verse. Between the appearance of the 'Lady of the Lake' and 'Rokeby,' three years elapsed, and these were dedicated to other matters than Of Ashestiel, he was but the tenant; and it was his wish to become the proprietor of some fair and pleasant spot, where he could build a house according to his own notions, and plan an orchard and garden in keeping with his own fancy. He found the place which he wanted in Abbotsford, six or seven miles farther down the Tweed. "It did not," said Scott, "possess the romantic character of Ashestiel, my former residence; but it had a stretch of meadow-land along the river, and possessed, in the phrase of the landscape gardener, 'considerable capabilities.' Above all, the land was my own. It had been an early wish of mine, to connect myself with my mother earth, and prosecute those experiments, by which a species of creative power is exercised over the face of nature." He wished too, he said, to be able to take the quaint counsel of the old writer, who advised his friend, for health's sake, to take a walk of a mile or two before breakfast, and, if possible, to do it on his own land. The house of Abbotsford,-called by a travelling Frenchman, a Romance in stone and lime, and by the poet himself, a dream-like mansion-is in a sort of castellated gothic style, and stands closely embowered in woods of its great owner's own planting; the library contains many rare and valuable works; the armory, many arms which belonged to heroes, or otherwise remarkable men; nor is painting or sculpture wanting to add the charms of art to the beauty of the place. There is beauty without, and plenty of accommodation within. The Tweed runs broad and fast past the walls; the Cowden-knowes may be seen from the turrets the Eildon Hills, cloven in three by the magic of old Michael, tower up so stately and high, that they almost overlook the house: the Huntley burn, where True Thomas had his adventure with the Fairy Queen, and the magnificent ruins of Melrose Abbey, are in the neighborhood; and, on the whole, It is, I ween, a lovely spot of ground. Having built his house, planted his lands, and laid out his garden-all of which he superintended himself, and was, I have been told, somewhat difficult to please, he turned his attention to verse once more, and in the year 1813, announced 'Rokeby.' Public expectation was raised very high; and Scott had yet to prove that his old works might be the greatest rivals his new had to encounter. The story of Rokeby' is not so well told as that of 'The Lady of the Lake;' it has not such stirring trumpet-tongued chapters as 'Marmion,' nor has it so much tranquil grace as may be found in the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel ;' neither are his English Buccaneers so captivating as his Highland Chiefs; yet it is a noble poem, abounding with spirit and originality. I am disposed to think the characters of Bertram Risinghame, and the Knave-Minstrel, are superior to any other which the poet had yet drawn they more than approach the heroes of the Waverley Novels. On the day of publication, I met the Editor of a London Journal with the volume under his arm, and inquired how he liked it: he gave his shoulders a shrug, and said, "So, so!-a better kind of ballad style-a better kind of ballad style!" A light and sarcastic poem by Moore, makes one lady ask another— Pray have you got Rokeby-for I have got mine- Booksellers, it seems, had found it profitable to hurry the volume from Edinburgh by the mail coach. When Scott was writing 'Rokeby,' another subject, he says, presented itself: this was the adventure of the Bruce, as related in the 'Lord of the Isles.' He now took up the Scottish story; finished and produced it to the world: it was not even so warmly welcomed as 'Rokeby.' The author found out the error which he had committed. "I could hardly," he says, "have chosen a subject more popular in Scotland, than anything connected with the Bruce's history, unless I had attempted that of Wallace; but I am decidedly of opinion, that a popular or what is called a taking title, though well qualified to ensure the publishers against loss, is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the reputation of the author. He who attempts a subject of distinguished popularity, has not the privilege of awakening the enthusiasm of his audience; on the contrary, it is already awakened, and glows, it may be, more ardently than that of the author himself." The author seems to be of the same opinion as the world, respecting this poem; yet it would be difficult to show in what it should be deemed inferior to the best. There is the same fire and im petuosity of diction and narrative, and a higher heroic dignity of character than in any of the other poems. The two Bruces are drawn with fine historical skill; the death of the page is one of the most touching episodes ever written; the voyage from Arran Isle, under the influence of the supernatural light, is sublime in an eminent degree; and the battle of Bannockburn may almost vie with that of Flodden. It is inferior, because it is not better: the world is not satisfied with an author unless he is continually surpassing himself. "The sale of fifteen thousand copies," says Scott, "enabled the author to retreat from the field with the honor of war." I may class 'Don Roderick,' and The Bridal of Triermain,' and 'Harold the Dauntless,' together: not because they at all resemble each other, but because I consider them as inferior works in conception and execution, and not quite worthy of being named with the five noble romances which preceded them. 'Don Roderick' was sharply handled by the critics; it did not suit with the aim of the poem, which was to rouse the spirit of resistance against an usurper in Spain and Portugal, to describe repulse and defeat. Had the |