tricts, which it was the custom of that excellent man regularly to visit. thentic form. The chief place of his retreat was not Lord's Island in Derwentwater, but Curwen's Island in « This island formerly belonged to the Philipsons, a family of note in Westmoreland. During the civil wars, two of them, an elder and a younger brother, served the king. The former, who was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment; the latter was a major. This custom (of duels) still prevailed on the Bor-the Lake of Windermere.— ders, where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild Northumbrians indeed went beyond the ferocity of their ancestors. They were not content with a duel: each contending party used to muster what adherents he could, and commence a kind of | petty war. So that a private grudge would often occasion much bloodshed. It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot when Mr Gilpin was at Rothbury, in those parts. During the two or three first days of his preaching, the contending parties observed some decorum, and never appeared at church together. At length, however, they miet. One party had been early at church, and just as Mr Gilpin began his sermon the other entered. They stood not long silent: inflamed at the sight of each other, they began to clash their weapons, for they were all armed with javelins and swords, and mutually approach. Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr Gilpin proceeded: when again the combatants began to brandish their weapons, and draw towards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr Gilpin stepped from the pulpit, went between them, and addressed the leaders, put an end to the quarrel for the present, but could not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised him, however, that fill the sermon was over they would make no more disturbance. He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endeavouring to make them ashamed of what they had done. His behaviour and discourse affected them so much, that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of hostility while he continued in the country. And so much respected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his enemy used to resort where Mr Gilpin was, esteeming his presence the best protection. One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts before the people were assembled, he observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by the sexton that it was meant as a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr Gilpin ordered the sexton to reach it him; but upon his utterly refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it in his breast. When the people were assembled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon, took occasion to rebuke them severely for these inhuman challenges. 'I hear, saith he, that one among you hath hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh it down: see, I have taken it down; and, pulling out the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the profession of christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love as he thought would most affect them.»-Life of Bernard Gilpin, Lond. 1753, 8vo, p. 177. Note 2. Stanza xxxii. A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed. << The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great spirit and enterprise; and for his many feats of personal bravery had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the appellation of Robin the Devil. « After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of public opposition had ceased, revenge and malice long kept alive the animosity of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a steady friend to usurpation, resided at this time at Kendal, and, under the double character of a leading magistrate (for he was a justice of peace) and an active commander, held the country in awe. This person, having heard that Major Philipson was at his brother's house on the island in Windermere, resolved, if possible, to seize and punish a man who had made himself so particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, my' authority does not inform us-whether he got together the navigation of the lake, and blockaded the place by sea, or whether he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works withAll we learn is, that Major Philipson endured a siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his brother, the colonel, raised a party, and relieved him. . out. It « It was now the major's turn to make reprisals. He put himself, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, and rode to Kendal. Here, being informed that Colonel Briggs was at prayers (for it was on a Sunday morning), he stationed his men properly in the avenues, and himself, armed, rode directly into the church. probably was not a regular church, but some large place of meeting. It is said he intended to seize the colonel, and carry him off; but as this seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather probable that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the midst of the confusion to escape. Whatever his intention was, it was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere. «The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into great confusion on seeing an armed man on horseback make his appearance among them; and the major, taking advantage of their astonishment, turned his horse round, and rode quietly out. having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, and he was unhorsed. But «At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assailants, and the major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him, clapped his saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon the horse, and vaulting into it, rede full speed through the streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow him; and with his whole party made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. The action This and what follows is taken from a real achieve-marked the man. Many knew him: and they who did ment of Major Robert Philipson, called, from his sles-not, knew as well from the exploit that it could be perate and adventurous courage, Robin the Devil; nobody but Robin the Devil. which, as being very inaccurately noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be now given in a more au Dr Burn's History of Westmoreland.. The Lord of the A POEM. IN SIX CANTOS. Isles: ADVERTISEMENT. THE Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire; and afterwards in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the Spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the English, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish monarchy; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr Jamieson. 