THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. i am Edinburgh: Printed by James Balluntyne & Co MISCELLANEOUS POEMS BY WALTER SCOTT, Esq. EDINBURGH : PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. CHEAVSIDE, LONDON. 1820. q . ADVERTISEMENT. This Volume contains " The Bridal of Triermain? " Harold the Dauntless" " William and Helen,' 1 '' imi- tated Jrom the " Leonore" of' Burger, and all the Smaller Pieces, collected for the first time in the recent edition qfthe Autlwr's Poems. CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. FAGK. William and Helen 3 The Battle of Sempach 22 The Noble Moringer 35 SONGS. Jock of Hazeldean . 85 Lullaby of an Infant Chief 88 Pibroch of Donald Dhu 90 Nora's Vow 94 Macgregor's Gathering 97 Donald Caird's come again 100 Mackrimmon's Lament . 105 The Last Words of Cadwallon 108 The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill Ill The Maid of Isla 113 The Foray 115 The Monks of Bangor's March 117 Farewell to the Muse 121 MISCELLANIES. Epitaph on Mrs Erskine 147 Mr Kemble's Farewell Address, on taking leave of the Edin- burgh Stage 1+0 Vlll CONTENTS. FAGS. On Ettrick Forest's Mountains Dun 153 The Search after Happiness ; or, the Quest of Sultaun Solimaun 156 Epilogue to the Appeal, Spoken by Mrs H. Siddons . . 178 BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. Introduction , . 193 Canto First 201 Canto Second 227 Canto Third 273 Conclusion 335 Notes , 339 Fragments, which originally appeared in the Edin- burgh Annual Register, for 1809, The Poacher 353 Song 362 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. Introduction . . . .' 367 Canto First 373 Canto Second 393 Canto Third 419 Canto Fourth 441 Canto Fifth 463 Canto Sixth 487 Conclusion 511 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. WILLIAM AND HELEN. Imitated from the " Lenore" of Burger. The Author had resolved to omit the following ver- sion of a well-known Poem, in any collection which he might make of his poetical trifles. But the publishers having pleaded for its admission, the author has con- sented, though not unaware of the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for it was written in 1 795) must appear with those which have been executed by much more able hands, in particular that of Mr Taylor of Norwich, and that of Mr Spencer. The following Translation was written long before the author saw any other, and originated in the follow- ing circumstances. A lady of high rank in the literary world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr Tay- lor, in the house of the celebrated professor Dugald Stuart of Edinburgh. The author was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time ; but a gentleman who had the pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told him the story, and repeated the remarkable chorus, 4 WILLIAM AND HELEN. " Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, " Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; I " Hurrah ! hurrah ! The dead can ride ! " Dost fear to ride with me ?" In attempting a translation then intended only to cir- culate among friends, the present author did not hesi- tate to make use of this impressive stanza ; for which freedom he has since obtained the forgiveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it properly belongs. WILLIAM AND HELEN. I. From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, And ey'd the dawning red : *' Alas, my love, thou tarriest long I " O art thou false or dead ?" II. With gallant FredVick's princely power He sought the bold crusade ; But not a word from Judah's wars Told Helen how he sped. III. With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made, And ev'ry knight return'd to dry The tears his love had shed. WILLIAM AND HELEN. IV. Our gallant host was homeward bound With many a song of joy ; Green wav'd the laurel in each plume, The badge of victory. V. And old and young, and sire and son, To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody, The debt of love to pay. VI. Full many a maid her true love met, And sob^d in his embrace, And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles ArrayM full many a face. VII. Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; She sought the host in vain ; For none could tell her William's fate, If faithless, or if slain. WILLIAM AND HELEN. VIII. The martial band is past and gone ; She rends her raven hair, And in distraction's bitter mood She weeps with wild despair. IX. " O rise, my child," her mother said, " Nor sorrow thus in vain ; " A perjur'd lover's fleeting heart " No tears recal again." X. " O mother, what is gone, is gone, " What's lost for ever lorn : " Death, death alone can comfort me ; M O had I ne'er been born ! XL " O break, my heart, O break at once ! " Drink my life-blood, despair ! " No joy remains on earth for me, " For me in heaven no share." 8 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XII. " O enter not in judgment, Lord !" The pious mother prays ; " Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! " She knows not what she says. XIII. " O say thy pater noster, child 1 " O turn to God and grace ! " His will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale, " Can change thy bale to bliss. 11 XIV. " O mother, mother, what is bliss ? " O' mother, what is bale ? " My William 1 s love was heaven on earth, " Without it earth is hell. XV. " Why should I pray to ruthless Heav^, " Since my Wd William's slain ? " I only pray'd for William's sake, " And all my prayers were vain. 11 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XVI. " O take the sacrament, my child, " And check these tears that flow; " By resignation's humble prayer, " O hallow'd be thy woe P XVII. " No sacrament can quench this fire, " Or slake this scorching pain; " No sacrament can bid the dead " Arise and live again. # XVIII. " O break, my heart, O break at once i " Be thou my god, Despair ! " Heaven's heaviest blow has falTn on me, " And vain each fruitless pray'r." XIX. " O enter not in judgment, Lord, " With thy frail child of clay ! " She knows not what her tongue has spoke ; " Impute it not, I pray .' 10 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XX. " Forbear, my child, this desp'rate woe, " And turn to God and grace ; " Well can devotion's heav'nly glow " Convert thy bale to bliss. 1 ' XXI. " O mother, mother, what is bliss ? " O mother, what is bale ? " Without my William what were heaven, " Or with him what were hell ?" c XXII. Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, Upbraids each sacred power, Till spent, she sought her silent room, All in the lonely tower. XXIII. She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, Till sun and day were o'er, And through the glimm'ring lattice shone The twinkling of the star. WILLIAM AND HELEN. 11 XXIV. Then crash ! the heavy draw-bridge fell That o'er the moat was hung ; And clatter \ clatter ! on its boards The hoof of courser rung. XXV. The clank of echoing steel was heard As off the rider bounded ; And slowly on the winding stair A heavy footstep sounded. XXVI. And hark ! and hark ! a knock Tap ! tap ! A rustling stifled noise ; Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; At length a whisp'ring voice. XXVII. ** Awake,'awake, arise, my love ! " How, Helen, dost thou fare ? " Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thoujorweep'st? " Hast thought on me, my fair ?" 12 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XXVIII. " My love ! my love ! so late by night ! " I wak'd, I wept for thee : " Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; " Where, William, could'st thou be F" XXIX. " We saddle late From Hungary " I rode since darkness fell ; " And to its bourne we both return " Before the matin bell."" XXX. " rest this night within my arms, " And warm thee in their fold ! " Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind ; " My love is deadly cold. 1 '' XXXI. " Let the wind howl through hawthorn "bush .' " This night we must away ; " The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; " I cannot stay till day. WILLIAM AND HELEN. 13 XXXII. " Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mounfst behind " Upon my black barb steed : " (Ter stock and stile, a hundred miles, " We haste to bridal bed. 11 XXXIII. " To-night to-night a hundred miles ! " dearest William, stay ! " The bell strikes twelve dark, dismal hour ! " O wait, my love, till day P XXXIV. *' Look here, look here the moon shines clear " Full fast I ween we ride ; " Mount and away ! for ere the day " We reach our bridal bed. XXXV. " The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; " Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee ! " The feast is made, the chamber spread, " The bridal guests await thee." 14 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XXXVI. Strong love prevails : She busks, she bounes, She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William's waist Her lily arms she twined. XXXVII. And hurry ! hurry ! off they rode, As fast as fast might be ; Spurn'd from the courser's thundering heels The flashing pebbles flee. XXXVIII. And on the right, and on the left, Ere they could snatch a view, Fast, fast each mountain, mead and plain, And cot and castle flew. XXXIX. " Sit fast dost fear ? The moon shines clear- " Fleet goes my barb keep hold ! " Fear'st thou !" " O no !" she faintly said ; " But why so stern and cold ? WILLIAM AND HELEN. 