INTRODUCTION TO

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

BY WALTER SCOTT.

[SIR WALTER SCOTT, the son of a Writer to the Signet, was born in the city of Edinburgh on the 15th of August, 1771. By both parents he was connected with distinguished families. In consequence of his delicate health, arising from his lameness, he was placed under the charge of his grandfather at Sandy-Knowe,—a romantic spot in the neighbourhood of Kelso. He here imbibed that love of local tradition and border lore which developed itself so largely in after-life. In 1779 he entered the High School of Edinburgh, and in 1783 passed to the University of that city. In 1796 he published translations of Burger's "Leonore" and the "Wild Huntsman,”—ballads of singular wildness. On the 24th of December, in the same year, he married Miss Carpenter, a lady of French extraction. In 1802-3 he published his "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border; " and in 1805 his " Lay of the Last Minstrel." These works stamped him as one of the greatest of the poets of his time. He now abandoned his profession of the law, and resolved to make literature the foundation of his fortunes. He was enabled to arrive at this resolution through his appointment to the Sheriffdom of Selkirk, which realized to him 300l. a year. He was laudably desirous of founding a family whose name might vie with those border chieftains whom he so much venerated. He therefore entered into various speculations, one of which was a partnership with his old schoolfellow, James Ballantyne, then a rising printer in Edinburgh. He then commenced that series of novels which have rendered his name so world-renowned. In 1811 he purchased a hundred acres of moorland on the banks of the Tweed, near Melrose, and with this and subsequent purchases he formed the noble estate of Abbotsford. In 1820 the honour of baronetcy was conferred on him by George IV. Everything seemed to prosper in his hands; and it is not to be wondered at that he considered his hopes of founding a great family nearly accomplished. But these hopes were suddenly dissolved. Through his commercial transactions with the firms of Constable and Ballantyne, it was found that his liabilities amounted to 117,000. He would not listen to any compromise on the parts of his creditors; but resolutely determined to pay them every farthing. His motto was, "Time and I against any two." In four years he had realized for his creditors no less than 70,000. In 1830 his overwrought brain was prostrated by paralysis. A voyage to Italy was undertaken to renovate his shattered health, but without any beneficial result; and he hastened home, that he might die within the sound of the "gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles.” He breathed his last at Abbotsford, on the 21st of September, 1832.]

THE way was long, the wind was cold,

The Minstrel was infirm and old;

E E

His withered cheek and tresses gray

Seemed to have known a better day;
The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the Bards was he,
Who sung of Border Chivalry;

For, well-a-day! their date was fled,
His tuneful brethren all were dead;
And he, neglected and oppressed,
Wished to be with them, and at rest.
No more, on prancing palfrey borne,
He carolled light as lark at morn;

No longer, courted and caressed,

High placed in hall, a welcome guest,

He poured, to lord and lady gay,

The unpremeditated lay:

Old times were changed, old manners gone ;

A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne:

The bigots of the iron time

Had called his harmless art a crime.

A wandering harper, scorned and poor,
He begged his bread from door to door,
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,
The harp a King had loved to hear.

He passed where Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eyeNo humbler resting-place was nigh.

With hesitating step, at last,

The embattled portal arch he passed,

Whose ponderous grate and massy bar Had oft rolled back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door

Against the desolate and poor.

The Duchess marked his weary pace,

His timid mien and reverend face,

And bade her page the menials tell,
That they should tend the old man well:
For she had known adversity,

Though born in such a high degree;

In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,

Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb!

When kindness had his wants supplied,

And the old man was gratified,

Began to rise his minstrel pride :
And he began to talk, anon,

Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone,
And of Earl Walter, rest him God!

A braver ne'er to battle rode :

And how full many a tale he knew,

Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ;

And would the noble Duchess deign

To listen to an old man's strain,

Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak,
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak,
That, if she loved the harp to hear,

He could make music to her ear.

The humble boon was soon obtained;

The aged Minstrel audience gained.
But, when he reached the room of state,

Where she, with all her ladies, sate,

Perchance he wished his boon denied;
For, when to tune his harp he tried,
His trembling hand had lost the ease,
Which marks security to please:

And scenes, long past, of joy and pain
Came wildering o'er his aged brain-
He tried to tune his harp in vain.
The pitying Duchess praised its chime,
And gave him heart and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.

And then, he said, he would full fain

He could recall an ancient strain,

He never thought to sing again.

It was not framed for village churls,

But for high dames and mighty earls;

He had played it to King Charles the Good,

When he kept court at Holyrood;

And much he wished, yet feared, to try

The long-forgotten melody.

Amid the strings his fingers strayed,

And an uncertain warbling made—

And oft he shook his hoary head.

But when he caught the measure wild,

The old man raised his face, and smiled;

And lightened up his faded eye,

With all a poet's ecstasy!

In varying cadence, soft or strong,