That fancy here may gaze her fill, Yet humble prose with these shall stand, These leaves love-tokens, for her sake. TIME EMPLOYED, TIME ENJOYED. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY FROM WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD RECEIVED AN ELEGANTLY WROUGHT WATCH-POCKET. WITHIN this curious case Time's sentinel I place, Who, while calm unconscious slumber On each of these my breath Rapt through a wildering dream, But time has daylight hours, What he here hath been shall be ! May she, whose skilful hand Time, for earth or heaven employ'd, (Both have claims,) is time enjoy'd. Every day to her in flight Some sweet hope, some hallow'd pleasure, A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. Let me launch my soul on thee. Sail, nor keel, nor helm, nor oar, By a single glance of thought, All thine aspects now I view, All thy voices now I hear; All thy wonders are reveal'd: But thy depths I search not now, Eager fancy, unconfined, Here a breeze, I skim thy plain; Where the billows cease to roll, See, by Greenland cold and wild, And the wildernesses drear Next, on lonely Labrador, Yet even here, in glens and coves, But a brighter vision breaks Land of exiled liberty, Where our fathers once were free; Brave New England, hail to thee! Pennsylvania, while thy flood The West Indies I behold, Horror-struck, I turn away, Loud the voice of Freedom spoke; South America expands And a nobler race arise, Stretch their limbs, unclose their eyes, Gliding through Magellan's Straits, The immense Pacific smiles But the powers of darkness yield, Pale Siberia's deserts shun, Jealous China, strange Japan, Ages in succession find. Forms unchanging, stagnant mind; And the same they leave behind. Lo! the eastern Cyclades, Phoenix nests, and halcyon seas; But I tarry not with these. Pass we low New Holland's shoals, Where no ample river rolls; -World of undiscover'd souls! Bring them forth-'tis Heaven's decree: Man, assert thy dignity! Let not brutes look down on thee. Either India next is seen, With the Ganges stretch'd between: But that name shall be restored, By the Gulf of Persia sail, Though Arabia charge the breeze Cape of storms! thy spectre's fled, St. Helena's dungeon-keep Who he was and how he fell, On that theme all times shall dwell. But, henceforth, till nature dies, These three simple words comprise All the future-" Here he lies." Mammon's plague-ships throng the waves; O 'twere mercy to the slaves Not for all the gems and gold Which thy streams and mountains hold, Land of negroes! would I dare Hercules, thy pillars stand, Where, at Cato's word of fate, Mark the dens of caitiff Moors; Ha! the pirates seize the oarsFly the desecrated shores. Egypt's hieroglyphic realm Judah's cities are forlorn, Zion trampled down with scorn. Greece! thine ancient lamp is spent ; And a wind is on the wing, At whose breath new heroes spring, Rome, in ruins, lovely still, Bids thee, mourner! weep thy fill. Yet where Roman genius reigns, Feudal realm of old romance! At the fire-flash of thine eye, Lusitania! from the dust Shake thy locks; thy cause is just— Great thou wast, and who like thee? Sweep by Holland, like the blast; Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay; Now to thee, to thee I fly, I have seen them one by one, SIR WALTER SCOTT. extent. He encountered adversity with manly fortitude; asked and obtained from his creditors no other boon than time; and in about four years had actually paid off nearly £70,000 of the debt. The price of almost superhuman labour was, however, to be exacted. In 1831 he was attacked with gradual paralysis: in the autumn of that year he was prevailed upon to visit the more genial climate of the south of Europe;-the experiment was unsuccessful in restoring him to health: he returned to Abbotsford, and died there on the 21st of September, 1832. His loss was mourned, not only by his own country, but in every portion of the civilized globe; for his fame had spread throughout all parts of it: and there is scarcely a language into which his works have not been translated. The kindness of his heart, the benevolence of his disposition, the thorough goodness of his nature, were appreciated by all who had the privilege of his acquaintance; but his genius is the vast and valuable property of mankind. In person, he was tall, and had the appearance of a powerful and robust man. His countenance has been rendered familiar by artists in abundance; the justest notion of it is conveyed by the bust of Chantry. Its expression was peculiarly benevolent; his forehead was broad, and remarkably WALTER SCOTT was born in Edinburgh, on the 15th of August, 1771. His father was a writer to the signet, and of ancient and honourable descent. Almost from his birth until the age of sixteen, he was afflicted with ill health; and either from the weakness of his constitution, or, as some assert, from an accident occasioned by the carelessness of his nurse, his right foot was injured, and he was lame during his life. His early days were passed among the hills and dales of the borders-" famous in war and verse"-" where," we quote from Allan Conningham, "almost every stone that stands above the ground is the record of some