15 XL. " What yonder rings ? what yonder sings ? " Why shrieks the owlet gray ?" " 'Tis death-bells clang, 'tis funeral song, " The body to the clay. XLI. " With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, *' Ye may inter the dead : " To-night I ride, with my young bride, " To deck our bridal bed. XLII. '* Come with thy choir, thou coffin'd guest, " To swell our nuptial song ! " Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! " Come all, come all along V XLIII. Ceas'd clang and song ; down sunk the bier ; The shrouded corpse arose ; And hurry ! hurry ! all the train The thundVing steed pursues. 16 WILLIAM AND HELEN. XLIV. And forward ! forward ! on they go ; High snorts the straining steed ; Thick pants the rider's labouring breath, As headlong on they speed. XLV. " O William, why this savage haste ? " And where thy bridal bed f " 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, " And narrow, trustless maid." XLVI. " No room for me P " Enough for both ; " Speed, speed, my barb, thy course !" CVer thund'ring bridge, through boiling surge, He drove the furious hor.se. XL VII. Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee. WILLIAM AND HELEN. 17 XL VIII. Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove, and bower ; On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower ! XLIX. " Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, " Dost fear to ride with me ? " Hurrah ! hurrah ! The dead can ride !" " O William let them be !~ L. " See there, see there ! What yonder swings " And creaks 'mid whistling rain p" " Gibbet and steel, th 1 accursed wheel ; " A murd'rer in his chain. LI. " Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : " To bridal bed we ride ; " And thou shalt prance a fetter dance " Before me and my bride. 11 B 18 WILLIAM ANT) HELEN. LII. And hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash ! The wasted form descends ; And fleet as wind through hazel bush The wild career attends. LIII. Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. LIV. How fled what moonshine faintly showM ! How fled what darkness hid ! How fled the earth beneath their feet, The heav'to above their head ! LV. " Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, " And well the dead can ride ; " Does faithful Helen fear for them P" " O leave in peace the dead T WILLIAM AND HELEN. 19 LVI. " Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the cock ;' " The sand will soon be run : " Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning air; " The race is well nigh done.'" LVIL Tramp ! tramp I along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. LVIII. " Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ; " The bride, the bride is come ! " And soon we reach the bridal bed, " For, Helen, here's my home. 1 ' LIX. Reluctant on its rusty hinge Revolv , d an iron door, And by the pale moon's setting beam Were seen a church and towV. 20 WILLIAM AND HELEN. LX. With many a shriek and cry whiz round The birds of midnight, scared ; And rustling like autumnal leaves Unhallow , d ghosts were heard. LXI. O'er many a tomb and tomb-stone pale He spurr'd the fiery horse, Till sudden at an open grave He check'd the wondVous course. LXII. The falling gauntlet quits the rein, Down drops the casque of steel, The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, The spur his gory heel. LXIII. The eyes desert the naked skull, The mouldVing flesh the bone, Till Helen's lily arms entwine A ghastly skeleton. WILLIAM AND HELEN. 21 LXIV. The furious barb snorts fire and foam, And, with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air, And leaves her on the ground. LXV. Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, Pale spectres flit along, Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, And howl the funeral song ; LXVI. " E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft, " Revere the doom of Heav'n. " Her soul is from her body reft ; " Her spirit be forgiven P 22 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. These verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, fought yth July 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss can- tons established their independence ; the author, Al- bert Tchudi, denominated the Souter, from his profes- sion of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among his countrymen, both for his powers as a Meisler-singcr or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier ; so that he might share the praise confer- red by Collins on Eschylus, that Not alone he nursed the poet's flame, But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot steel. The 'circumstance of their being written by a poet returning from the well-fought field he describes, and in which his country's fortune was secured, may con- fer on Tchudi's verses an interest which they are not entitled to claim from their poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more literally it is translated, the more it BATTLE OF SEMFACH. 23 loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength ; and therefore some of the faults of the verses must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to his original. The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportioned episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. The military antiquary will derive some amusement from the minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Austrian men-at- arms received the charge of the Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long lances. The gallant Winkelried, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these iron battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length of their wea- pons, and cumbrous weight of their defensive armour, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequal match for the light-armed mountaineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over the German chivalry, hither- to deemed as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to important changes in the art of war. The poet de- scribes the Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often men- tioned in the middle ages. Leopold III. Archduke of Austria, called " The handsome man-at-arms," was slain in the battle of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry. 24 Till BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 'Twas when among our linden trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And gray-hair'd peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,) Then looked we down to Willisow, The land was all in flame ; We knew the Arehduke Leopold With all his army came. The Austrian nobles made their vow, So hot their heart and bold, " On Switzer carles well trample now, And slay both young and old." 15 BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 25 With clarion loud, and banner proud, From Zurich on the lake, In martial pomp and fair array, Their onward march they make. " Now list, ye lowland nobles all, Ye seek the mountain strand, Nor wot ye what shall be your lot In such a dangerous land. " I rede ye, shrive you of your sins, Before you further go ; A skirmish in Helvetian hills May send your souls to woe.'" "But where now shall we find a priest Our shrift that he may hear ?" " The Switzer priest* has ta'cn the field, He deals a penance drear. " All the Swiss clergy, who were able to bear arms, l'ought in this pa- triotic war. 26 BATTLE Ol' SL'MTACIL " Right heavily upon your bead He'll lay his hand of steel ; And with his trusty partisan Your absolution deal." "Twas on a Monday morning then, The corn was stecp"d in dew, And merry maids had sickles tji'en, When the host to Sempach drew. The stalwart men of fair Lucerne Together have they join'd ; The pith and core of manhood stern, Was none cast looks behind. It was the Lord of Hare-castle, And to the Duke he said, " Yon little band of brethren true Will meet us undismay'd." BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 27 " O Hare-castle,* thou heart of hare !" Fierce Oxenstern replied. " Shalt see then how the game will fare," The taunted knight replied. There was lacing then of helmets bright, And closing ranks amain ; The peaks they hew'd from their boot-points Might well nigh load a wain.-J- And thus, they to each other said, " Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell, The peasants are so few." The gallant Swiss Confederates there, They pray'd to God aloud, * In the original, Ilaascnslcin, or Hare-stone. J" This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned upwards, and so long, that in some cases they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with 28 RATTLE OF SEMPACH. And he display'd his rainbow fair Against a swarthy cloud. Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and more With courage firm and high, And down the good Confed'rates bore On the Austrian chivalry. The Austrian Lion* 'gan to growl, And toss his mane and tail ; And ball, and shaft, and cross-bow bolt Went whistling forth like hail. Lance, pike, and halberd, mingled there, The game was nothing sweet ; The boughs of many a stately tree Lay shivered at their feet. small chains. When they alighted to fight on foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might move with the necessary activity. A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 29 The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, So close their spears they laid ; It chafed the gallant Winkelried, Who to his comrades said " I have a virtuous wife at home, A wife and infant son ; I leave them to my country's care, This field shall soon be won. " These nobles lay their spears right thick, And keep full firm array, Yet shall my charge their order break, And make my brethren way." He rush'd against the Austrian band, In desperate career, And with his body, breast, and hand, Bore down each hostile spear. 30 BATTLE OF SEMPACH. Four lances splinterM on his crest, Six shiver\l in his side ; Still on the serried files he press'd He broke their ranks, and died. This patriot's self-devoted deed First tamed the Lion's mood, And the four Forest Cantons freed From thraldom by his blood. Right where his charge had made a lane, His valiant comrades burst, With sword and axe, and partizan, And hack, and stab, and thrust. The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, And granted ground amain, The Mountain Bull,* he bent his brows, And gored his sides again. " A pun on the Unus, or wild bull, which gives name to the canton ofUri. BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 31 Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, At Sempach in the flight, The cloister vaults at Konig 1 sfield Hold many an Austrian knight. It was the Archduke Leopold, So lordly would he ride, But he came against the Switzer churls, And they slew him in his pride. The heifer said unto the bull, " And shall I not complain ? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain. " One thrust of thine outrageous horn Has gall'd the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne, To range our glens no more." 32 BATTLE OF SEMl'ACH. An Austrian noble left the stour, And fast the flight "gan take ; And he arrived in luckless hour At Sempach on the lake. He and his squire a fisher call'd, (His name was Hans Von Rot) " For love, or meed, or charity, Receive us in thy boat" Their anxious call the fisher heard, And, glad the meed to win, His shallop to the shore he stecr\l, And took the flyers in. And while against the tide and wind Hans stoutly row'd his way, The noble to his follower signed He should the boatman slay. BATTLE OF SEMPACH. The fisher's back was to them tura'd, The squire his dagger drew, Hans saw his shadow in the lake, The boat he overthrew. He Vhelm'd the boat, and as they strove, He stunn'd them with his oar, " Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, You'll ne'er stab boatman more. * : Two gilded fishes in the lake This morning have I caught, Their silver scales may much avail, Their carrion flesh is naught." It was a messenger of woe Has sought the Austrian land ; ** Ah ! gracious lady, evil news ! My lord lies on the strand. 34 BATTLE OF SEMPACH. " At Sempach, on the battle field, His bloody corpse lies there :" " Ah, gracious God P the lady cried, " What tidings of despair !" Now would you know the minstrel wight, Who sings of strife so stern, Albert the Souter is he hight, A burgher of Lucerne. A merry man was he, I wot, The night he made the lay, Returning from the bloody spot, Where God had judged the day. 35 THE NOBLE MORINGER. AN ANCIENT BALLAD, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. The original of these verses occurs in a collection of German popular songs, entitled Sammlung Deutchen Volkslieder, Berlin 1807, published by Messrs Busch- ing and Von der Hagen, both, and more especially the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the an- cient popular poetry and legendary history of Germany. In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it is stated to have been extracted from a manuscript Chro- nicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1533; and the song is stated by the author to have been generally sung in the neighbourhood at that early period. Tho- mann, as quoted by the German Editor, seems faith- fully to have believed the event he narrates. He quotes tomb-stones and obituaries to prove the existence of the personages of the ballad, and discovers that there 36 THE NOBLE WRINGER. actually died on the 11th May 1349, a I-ady Von Neuf- fen, Countess of Marstetten, who was by birth of the house of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been Moringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He quotes the same authority for the death of Berekhold Von NeufFen in the same year. The editor, on the whole, seems to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith of Ulm, who, from the language of the ballad, ascribes its date to the fifteenth century. The legend itself turns on an incident not peculiar to Germany, and which perhaps was not unlikely to happen in more instances than one, when crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their disconsolate dames received no tidings of their fate. A story very similar in circumstances, but without the miraculous machinery of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the an- cient Lords of Haigh-hall in Lancashire, the patrimo- nial inheritance of the late Countess of Balcarras ; and the particulars are represented on stained glass upon a window in that ancient manor house. THE NOBLE MORINGER. I. O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay ; He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame., that was as sweet as May, And said, " Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say II. " "Pis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's mine ; Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay, That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day.'''' 48 THE NOBLE MORINGER. III. Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer, " Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here ; And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway, And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away F" IV. Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thou no care, There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair, The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my state, And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate. V. " As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight, When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight ; And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now, But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow."" s THE NOBLE MOEINGER. 49 VI. It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him bowne, And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown: He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with miniver, He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair. < . VII. " Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine, And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine, For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train, And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again.'" VIII. The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, " Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; That woman's faith's a brittle trust Seven twelvemonths did'st thou say ? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day" 50 THE NOBLE MORINGER. IX. The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was full of care, His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, To whom he spoke right anxiously, ** Thou trusty squire to me, Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea ? X. " To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; And pledge thee for my Lady's faith, till seven long years are gone, And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John." XI. Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young, And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue; u My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend, And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end. \ THE NOBLE MORINGER. 