THE POETICAL WORKS OF STR WALTER SCOTT. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. IN SIX CANTOS. Dum relego, scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno, Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna lini. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, This Poem is Inscribed, BY THE AUTHOR. ADVERTISEMENT. 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, authorises 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 romance. 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 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. model. INTRODUCTION. THE way was long, the wind was cold, Old times were changed, old manners gone; Had call'd his harmless art a crime. He pass'd where Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye— No humbler resting-place was nigh. gone, When kindness had his wants supplied, Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, The humble boon was soon obtain'd; The aged Minstrel audience gain'd. And then he said, he would full fain He had play'd it to King Charles the Good, Amid the strings his fingers stray'd, And oft he shook his hoary head. Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representative of the ancient lords of Buccleuch, and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in 1685. Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father to the duchess. 3 Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather to the duchess, and a celebrated warrior. V. Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow: (3) VI. Why do these steeds stand ready dight? From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. (4) VII. Such is the custom of Branksome-hall. Many a valiant knight is here; But he, the chieftain of them all, His sword hangs rusting on the wall, Bards long shall tell How Lord Walter fell! (5) When startled burghers fled, afar, The furies of the Border war; When the streets of high Dunedin Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, And heard the slogan's deadly yellThen the Chief of Branksome fell. VIII. Can piety the discord heal, Or staunch the death-feud's enmity? In mutual pilgrimage they drew; (6) For chiefs their own red falchions slew : While Cessford owns the rule of Car, (7) While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot! IX. In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier The warlike foresters had bent; And many a flower, and many a tear, Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent: But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear! Vengeance, deep brooding o'er the slain, Had lock'd the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; The war-cry, or gathering word of a Border clan. Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee« And if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be !» All loose her negligent attire, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, And well she knew her mother dread, XI. Of noble race the Ladye came; Of Bethune's line of Picardie: (9) For when, in studious mood, he paced St Andrew's cloister'd hall, His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall! (11) XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, The viewless forms of air. (12) That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, That chafes against the scaur's' red side? Is it the wind, that swings the oaks? Is it the echo from the rocks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. Scar, a precipitous bank of earth. And, with jocund din, among them all, Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, How the brave boy, in future war, A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, By wily turns, by desperate bounds, By England's king and Scotland's queen. XXII. Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle. Say, that the fated hour is come, And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the cross, of bloody red, Will point to the grave of the Mighty Dead. XXIII. «What he gives thee, see thou keep, Stay not thou for food or sleep: Be it scroll, or be it book, Into it, knight, thou must not look; If thou readest, thou art lorn! Better thou hadst ne'er been born.»> Foray, a predatory inroad. Alluding to the armorial bearings of the Scotts and Cars. |