skirmish, or single combat; and every stream, although its waters be so inconsiderable as scarcely to moisten the pasture through which they run, is renowned in song and in ballad." Perhaps to the happy chance of his residence in a district so fertile in legendary lore, the world is indebted for the vast legacy of wealth he bequeathed to it. In 1783, he entered the University of Edinburgh; and in 1792, became an advocate at the Scottish bar: but after a few years' attendance at the courts, quitted it, in order to devote himself to literature. He had, however, reached his 25th year, before he manifested any desire, or rather intention, to contend for fame in a path so intricate; and as he himself states, his first attempt ended in a transfer of his printed sheets to the ser-high. vice of the trunk-maker. Though discouraged, he was not disheartened. In 1802, "The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border" obtained a more fortunate destiny; and about three years afterwards the publication of The Lay of the Last Minstrel completely established the fame of the writer. From the appearance of this poem, the life of the poet, until towards the close of it, is little else than a history of his writings. Marmion issued from the press in 1808; The Lady of the Lake, in 1810; Don Roderick, in 1811; Rokeby, in 1813; The Lord of the Isles, in 1814; The Bridal of Triermain, and Harold the Dauntless, appeared anonymously; the former, in 1813, and the latter, in 1817. The publication of his novels and romances commenced with Waverley, in 1814. In 1820, Walter Scott was created a baronet of the United Kingdom. In January, 1826, his publishers became bankrupts; it produced a feeling of the deepest sorrow,-not only in Edinburgh, but throughout the kingdom, when it was ascertained that, through their failure, he was involved in pecuniary responsibilities to a ruinous We have left ourselves but little space to comment upon the poetry of Sir Walter Scott; his fame as a poet was eclipsed by his reputation as a novelist; and the appearance of a star of greater magnitude drew from him, by degrees, the popularity he had so long engrossed. Yet we venture to hazard an opinion, that if it be possible for either to be forgotten, his poems will outlive his prose; and that Waverley and Ivanhoe will perish before Marmion and The Lady of the Lake. We can find no rare and valuable quality in the former that we may not find in the latter. A deeply interesting and exciting story, glorious and true pictures of scenery, fine and accurate portraits of character, clear and impressive accounts of ancient customs, details of battles-satisfying to the fancy; yet capable of enduring the sternest test of truth-are to be found in the one class as well as in the other. In addition, we have the most graceful and harmonious verse; and the style is undoubtedly such as equally to delight those who possess and those who are without a refined poetical taste. 597 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Dum relego, scripsisse, pudet, quia plurima cerno, Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna limi. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR. THE POEM, now offered to the public, is intended to illustrate the customs and manners which anciently prevailed on the borders of England and Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a state partly pastoral and partly warlike, and combining habits of constant depredation with the influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornament. As the description of scenery and manners was more the object of the author, than a combined and regular narrative, the plan of the ancient Metrical Romance was adopted, which allows greater latitude in this respect than would be consistent with the dignity of a regular poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, authorizes the change of rhythm in the text. The machinery also, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile in a poem which did not partake of the rudeness of the old ballad, or Metrical Ro mance. For these reasons, the poem was put into the mouth of an ancient minstrel, the last of the race, who, as he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement of modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original model. The date of the tale itself is about the middle of the sixteenth century, when most of the personages actually flourished. The time occupied by the action is three nights and three days. INTRODUCTION. THE way was long, the wind was cold, The unpremeditated lay: Old times were changed, old manners gone; A stranger fill'd the Stuart's throne; The bigots of the iron time Had call'd his harmless art a crime. He pass'd where Newark's stately tower Of good Earl Francis,† dead and gone, The humble boon was soon obtain'd; * Anne, Dutchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, repre sentative of the ancient lords of Buccleuch, and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was be headed in 1685. + Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father to the dutchess. Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather to the dutchess and a celebrated warrior. |