し ney through life. Indeed, the publication of my next poetical attempt was prematurely accelerated, from one of those unpleasant accidents which can neither be foreseen nor avoided. I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavor to bestow a little more labor than I had yet done on my productions, and to be in no hurry again to announce myself as a candidate for literary fame. Accordingly, particular passages of a poem which was finally called Marmion were labored with a good deal of care by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed. Whether the work was worth the labor or not, I am no competent judge; but I may be permitted to say that the period of its composition was a very happy one in my life; so much so, that I remember with pleasure, at this moment, some of the spots in which particular passages were composed. It is probably owing to this that the Introductions to the several cantos assumed the form of familiar epistles to my intimate friends, in which I alluded, perhaps more than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic occupations and amusements, -a loquacity which may be excused by those who remember that I was still young, light-headed, and happy, and that 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, which happened at this time, led me to alter my prudent determination, which had been to use great precaution in sending this poem into the world; and made it convenient at least, if not absolutely necessary, to hasten its publication. The publishers of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, emboldened by the success of that poem, willingly offered a thousand pounds for Marmion. The transaction, being no secret, afforded Lord Byron, who was then at general war with all who blacked paper, an apology for including me in his satire entitled English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.1 I never could conceive how an arrangement between an author and his publishers, if satisfactory to the persons concerned, could afford matter of censure to any third party. I had taken no unnsual or ungenerous means of enhancing the value of my merchandise, I had never higgled a moment about the bargain, but accepted -- at once what I considered the handsome offer Lockhart quotes the passage, which is as follows: Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, of my publishers. These gentlemen, at least, were not of opinion that they had been taken advantage of in the transaction, which indeed was one of their own framing; on the contrary, the sale of the poem was so far beyond their expectation as to induce them to supply the author's cellars with what is always an acceptable present to a young Scottish housekeeper, namely, a hogshead of excellent claret. I The poem was finished in too much haste to allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not removing, some of its most prominent defects. The nature of Marmion's guilt, although similar instances were found, and might be quoted, as existing in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to be indicative of the character of the period, forgery being the crime of a commercial rather than a proud and warlike age. This gross defect ought to have been remedied or palliated. Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it had fallen. I remember my friend, Dr. Leyden, then in the East, wrote me a furious remonstrance on the subject. I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion that corrections, however in themselves judicious, have a bad effect after publication. An author is never so decidedly condemned as on his own confession, and may long find apologists and partisans until he gives up his own cause. was not, therefore, inclined to afford matter for censure out of my own admissions; and, by good fortune, the novelty of the subject and, if I may say so, some force and vivacity of description, were allowed to atone for many imperfections. Thus the second experiment on the public patience, generally the most perilous, - for the public are then most apt to judge with rigor what in the first instance they had received perhaps with imprudent generosity,was in my case decidedly successful. I had the good fortune to pass this ordeal favorably, and the return of sales before me makes the copies amount to thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 1825, besides a considerable sale since that period. I shall here pause upon the subject of Marmion, and, in a few prefatory words to The Lady of the Lake, the last poem of mine which obtained eminent success, I will continue the task which I have imposed on myself respecting the origin of my productions. ABBOTSFORD, April, 1830. To yield thy muse just half a crown per line? Where yet some faded herbage pines, My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, As best befits the mountain child, Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower To mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings; 30 40 50 more. 70 and was no 80 Nor mourn ye less his perished worth 90 Thy strength had propped the tottering throne. Now is the stately column broke, The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, Oh, think, how to his latest day, When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, With Palinure's unaltered mood, 110 120 139 Nor yet suppress the generous sigh Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of Here, where the fretted aisles prolong power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, As some 100 The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke again, 'All peace on earth, good-will to men;' 140 150 170 With more than mortal powers endowed, The wine of life is on the lees, 180 human The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. His Gothic harp has o'er you rung; 190 Rest, ardent spirits, till the cries Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, My wildered fancy still beguile! From this high theme how can I part, Ere half unloaded is my heart! For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, And all the raptures fancy knew, And all the keener rush of blood 200 210 That throbs through bard in bardlike mood, Were here a tribute mean and low, Though all their mingled streams could flow Woe, wonder, and sensation high, Though not unmarked from northern elime, Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme: Prompt on unequal tasks to run, Thus Nature disciplines her son: Meeter, she says, for me to stray, And waste the solitary day In plucking from yon fen the reed, And watch it floating down the Tweed, Or idly list the shrilling lay 220 230 With which the milkmaid cheers her How on the ancient minstrel strain Time lays his palsied hand in vain; And how our hearts at doughty deeds, By warriors wrought in steely weeds, Still throb for fear and pity's sake; As when the Champion of the Lake Enters Morgan's fated house, Or in the Chapel Perilous, Despising spells and demons' force, Holds converse with the unburied corse; Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move Alas, that lawless was their love! He sought proud Tarquin in his den, And freed full sixty knights; or when, A sinful man and unconfessed, He took the Sangreal's holy quest, And slumbering saw the vision high He might not view with waking eye. 260 270 The mightiest chiefs of British song Scorned not such legends to prolong. They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, And mix in Milton's heavenly theme; And Dryden, in immortal strain, Had raised the Table Round again, But that a ribald king and court Bade him toil on, to make them sport; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, Licentious satire, song, and play; The world defrauded of the high design, Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the lofty line. 280 Warmed by such names, well may we then, Though dwindled sons of little men, Essay to break a feeble lance In the fair fields of old romance; Or seek the moated castle's cell, Where long through talisman and spell, While tyrants ruled and damsels wept, 290 Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept. There sound the harpings of the North, Till he awake and sally forth, On venturous quest to prick again, In all his arms, with all his train, Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, And wizard with his wand of might, And errant maid on palfrey white. Around the Genius weave their spells, 300 Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells; Mystery, half veiled and half revealed; And Honor, with his spotless shield; -- Well has thy fair achievement shown 310 A worthy meed may thus be won: Ytene's oaks - beneath whose shade Their theme the merry minstrels made, Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold, And that Red King, who, while of old Through Boldrewood the chase he led, By his loved huntsman's arrow bled Ytene's oaks have heard again Renewed such legendary strain; For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul, That Amadis so famed in hall, For Oriana, foiled in fight The Necromancer's felon might; And well in modern verse hast wove Partenopex's mystic love: Hear, then, attentive to my lay, A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 320 IC " |