through which, by means of an admitted confederate, they might gain possession of the building.

Not even a fragment of this old house, or castle, now exists (to the writer's knowledge). One may, however, find upon its site the hall known to Scott; as shown at the writer's visit, a simple, homelike, modern, two-storied, square edifice, with a wing on each side, the whole plastered with a yellowish composition. Around this hall stretch a wide lawn and park.

The poem introduces us, at the former residence, to the heroine, Matilda. She has been thought portrayed from the lost first love of the poet. In the fifth part of the Fourth Canto is a long and charming description of her,- —once merry, ever beautiful, though then sad: :

"In Marston field her father ta'en,

Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain,
While every ill her soul foretold,

From Oswald's thirst of power and gold."

During the sketching of Scott's stories and of their plots, in this book, an unfolding here of all this tale of Rokeby may, however, be omitted. A reader of the poem, when among the picturesque scenes in which its action is represented, will find enough from it to wake their solitudes, and revive the fortunes of its contrasted, active characters. Only one of these scenes remains to be pointed out to the traveller, or described to the reader who does not visit Rokeby Park. This one scene is that in which the catastrophe of the tale occurrred, such an exposition of villany and fanaticism, with merited doom, as the poet was justly disposed to make. The scene is one of those fair, mouldering, monastic ruins so frequently seen in England, and so mournfully picturesque, Egliston Abbey. It is not a very large but a tolerably complete edifice, in the pointed style, situated a couple of miles from Rokeby, towards Barnard Castle, in one of those beautiful positions that (as these pages more than once describe) the monks knew so well how to select.

Below it, through a deep, romantically beautiful little valley, embowered by luxuriant foliage, dashes and foams the river Tees over broken, tessellated-like rocks. A charming vista of rich and peaceful vale scenery, genuinely English, is thus presented. At one end, Rokeby Hall looks down; while in the opposite direction, on a grassy hill, just where a little dell - Thorsgill-unites with the river-vale, rise these ruins, venerably gray. Much of the religious

house is, or lately was, habitable. The church was dedicated to Saint Mary and Saint John the Baptist. Its choir and transept walls are tolerably entire. Within them were once tombs of families long resident in the neighboring country, - Rokeby, Bowes, Fitz-Hugh, and others. The nave (if the writer remembers correctly) is converted into a farmhouse.

After this exploration of the natural and artificial scenes of this poem, as they may now be found in quiet beauty, and after this introduction to the story of the poem, it may be sufficient to remark here, that "Rokeby" will quite satisfy any reasonable person, both with a reading and a visit to the region with which it is associated; and any such person may well concur with an opinion of a reviewer who was a contemporary with its publication: its narrative is spirited, nervous, and concise; its fable is interesting, and its delineations of character and development of plot are masterly.

And this sketch may properly be finished with quotation of the concluding lines of the poem, lines that console one for vicissitudes of its fair heroine, Maud, about which one may read, and lines that tell the result of the story:

"Time and Tide had thus their sway.

Yielding, like an April day

Smiling noon for sullen morrow,

Years of joy for hours of sorrow!"

XI.

"THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN," AND THE VALLEY OF SAINT JOHN, NEAR KESWICK.

THE

HIS, chronologically Scott's next poem, was published during the ensuing year, 1813. Though one of his minor poetic works, it is of no small interest; indeed, with the writer, it is an especial favorite, and this interest is increased by acquaintance with the scenery wherein its action is represented, — some of the grandest, as also of the most picturesque, in England.

"This poem is," says the "Quarterly Review," "purely a tale of Chivalry; a tale of Britain's Isle and Arthur's days, when midnight

fairies danced the maze. The author never gives us a glance of ordinary life, or of ordinary personages. From the splendid court of Arthur, we are conveyed to the halls of enchantment, and, of course, are introduced to a system of manners, perfectly decided and appropriate, but altogether remote from those of this vulgar world.'"

In the style of Scott's great poems, this has introductions, less successful and agreeable, however, than those gracing the "Lay,” "The Lady," and "Marmion." "The Bridal" is susceptible of exquisite allegorical rendering, though perhaps not intended by Scott to bear it. Certainly this poem leads most charmingly into an air-castled dreamland, that, however unreal, can teach quite as much as, and please a great deal more than, not a little of our mere matter-of-fact world.

The story of "The Bridal" is associated with the vicinity of Carlisle, an ancient English Border city, that, with this vicinity, deserves more examination than travellers are accustomed to bestow upon either. Some descriptions of both, additional to any in this chapter, will be found in those relating to “" Redgauntlet" (xix.), “Guy Mannering" (xx.), and "Rob Roy" (xxi.). The portion of country chiefly associated with this composition is that part of the "Lake District" near Keswick, about forty miles (by indirect road) southwestward from Carlisle, that includes Ulleswater, the Valley of Saint John, and Helvellyn, - over whose "brow sublime" is a magnificent promenade.

"Where is the maiden of mortal strain,

That may match with the Baron of Triermain?"

Thus begins the poem, and the poet answers:

"She must be lovely, and constant, and kind,

Holy and pure, and humble of mind,

Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood,

Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood

Lovely as the sun's first ray,

When it breaks the clouds of an April day;

Constant and true as the widow'd dove;

Kind as a minstrel that sings of love;

Pure as the fountain in rocky cave,

Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave;

Humble as maiden that loves in vain;

Holy as hermit's vesper strain;

Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies,

Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in its sighs;

Courteous as monarch the morn he is crown'd,
Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad ground;
Noble her blood as the currents that met

In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet

Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain,

That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain."

This Sir Roland de Vaux was lord of Triermain Castle, the scanty remains of which may be found about fifteen miles east of Carlisle. There, when this story began, Sir Roland, sleeping after a foray against the Scots, dreamed of music, —

"So sweet, so soft, so faint,

It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call

To an expiring saint;"

and he dreamed then, also, of a maid with "heavenly brow" and "angel air,” — like this one who has just been portrayed.

"If that fair form breathe vital air,

No other maiden by my side

Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride,"

Immediately he sent his page Henry, - trustiest riding fleetly as could be,

"He shall tell if middle earth

To that enchanting shape gave birth,

Or if 'twas but an airy thing,

Such as fantastic slumbers bring."

In characteristic topographic verse, poetic and accurate, Scott shows the Page's course from Triermain to this Lyulph's Tower, situated more than a score of miles distant, and on rising ground above Ulleswater Lake.

Wrote the poet of this Page:

Those who ride through Cumberland can easily recognize these localities; and the pleasant power of the Magician, through his story, invests with some romantic interest even the spots glanced at by this rapid messenger.

He duly reached the wise old man's cell, and learned that

"That maid is born of middle earth,

And may of man be won,

Though there have glided since her birth

Five hundred years and one."

And then he learned her wonderful history. This :

"King Arthur had ridden from merry Carlisle
When Pentecost was o'er:

He journey'd like errant-knight the while,"

"Till on his course obliquely shone

The narrow valley of SAINT JOHN,
Down sloping to the western sky,

Where lingering sunbeams love to lie."

There he discovered a mighty Castle, around which he rode three times, "nor living thing he spied" while doing thus. He was about sounding his bugle,

Yet the silence of that ancient place

Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space

Ere yet his horn he blew.

But, instant as its 'larum rung,

The Castle gate was open flung,

Portcullis rose with crashing groan,"

the drawbridge fell, and the gloomy entrance was open to him.

"A hundred torches, flashing bright,
Dispell'd at once the gloomy night
That lour'd along the walls,

And show'd the King's astonish'd sight
The inmates of the halls.

Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim,

Nor giant huge of form and limb,