51 XII. " Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride ; And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year. 1 ' XIII. The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, And doubt forsook histroubledbrow, andsorrowleft hischeek ; A long adieu he bids to all hoists top-sails, and away, And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. XIV. It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept ; And whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake, Thy lady and thine heritage another master take. 52 THE NOBLE MORINGER. XV. " Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein, And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train ; And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstetten's heir." XVI. It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, " Oh would that I had ne'er been born ! what tidings have I heard ! To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, But, God ! that ere a squire untrue should wed my Lady fair ! XVII. " O good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, " my patron Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name, And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame." THE NOBLE MOlllNGER. 53 XVIII. It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd his care ; He waked in fair Bohemian land, outstretch'd beside a rill, High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. XIX. The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around ; " I know my father's ancient towers, the mill, the stream, I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe !" XX. He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew, So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master knew ; The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be ?" 54 THE NOBLE MORINGER. XXI. The miller answerM him again, " He knew of little news, Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom chuse ; Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word, His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord. XXII. M Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me ; And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole. 11 XXIII. It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; " Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take, . To gain the entrance of my hall this woeful match to break. 11 THE NOBLE MOMKGgK. 55 XXIV. His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ; And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy Lady say, A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day. XXV. "I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is well nigh done, And if she turn me from* her gate I'll see no morrow's sun ; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole, And for the sakeof Moringer's, heronceloved husband's soul." XXVI. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, " A pilgrim worn and travel-toil'd stands at the castle door ; And prays for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbour and for dole, And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul." 56 THE NOBLE MORINGER. XXVII. The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do up the gate, 1 ' she said, " And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ; And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay, These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day." XXVIII. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad, It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; " And have thou thanks, kind heaven, 1 ' he said, " though from a man of sin, That thetrue lord stands hereonce more hiscastle gate within." XXIX. Then up the hall paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow, It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord to know ; He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe and wrong, Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long. THE NOBLE MORINGEH. 57 XXX. Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour, The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower; " Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, " hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chaunt a song." XXXI. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, " My merry minstrel folks, 1 ' quoth he, " lay shalm and harp aside ; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold." XXXII. ' Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, " Nor golden mead, nor garment gay, unlocks her heavy tongue; 58 THE NOBLE MOKINGER. Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. XXXIII. " But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-hair'd, For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard ; Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age." XXXIV. It was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that hears, Andforthe aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'dwith tears; She bade her gallant cup-bearer a golden beaker take, And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. XXXV. It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine A bridal ring of burnish'd gold so costly and so fine : Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. THE NOBLE MOltlNGER. 59 XXXVI. Then to the cup-bearer he said, " Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed ; Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay, And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray." XXXVII. The cup-bearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied, The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; " Lady,' 1 he said, " your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray." XXXVIII. The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, " The Moringer is here !" Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in tor- rents fell, But whether 'twas for joy or woe the ladies best can tell. D 60 THE NOBLE MOBINGEH. XXXIX. But loud she utter'd thanks to heaven, andevery saintlypower, That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight hour ; And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. XL. " Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to constant ma- trons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight so stedfastly and true ; For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright, Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night." XLI. It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, He kneel' d before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; " My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were the words he said, " Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head." THE NOBLE MORINGElt. 61 XLII. The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, " He gathers wisdom that hath roamM seven twelvemonths and a day ; My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir. XLIII. " The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old, Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told; But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late." - SONGS. OH JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. Air " A Border Melody." The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The others were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn's Anthology. Donald Cairds come again ! Donald Caird can lilt and sing, Blithely dance the Hieland fling, * Caird signifies Tinker. SONGS. 101 Drink till the gudeman be blind, Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; Hoop a leglen, clout a pan, Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; Tell the news in brugh or glen, Donald Caird's come again. Donald Caird's come again ! Donald Caird's come again ! Tell the news in brugh or glen, Donald Cairds come again ! Donald Caird can wire a maukin, Kens the wiles o' dun deer staukin, Leisters kipper, makes a shift To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, He can wauk when they are sleepers ; Not for bountith or reward Dare ye mell wi 1 Donald Caird. 102 SONGS. Donald Cairds come again 1 Donald Caird's come again i Gar the bag-pipes hum amain, Donald Caird's come again. Donald Caird can drink a gill Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; Ilka ane that sells gude liquor Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; When he's fou he's stout and saucy, Keeps the cantle of the cawsey ; Highland chief and Lawland laird, Maun gi'e room to Donald Caird ! Donald Caird s come again ! Donald Caird s come again t Tell the news in brugh or glen, Donald Caird s come again. Steek the amrie, lock the kist, Else some gear may weel be mist ; SONGS. 103 Donald Caird finds orra things Where Allan Gregor fand the tings ; Dunts of kebbock, taits of woo, Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, Webs or duds frae hedge or yard 'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! Donald Caird 's come again ! Donald Caird s come again ! Dinna let the Shirra ken Donald Cairds come again. On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Craig to tether, legs to aim ; But Donald Caird wi 1 mickle study, Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; Rings of aim, and bolts of steel, Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, Donald Caird's come again ! 