1 Abbotsford, 10th December, 1814. Now published. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO I. AUTUMN departs-but still his mantle's fold Autumn departs-from Gala's fields no more Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer; Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. The last blithe shout hath died upon our car, And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging wain, On the waste hill no forms of life appear, Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain. WAKE, Maid of Lorn!»"the minstrels sung. Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung, (1) And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, Heaved on the beach a softer wave, As mid the tuneful choir to keep The diapason of the deep. Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore, As if wild woods and waves had pleasure In listing to the lovely measure. And ne'er to symphony more sweet Gave mountain-echoes answer meet, Since, met from main-land and from isle, Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle, Each minstrel's tributary lay Paid homage to the festal day. Dull and dishonour'd were the bard, Worthless of guerdon and regard, Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, Who on that morn's resistless call Was silent in Artornish hall. e0 wake, while dawn, with dewy shine, Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; IV. 4 Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly, Which yet that maiden name allow; Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, When Love shall claim a plighted vow. By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest, By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest, And wake thee at the call of Love! Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay many a galley gaily mann'd, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers' silken band. What chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tellThe riddle must be read by Love,» V. Retired her maiden train among, Nor could their tenderest numbers bring As vainly had her maidens vied Had weightiest task-the mantle's fold VI. O! lives there now so cold a maid, Save that such lived in Britain's isle, VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care (Form of some sainted patroness) Which cloister'd maids combine to dress; She mark'd-and knew her nursling's heart In the vain pomp took little part. Wistful awhile she gazed-then press'd The maiden to her anxious breast In finish'd loveliness-and led To where a turret's airy head, VIII. «Daughter," she said, «these seas behold, Each on its own dark cape reclined, Yet, empress of this joyful day, IX. Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, In these brief words'-He loves her not! X. « Debate it not too long I strove His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war, What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told Was hers, but closed with Ronald's name. Unjust to Ronald and to me! XI. << Since then, what thought had Edith's heart, Or loiters he in secret dell To bid some lighter love farewell, And swear, that though he may not scorn A daughter of the house of Lorn, (8) XII. -<«< Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove, XIII. «Sweet thought, but vain!-No, Morag! mark, Than adverse winds and breakers' roar.»— XIV. Sooth spoke the maid.—Amid the tide In weary tack from shore to shore. To the poor meed which peasants share, And such the risk her pilot braves, Her bowsprit kiss'd the broken waves, Yet, to their destined purpose true, Around their prows the ocean roars, So chafes the war-horse in his might, On each gay deck they might behold Their misty shores around; XVI. So bore they on with mirth and pride, As nobles cast on lowly boor, Let them sweep on with heedless eyes! But, had they known what mighty prize la that frail vessel lay, The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold, Had scathless pass'd the unguarded fold, Ere, drifting by these galleys bold, Unchallenged were her way! And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, With mirth and pride and minstrel tone! But hadst thou known who sail'd so nigh, XVII. Yes, sweep they on!-We will not leave, Be laughter loud and jocund shout, And of wild mirth each clamorous art, Yes, sweep they on!-But with that skiff Where there was dread of surge and cliff, XVIII. All day with fruitless strife they toil'd, With eve the ebbing currents boil'd More fierce from streight and lake; And mid-way through the channel met Conflicting tides that foam and fret, And high their mingled billows jet, As spears that, in the battle set, Spring upward as they break. Then too the lights of eve were past, And louder sung the western blast On rocks of Inninmore; Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast, XIX. 'Twas then that one, whose lofty look Nor labour dull'd nor terror shook, Thus to the leader spoke: « Brother, how hopest thou to abide Didst thou not mark the vessel reel, Yet how of better counsel tell, Though here thou seest poor Isabel Half dead with want and fear; For look on sea, or look on land, Or yon dark sky, on every hand Despair and death are near. For her alone I grieve-on me Danger sits light by land and sea. I follow where thou wilt; Either to bide the tempest's lour, Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, Or rush amid their naval power, With war-cry wake their wassail-hour, And die with hand on hilt.» |