelias, King of Thessaly, who "by the counsel of iVIedea, chopped him in pie(;es, and set him a boiling with I know not what herbs in a caiildron, but could not revive him again." 1309 Many generations. The argument is used by Cicero. 1320. C'iiaos. Confusion. 1330. Anarchy. The absence of oi'der. 1338. Worlcl of reason, &o. Antithesis. 1351. Q,uo Cicero. 13G6. Cast. Birth. 1375. Archetype. A model. Corporate fealty. Allegiance as body. 1379. Seigniory. Authority of a seignior (L, senior) or lord 1380. Paramount. Over all. 1384. Dignity of person»i. Ecclesiastical dignities. 1422. Heterogeneous. Dispimilar. 1430. t>ur education. Burke's arguments will appear weak to Canadians. 1440. Austere. Severe. 14r)8. Meliorating. Ameliorating. 1403. As early. Kot farther back than Hooker and Bacon. 1474. Precarious. Canada and even Scotland and England are lar from establishing this view. 14y<). Factious. If >, Inspector of Public Schools, Toronto. Price, 25 Cents. iII«TORY TAUGHT BY TOPICAL xMETIIOD. A PRIMER IN CANADIAN lIlS'fORY, KUR .SCHOOLS AND STLDENTS PREPARING FOR EXAMINATIONS. 1. The history is divided into periods in accordance with the great na tional changes that have taken place. 2. The history of each jxjriod is given topically instead of in chronoloj ical order. 3. Examination questions are given at the end of each chapter. 4. Examination papers, selected from the clficial examinations of the different provinces, are given in the Appendix. 5. Student's review outlines, to eiialjlo a student to thoroughly test hia own progreb3, are inserted at the end of each chapter. 6. SjKicial attention is paid to the educational, social and commercial progress of the country. 7. Constitutional growth is treated in a brief but comprehensive exer- cise. it:^ By the aid of this work students can prepare and revjew for exam- inations in Canadian History more (juickly than by the use of any otiier work. 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Mount Forest Advocatk. Atter careful inspect on wc unhesitatingly pronounce it the best spell- in^' book ever in use in our public schools. The Practical Speller secures an easy access to its contents by the very systematic arraiii,'eiucnts of tlie words in topical classes ; a pernuinent inii)ression on the nieniory l>y the frc(iuent review of dirticult words ; and a saving of time and eflort by the selection of only such words as are dilficult and of common occurrence Mr. Ueid, II. S. Master heartily recommends the work, and ordered .some Bixty copies. It is a Itook that should be on every business man's table aa well as in the school room. o Is a necessity. Presb. Witness, Halifax. We have alreac had repeated occasion to speak highly of the Educa- tional Series of which this l)ook is one. The " Speller" is a necessit.v ; and we have seen no book which we on,n recommend more heartily than the one before us. o Good priut. Bowmanville Observer. The " Practical Speller" is a credit to the publishers in its general get ap, classification of subjects, and clearness of treatment. The cliild who uses this book will not have damaged eyesight through bad print. o What it is. Strathroy Age. It is a series of graded lessons, containing the words in general use with abbreviations, etc. ; words of similar pronunciation and diflerent spell- ing a collection of the most dilficult words in the language, and a number of literary selections which may be used for dictation lessons, and commit' ted to memory by the pupils. o Every teacher should introduce it. Canadian Statesman. It is an improvement on the old spelling book. Every teacher should introduce it into his classes The best yet seen. Colchester Spn, Nova Scotia. It is away ahead of any"8peller*'that we have heretofore seen. Our public schools want a good spelling book. The publication before us ia the best we have yet seen. Sa. J. ^age S: Co's. |lcto (Eburational SBorks. The Canada School Journal HAH RKCKIVK,I> AN IIO.VOKABI-K MF.NTION AT PARIH EXHIBITION, 187b Adopted by nearly every County in Canada. Keconijncniled by the Minister of Kduc>tion, Ontario. Kecoininended by the Council of Public Instniction, t^uebec. Ileconiinended by Cliief Sujtt. of Education, New Hrunswick. Kecominonded by Chief Supt. of Education, Nova Scotia. liecoiniiHiiided by Chief Su])t. of Education, British (Columbia liecouiniended by Chief Supt. of Education, Manitoba. IT 18 KDITKD BY A Committee of some of the Leading Educationists in Ontario, assistca by able Provincial liditors in the Provinces of t^uebec, Nova Scotia, N*^w Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Manitoba, and British Columbia^ thus having each section of the Dominion fully represented. CONTAINS TWENTV-FOUR PAOKH OF READING MATTER. Live Editorials ; Contributions on important Educational topics ; Selec- tions—Headings for the School Kuom ; and Notes and News from each Pro- vince. pRACTic'AL UErARTMBNT wiU ftlways Contain useful hints on methods of teaching different subjects. MATHEMATicAii DEPARTMENT glves solutions to difficult problems a!»o on Examination Papers. Official Department contains such regulations as may be issued from time to time. Subscription', $1.00 per annum, strictly in advance. Read the Following Letter from John Grkknlkak Whittier, the Fa Mous American Poet. I have also received a No. of the " Canada School Journal," which seems to me the brightest and most readable of EJucationul Magazines. 1 am very truly thy friend, John Greenleaf VVhittier- A Club of 1,000 Subscribers from Nova Scotia. (Copy) Education Office, Halifax, N. S., Nov. 17, 1878, Messrs. Adam Miller & Co., Toronto, Ont. Dear Sirs,— In order to meet the wishes of our teachers In various partfc t}t the Province, and to secure for them the advantage of your excellent periodical, I hereby subscribe in their behalf for one thousand (1,000) copies at club rates mentioned in your recent esteemed favor. Subscriptions wilj begin wit' January issue, and lists will be forwarded to your oftice in a few days. Yours truly, David Allison, Chief Supt. of Education. Addrew, W. J- GAGE & CO Torcuto, Ca,nftaa. I d SHorks. TION, 187& )0C. ick. nbia ntario, »S8i8tea va Scotia, Ni,?w ColuinbJAj thus RR. topics ; Selec- from each Pro- on methods ol )bleiii8 also on e issued from e. TIER, TWB Fa ' which seems les. 1 am verj' VVhittler. otia. 7. 17, 1878, various partfc air excellent (1,000) copies ^rlptions wilj ttice in a few Bducation^