104 SONGS. Donald Cairds come again ! Donald Caird's come again ! Dinna let the Justice ken Donald Caird's come again t SONGS. 105 MACKRIMMONS LAMENT. " Air " Cha till mi tuille."* Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this lament when the Clan was about to de- part upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud ; and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuille ; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mac- rimmon," " I shall never return ; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return !" The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emi- grant!! from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore. Macleod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the gallies ; Gleam war-axe and broad-sword, clang target and quiver, As Mackrimmon sings, " Farewell to Dunvegan for ever ! * " We return no more." 106 SONGS. Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming ; Farewell each dark glen, in which red deer are roaming ; Farewell lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river, Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never ! " Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping ; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping ; To each minstrel-delusion, farewell ! and for ever Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me, The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me , But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not *h i vi -i Though devoted I go to return again never ! " Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's bewailing Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing ; Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever Return return return shall we never ! SONGS. 107 Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille ! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, Ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon ! 108 SONGS. THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. Air " Dqfydd y Garreg-tven."* Written for Mr George Thomson's Welch Melodies. There is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a famous Welsh Bard, being on his death-bed, called for his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, re- questing that it might be performed at his funeral. Dinas Emlinn, lament, for the moment is nigh, When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die ; No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. * " David of the White Rock." 4 SONGS. 109 In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade ; For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, That view'd them with rapture with rapture that sung. Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; But where is the harp shall give life to their name ? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame ? And Oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair, What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die ? Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the old, And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 110 SONGS. And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids ! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my Wd harp ! my last treasure, farewell ! SONGS. Ill THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL. Air " Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run." The air, composed by the Editor of Albyn's Anthology. The words written for Mr George Thomson's Scottish Melodies. The sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 112 SONGS. With listless look, along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,- Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me ? Alas, the warp'd and broken board, How can it bear the painter's dye ! The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, How to the minstrel's skill reply ! To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill. SONGS. 113 THE MAID OF ISLA. Air" The Maid of Isla." Written for Mr George Thomson's Scottish Melodies. O maid of Isla, from the cliff, That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly ? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, And steep'd her leeward deck in foam, Why does she war unequal urge ? O Isla's maid, she seeks her home. O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, Her white wing gleams through mist and spray. 114 SONGS. Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away ; Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Of cliff exposed to wind and wave ? O maid of Isla, 'tis her home. As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home. SONGS. 115 H THE FORAY. Set to music by John Whitefield, Mus. Doc Cam. The last of our steers on the board has been spread, And the last flask of wine in our goblets is red ; Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt swords and begone ! There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be won. The eyes, that so lately mix 1 d glances with our's, For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom, The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a cloud ; 2 116 SONGS. 'Tis better, my mates, for the warder's dull eye Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my blythe Grey ! There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh ; Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown ; One pledge is to quaff yet^ then mount and be gone ! To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain ; To their health, and their glee, that see Teviot again ! SONGS. 117 THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S MARCH. Air" Ymdaith Mionge." Written for Mr George Thomson's Welch Melodies. Ethelfrid, or Olfrid, king of Northumberland, having be- sieged Chester in 613, and Brockmael, a British prince, ad- vancing to relieve it, the religious of the neighbouring monas- tery of Bangor marched in procession, to pray for the success of their countrymen. But the British being totally defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune to which these verses arc adapted, is called the Monk's March, and is supposed to have been played at their ill-omened procession. When the heathen trumpet's clang Round beleagur'd Chester rang, Veiled nun and friar grey MarchM from Bangor's fair Abbaye 118 SONGS. High their holy anthem sounds, Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds, Floating down the sylvan Dee, O miserere Domine I On the long procession goes, Glory round their crosses glows, And the Virgin-mother mild In their peaceful banner smiled ; Who could think such saintly band Doom'd to feel unhallow 1 d hand ? Such was the divine decree, miserere Domine ! Bands that masses only sung, Hands that censers only swung, Met the northern bow and bill, Heard the war-cry wild and shrill : Woe to Brockmaefs feeble hand, Woe to Ofrid's bloody brand, SONGS 119 Woe to Saxon cruelty, O miserere Domine ! Weltering amid warriors slain, Spurn'd by steeds with bloody mane, Slaughter'd down by heathen blade, Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : Word of parting rest unspoke, Mass unsung, and bread unbroke ; For their souls for charity, Sing" O miserere Domine Bangor ! o'er the murder wail, Long the ruins told the tale, Long recalPd the woeful march : * Shatter'd towers and broken arch, " William of Malmesburt says, that in his time the extent of the ruins of the monastery bore ample witness to the desolation occasioned by the massacre ; " tot semiruti parietes ecclesiaium, tot anfractus porticum, tanta turba ruderum quantum vix alibi cernas." 120 SONGS. On thy shrine no tapers burn, Never shall thy priests return ; The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, miserere Domine ! SONGS. 121 FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking, The language alternate of rapture and woe : Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart- strings are breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow, Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day ! 122 SONGS. But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage ; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 'Twas thou that once taught me in accents bewailing, To sing how a Warrior lay stretch'd on the plain, And a Maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain thy enchantments, O queen of wild numbers, To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers Farewell then Enchantress ! I meet thee no more. MISCELLANIES. EPITAPH ON MRS ERSKINE. Plain, as her native dignity of mind, Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd : Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll, Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul. But, Oh ! what symbol may avail, to tell The kindness, wit, and sense, we lov'd so well ! What sculpture shew the broken ties of life, Here buried, with the Parent, Friend, and Wife ! Or, on the tablet, stamp each title dear, By which thine urn, Eufhemia, claims the tear ! 