The family of Sir Walter Scott consists of two daughters, Sophia and Ann (the eldest of whom is married to Mr John Gibson Lockhart, author of Adam Blair, Reginald Dalton, and Matthew Wald), and two sons, one a captain in the 10th Hussars, and the other a student at Oxford. Since the publication of this work, in addition and some of the annuals, are too numerous to be to the Novels mentioned in their proper place, particularised, even were it possible to ascertain Sir Walter Scott has published three Series of Tales them correctly. Some of these scattered pieces, of a Grandfather, being stories selected from Scot-particularly two stories in prose, written for the tish History, and told in an easy unpretending Keepsake," and the Essay on Molière, inserted style; this work is principally intended for youth, in the Foreign Quarterly Review, have been reand is both interesting and amusing, though in printed in a small duodecimo volume by Messrs many parts too strongly tinctured with the politi- Galignani. cal feelings and prejudices of the author, to deserve unqualified praise as an historical work. He has also written a small History of Scotland for Dr Lardner's Çabinet Cyclopedia, which although necessarily merely an epitome, is a work of judgment and merit; a small volume entitled, Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, addressed to Mr Lockhart; and two Religious Discourses, originally given to a young friend in manuscript, but subsequently published. His miscellaneous works, such as songs, biographical sketches, and articles in periodical publications, particularly the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and Foreign Quarterly Reviews, Blackwood's Magazine, Ballantyne's « Sale-Room,» Napoleon,» in which the general's fidelity to his late exiled master is more than called in question. To this charge the general, in a long letter inserted in the Paris journals, has given the «lie direct,»> and termed the whole work a romance. Sir Walter has since published a spirited reply in the English newspapers, and produced copies of tr the official documents, etc., on which the passages in dis cussion were founded. We cannot better conclude this sketch than by quoting the following paragraph from the Edinburgh Journal, which records an incident equally honourable to both parties concerned in it:— « At the meeting of the creditors of Sir Walter Scott, held at Edinburgh on the 17th of December, 1830, the following resolution was unanimously passed :-That Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept of his furniture, plate, linen, paintings, library, and curiosities of every description, as the best means the creditors have of expressing their very high sense of his most honourable conduct, and in grateful acknowledgment for the unparalleled and most successful exertions he has made, and continues to make for them. » 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 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, sung of Border chivalry. 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- The embattled portal-arch he pass'd, That they should tend the old man well: : When kindness had his wants supplied, Of good Earl Francis, 2 dead and gone, Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He could make music to her ear. The humble boon was soon obtain'd; The aged Minstrel audience gain'd. And then he said, he would full fain He could recal an ancient strain, He never thought to sing again. It was not framed for village churls, He had play'd it to King Charles the Good, Amid the strings his fingers stray'd, 1 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. 2 Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father to the duchess. 3 Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather to the duchess, and a celebrated warrior. But when he caught the measure wild, In varying cadence, soft or strong, In the full tide of song were lost; THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO I. I. THE feast was over in Branksome tower, (1) Jesu Maria shield us well! No living wight, save the Ladye alone, II. The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight, and page, and household squire, Loiter'd through the lofty hall, Or crowded round the ample fire. The stag-hounds, weary with the chace, Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor, And urged in dreams the forest race, From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. III. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome-hall; (2) Nine-and-twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall Waited duteous on them all: IV. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, They lay down to rest Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd. 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 Old Teviot's maids and matrons Jent: 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 !» Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 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. Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. |