148 MISCELLANIES. Yet, taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. I MISCELLANIES. 149 MR KEMBLE'S FARE WELL ADDRESS, ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, And longs to rush on the embattled lines, So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear, Can scarce sustain to think our parting near ; To think my scenic hour for ever past, And that those valued plaudits are my last. Why should we part, while still some powers remain, That in your service strive not yet in vain ? v Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, And sense of duty fire the fading eye, K 150 MISCELLANIES. And all the wrongs of age remain subdued Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? Ah no ! the taper, wearing to its close, Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; But all too soon the transient gleam is past, It cannot be renewM, and will not last ; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was, To live a pensioner on your applause, To drain the dregs of your endurance dry, And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy, Till every sneering youth around enquires, " Is this the man who once could please our sires ? r> And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien, To warn me off from the encumber'd scene. This must not be ; and higher duties crave Some space between the theatre and the grave, Th^t like the Roman in the Capitol, I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 15 MISCELLANIES. 151 My life's brief act in public service flown, The last, the closing scene, must be my own. Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well-graced parts May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts, Not quite to be forgotten, even when You look on better actors, younger men : And if your bosoms own this kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget O, how forget ! how oft I hither came In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame ! How oft around your circle this weak hand Has waved immortal Shakespeare's magic wand, Till the full burst of inspiration came, And I have felt, and you have fann'd, the flame ! By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures, Those hours must live and all their charms are yours. O favour'd Land ! renown'd for arts and arms, For manly talent and for female charms, 152 MISCELLANIES. Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, What fervent benedictions now were thine ! But my last part is play 1 d, my knell is rung, When e'en your praise falls faultering from my tongue ; And all that you can hear, or I can tell, Is Friends and Patrons, hail, and fare You well ! MISCELLANIES. 153 ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS DUN.* On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 'Tis blythe to hear the sportsman's gun, And seek the heath-frequenting brood Far through the noon-day solitude ; By many a cairn and trenched mound, Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, And springs, where grey-hair'd shepherds tell, That still the fairies love to dwell. Along the silver streams of Tweed, 'Tis blythe the mimic fly to lead, * Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in which the poet had been engaged with some friends. 154 MISCELLANIES. When to the hook the salmon springs, And the line whistles through the rings ; The boiling eddy see him try, Then dashing from the current high, Till watchful eye and cautious hand Have led his wasted strength to land. ^is blythe along the midnight tide, With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; On high the dazzling blaze to rear, And heedful plunge the barbed spear ; Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, Fling on the stream their ruddy light, And from the bank our band appears Like Genii, armed with fiery spears. 'Tis blythe at eve to tell the tale, How we succeed, and how we fail, MISCELLANIES. 155 Whether at Alwyn's * lordly meal, Or lowlier board of Ashesteel ; f While the gay tapers cheerly shine, Bickers the fire, and flows the wine Days free from thought, and nights from care, My blessing on the Forest fair ! * Alwyn, the seat of the Lord Somemlle, now, alas ! untenanted, hy the lamented death of that kind and hospitable nobleman, the author's nearest neighbour and intimate friend. J- Asliesteel* the poet's residence at that time. 156 MISCELLANIES. THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS; OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. Written in 1817. O, for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale, And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly When Giam Battista bade her vision hail ! * Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail * The hint of the following tale is taken from La Camiseia Mugica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti. MISCELLANIES. 157 Given by the natives of that land canorous ; Italian licence loves to leap the pale, We Britons have the fear of shame before us, And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous. II. In the far eastern clime, no great while since, Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their round, Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground ; Whose ears receiv'd the same unvaried phrase, " Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys I 11 All have their tastes this may the fancy strike Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like ; For me, I love the honest heart and warm Of Monarch who can amble round his farm, Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, In chimney corner seek domestic joys L 158 MISCELLANIES. I love a Prince will bid the bottle pass, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ; In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, Keep up the jest and mingle in the lay Such Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, But Despots must be stately 9 stern, and mute III. This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway And where^ Serendib ? may some critic say. Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map Famed mariner ! whose merciless narrations Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter, He deign'd to tell them over to a porter MISCELLANIES. 159 The last edition see by Long, and Co., Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row. IV. Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction (A sort of stimulant which hath its uses, To raise the spirits and reform the juices, Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,) The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, I wot not but the Sultaun never laugh'd, Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy That scorn'd all remedy profane or holy ; 160 MISCELLANIES. In his long list of melancholies, mad, Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad. V. Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried, As e'er scrawPd jargon in a darken'd room ; With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue they eyed, Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside, And then in solemn accents spoke their doom, " His majesty is very far from well. 1 ' Then each to work with his specific fell : The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. * * For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned Editor of the Recipes of Avicenna. MISCELLANIES. 161 More and yet more in deep array appear, And some the front assail and some the rear ; Their remedies to reinforce and vary, Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary ; Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary, Yet dropt to recompense their fruitless labour, Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. There lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches, To rid the palace of those learned leeches. VI. Then was the council call'd by their advice, (They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, And sought to shift it off from their own shoulders) Tatars and couriers in all speed were sent, To call a sort of Eastern parliament Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders Such have the Persians at this very day, 162 MISCELLANIES. My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ; * Fin not prepared to show in this slight song That to Serendib the same forms belong, E'en let the leaned go search, and tell me if I'm wrong. VII. The Omrahs,-f- each with hand on scymitar, Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war " The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death ; Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, Bang the loud gong and raise the shout of battle ! This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day, Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round, And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. See Sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia. f Nobility. MISCELLANIES. 163 Each noble pants to own the glorious summons And for the charges Lo ! your faithful Commons !" The Riots who attended in their places (Serendib-language calls a farmer Riot) Look'd ruefully in one another's faces, From this oration auguring much disquiet, Double assessment, forage, and free quarters ; And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers, Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. VIII. And next came forth the reverend Convocation, Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban green ; Imaum and Mollah there of every station, Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. Their votes were various some advised a Mosque With fitting revenues should be erected, 364 MISCELLANIES. With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, To recreate a band of priests selected. Others opined that through the realms a dole Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul ; But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, More closely touch'd the point ; " Thy studious mood, Quoth he, " O Prince ! hath thicken'd all thy blood, And duird thy brain with labour beyond measure ; Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, And toy with beauty or tell o'er thy treasure ; From all the cares of state, my liege, enlarge thee, And leave the burthen to thy faithful clergy."" IX. These counsels sage availed not a whit, And so the patient (as is not uncommon Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; MISCELLANIES. 165 His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, And still was call'd so by each subject duteous. Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest, Or only made believe, I cannot say But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest, By dint of magic amulet or lay ; And, when all other skill in vain was shown, She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. X. " Sympathia magica hath wonders done," (Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) " It works upon the fibres and the pores, And thus, insensibly, our health restores, And it must help us here. Thou must endure The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. Search land and sea, and get, where^r you can, The inmost vesture of a happy man, M 166 MISCELLANIES. I mean his shirt, my son, which, taken warm And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm, Bid every current of your veins rejoice, And your dull heart leap light as shepherd boy's.'" Such was the counsel from his mother came. I know not if she had some under-game, As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam And live abroad, when sure to die at home ; Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, Queen Regent sounded better than Queen Mother ; But, says the Chronicle, (who will go look it,) That such was her advice the Sultaun took it. XI. All are on board the Sultaun and his train, In gilded galley prompt to plough the main : TheoldRais*wasthefirstwhoquestion'd, " Whither ?" * Master of the vessel. MISCELLANIES. 167 They paused " Arabia," thought the pensive Prince, " Was call'd the Happy many ages since For Mokha, Rais." And they came safely thither. But not in Araby with all her balm, Not where Judaea weeps beneath her palm, Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste, Could there the step of happiness be traced. One Copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile, When Bruce his goblet fllPd at infant Nile : She bless'd the dauntless traveller as he quafFd, But vanislVd from him with the ended draught. XII. " Enough of turbans,"" said the weary King, " These dolimans of ours are not the thing ; Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I Incline to think some of them must be happy ; At least they have as fair a cause as any can, They drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. 168 MISCELLANIES. Then northward, ho I' 1 The vessel cuts the sea, And fair Italia lies upon her lee. But fair Italia, she who once unfurPd Her eagle banners o^r a conquer'd world, Long from her throne of domination tumbled, Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled ; The Pope himself lookM pensive, pale, and lean, And was not half the man he once had been. " While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, Our poor old boot/' * they said,. " is torn to pieces. Its tops *} the vengeful claws of Austria feel, And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.| If happiness you seek, to tell you truly, We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; A tramontane, a heretic, the buck, Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; " The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map. "T Florence, Venice, &c $ The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins. One of the leaders was called Fra Diavolo, f. c. Brother Devil. MISCELLANIES. 169 By land or ocean never strikes his flag And then a perfect walking money-bag." Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, But first took France it lay upon the road. XIII. : Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, Was agitated like a settling ocean, Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what aiPd him, Only the glory of his house had fail'd him ; Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding, Gave indication of a recent hiding.* Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are heedless, Thought it a thing indelicate and needless To ask, if at that moment he was happy. And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme iljhut y a Loud voice muster'd up, for " Vive le Roi .'" Then whisper'd, " Ave you any news of Nappy ?" * Or drubbing, so called in the Slang Dictionary. 170 MISCELLANIES. The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question, " Pray can you tell me aught of one John Bull, That dwells somewhere beyond your herring-pool ?" The query seem'd of difficult digestion ! The party shrugg'tf, and grinn'd, and took his snuff, And found his whole good breeding scarce enough. XIV. Twitching his visage into as many puckers As damsels wont to put into their tuckers, (Ere liberal Fashion damn'd both lace and lawn, And bade the veil of modesty be drawn,) Replied the Frenchman after a brief pause, u Jean Bool ! I vas not know him yes, I vas I vas remember dat von year or two, I saw him at von place calPd Vaterloo Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu, Dat is for Englishman, m 1 entendez vous ? But den he had wit him one damm son-gun, Rogue I no like dey call him Vellinton. 11 MISCELLANIES. 171 Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret, So Solimaun took leave and cross'd the streight. XV. John Bull was in his very worst of moods, Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw, And on his counter beat the Devil's tattoo. His wars were ended, and the victory won, But then 'twas reckoning-day with honest John, And authors vouch 'twas still this Worthy's way, " Never to grumble till he came to pay ; And then he always thinks, his temper's such, The work too little, and the pay too much."* Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, That when his mortal foe was on the floor, And past the power to harm his quiet more, Poor John had well nigh wept for Buonaparte ! Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd, " And who are you," John answer'd, " and be d d P" * See the True- Born Englishman, by Daniel De Foe. 172 MISCELLANIES. XVI. " A stranger, come to see the happiest man, So, Seignior, all avouch, in Frangistan.' 1 * u Happy ? my tenants breaking on my hand ; Unstock'd my pastures, and untnTd my land ; Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths The sole consumers of my good broad cloths Happy ? why, cursed war and racking tax Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs."" " In that case, Seignior, I may take my leave ; I came to ask a favour but I grieve" '.' Favour ?" said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, " It's my belief you came to break the yard ! But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner, Take that, to buy yourself a shirt and dinner.'" With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head ; But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, " Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. * Europe. MISCELLANIES. 173 Seignior, I kiss your hands, so fere you well. ,, " Kiss and be d d," quoth John, " and go to hell P XVII. Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg When the blithe bagpipe blew but soberer now, She doucely span her flax and milk 1 d her cow. And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, And once a- week a plenteous board she kept. And whereas eke the vixen used her claws, And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, She now was grown amenable to laws, A quiet soul as any in the nation ; The sole remembrance of her warlike joys Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, 174 MISCELLANIES. Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour, Who looked to the main chance, declined no labour. Loved a long grace and spoke a northern jargon, And was d d close in making of a bargain. XVII. The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, And with decorum curtsied sister Peg ; (She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, And guess'd at once with whom she had to do.) She bade him " sit into the fire," and took Her dram, her cake, her kebbock from the nook ; Ask'd him about the news from eastern parts ; And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts ! If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper, And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper ;- Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinning, I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." MISCELLANIES. 175 Then up got Peg, and round the house gan scuttle, In search of goods her customer to nail, Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle, And hollow'd, " Ma'am, that is not what I ail. Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen ?" " Happy ?" said Peg ; " What for d'ye want to ken ? Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh." " What say you to the present ?" " Meal's sae dear, To make their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh." " The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun, " I thing my quest will end as it began. Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, I beg" " Ye'll no be for the linen then ?" said Peg. i XX. Now, for the land of verdant Erin The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, The emerald Isle where honest Paddy dwells, The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. 176 MISCELLANIES. For a long space had John, with words of thunder, Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd unduly, Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; His landlord, and of middlemen two brace, Had screw'd his rent up to the starving place ; His garment was a top-coat, and an old one ; His meal was a potatoe, and a cold one ; But still for fun or frolic, and all that, In the round world was not the match of Pat. XXI. The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : When mass is ended, and his load of sins Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit, Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit ! MISCELLANIES. 177 To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. " By Mahomet,"" said Sultaun Solimaun, " That ragged fellow is our very man ! Rush in and seize him do not do him hurt, But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt? XXII. Shilela their plan was well nigh after baulking, (Much less provocation will set it a-walking,) But the odds that foil'd Hercules foiPd Paddy Whack ; They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd him Alack ! Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not a shirt to his back ! ! ! And the King, disappointed, with sorrow and shame, Went back to Serendib as sad as he came. 178 MISCELLANIES. EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL, SPOKEN BY MRS. H. SIDDONS. A cat of yore (or else old iEsop lied) Was changed into a fair and blooming bride, But spied a mouse upon her marriage day, Forgot her spouse and seiz'd upon her prey ; Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, Threw off poor me and pounc'd upon papa. His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose, He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour Since the New Jail became our next door neighbour. * * It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the Theatre. MISCELLANIES. 179 Yes, times are changed, for in your fathers' age The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; However high advanced by future fate, There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first receiv'd their weight. The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see, Doom though unwigg'd, and plead without a fee. . But now astounding each poor mimic elf, Instead of lawyers comes the Law herself, Tremendous neighbour ! On our right she dwells, Builds high her towers and excavates her cells ; While on the left, she agitates the town With the tempestuous question, Up or down ?* At this time the public of Edinburgh was much agitated by a law-suit betwixt the magistrates and many of the inhabitants of the city, concerning the range of new buildings on the western side of the North Bridge ; which the latter insisted should be removed as a deformity. 180 MISCELLANIES. 'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, Law's final end and law's uncertainty. But soft ! who lives at Rome the Pope must flatter, And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. Then just farewell ! we wait with serious awe Till your applause or censure gives the law, Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye, We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and Jury. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN ; OR, THE VALE OF ST JOHN. A lover's tale. An elf-quene wol I love ywis, For in this world no woman is Worthy to be my make in toun : All other women I forsake, And to an elf-quene I me take By dale and eke by doun. HIME OF SIR THOPAS. X PREFACE. In the Edinburgh Annual Register for the year 1809, three Fragments were insert- ed, written in imitation of Living Poets. It must have been apparent, that by these pro- lusions, nothing burlesque, or disrespectful to the authors, was intended, but that they were offered to the public as serious, though cer tainly very imperfect, imitations of that style of composition, by which each of the writers is supposed to be distinguished. As these exercises attracted a greater degree of atten- tion than the author anticipated, he has been induced to complete one of them, and present it as a separate publication. 184 PREFACE. # It is not in this place that an examination of the works of the master whom he has here adopted as his model, can, with propriety, be introduced ; since his general acquiescence in the favourable suffrage of the public must necessarily be inferred from the attempt he has now made. He is induced by the nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks on what has been called romantic poetry ; the po- pularity of which has been revived in the pre- sent day, under the auspices, and by the un- paralleled success, of one individual. The original purpose of poetry is either religious or historical, or, as must frequently happen, a mixture of both. To modern read- ers, the poems of Homer have many of the features of pure romance ; but in the estima- tion of his contemporaries, they probably de- rived their chief value from their supposed historical authenticity. The same may be ge- nerally said of the poetry of all early ages. PREFACE. 185 The marvels and miracles which the poet blends with his song, do not exceed in num- ber or extravagance the figments of the his- torians of the same period of society ; and, indeed, the difference betwixt poetry and prose, as the vehicles of historical truth, is al- ways of late introduction. Poets, under va- rious denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chro- niclers, and so forth, are the first historians of all nations. Their intention is to relate the events they have witnessed, or the traditions that have reached them ; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, merely as the means of rendering it more solemn in the narrative, or more easily committed to memory. But as the poetical historian improves in the art of conveying information, the authenticity of his narrative unavoidably declines. He is tempt- ed to dilate and dwell upon the events that are interesting to his imagination, and, con- scious how indifferent his audience is to the 186 PREFACE. naked truth of his poem, his history gradually becomes a romance. It is in this situation that those epics are found which have been generally regarded the standards of poetry ; and it has happened somewhat strangely, that the moderns have pointed out as the characteristics and pecu- liar excellencies of narrative poetry, the very circumstances which the authors themselves adopted, only because their art involved the duties of the historian as well as the poet. It cannot be believed, for example, that Homer selected the siege of Troy as the most appro- priate subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write the early history of his country : the event he has chosen, though not very fruitful in varied incident, nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was nevertheless combined with traditionary and genealogical anecdotes ex- tremely interesting to those who were to listen to him ; and this he has adorned by the exer- PREFACE. 187 tions of a genius, which, if it has been equalled, has certainly been never surpassed. It was not till comparatively a late period that the general accuracy of his narrative, or his pur- pose in composing it, was brought into ques- tion. Aoxzi 'xoourog o Ava,%a,yogcx,g (kccOo, (p^ari