Tunstall lies dead upon the field; Let Stanley charge with spur of fire- Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets! fly! Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring O woman! in our hours of ease, By the light quivering aspen made; She stooped her by the runnel's side, But in abhorrence backward drew; For, oozing from the mountain side, Where raged the war, a dark red tide Was curdling in the streamlet blue. Where water, clear as diamond spark, Above, some half-worn letters say, Drink, weary. pilgrim. drink. and . pray, For. the. kind, soul, of. Sybil. Grey. Tho. built. this. cross. and, well. She filled the helm, and back she hied, A monk supporting Marmion's head; To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. Short space, few words, are mine to spare; 'Alas!' she said, 'the while O think of your immortal weal! Lord Marmion started from the ground, It may not be !-this dizzy trance- And doubly cursed my failing brand! With fruitless labour Clara bound, And that the priest he could not hear, 'In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, So the notes rung; 'Avoid thee, Fiend!-with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand!- By many a death-bed I have been, But never aught like this.' The war, that for a space did fail, A light on Marmion's visage spread, With dying hand, above his head And shouted Victory!— Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!' We may contrast with this the silent and appalling death-scene of Roderick Dhu, in the Lady of the Lake. The savage chief expires while listening to a tale chanted by the bard or minstrel of his clan: At first, the chieftain to his chime, His face grows sharp; his hands are clenched, Is sternly fixed on vacancy. Thus, motionless and moanless, drew His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu. The Lady of the Lake is more richly picturesque than either of the former poems, and the plot is more regular and interesting. The subject,' says Sir James Mackintosh, 'is a common Highland irruption; but at a point where the neighbourhood of the Lowlands affords the best contrast of manners-where the scenery affords the noblest subject of description-and where the wild clan is so near to the court, that their robberies can be connected with the romantic adventures of a disguised king, an exiled lord, and a high-born beauty. The whole narrative is very fine.' It was the most popular of the author's poems in a.few months twenty thousand copies were sold, and the district where the action of the poem lay was visited by countless thousands of tourists. With this work closed the great popularity of Scott as a poet. Rokeby, a tale of the English Cavaliers and Roundheads, was considered a failure, though displaying the utmost art and talent in the delineation of character and passion. Don Roderick is vastly inferior to Rokeby; and Harold and Triermain are but faint copies of the Gothic epics, however finely finished in some of the tender passages. The Lord of the Isles is of a higher mood. It is a Scottish story of the days of Bruce, and has the characteristic fire and animation of the minstrel, when, like Rob Roy, he has his foot on his native heath. Bannockburn may be compared with Flodden Field in energy of description, though the poet is sometimes lost in the chronicler and antiquary. The interest of the tale is not well sustained throughout, and its chief attraction consists in the descriptive powers of the author, who, besides his feudal halls and battles, has drawn the magnificent scenery of the West Highlandsthe cave of Staffa, and the dark desolate grandeur of the Coriusk lakes and mountains-with equal truth and sublimity. The lyrical pieces of Scott are often very happy. The old ballad strains may be said to have been his original nutriment as a poet, and he is consequently often warlike and romantic in his songs. But he has also gaiety, archness, and tenderness, and if he does not touch deeply the heart, he never fails to paint to the eye and imagination. The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill. Bears those bright hues that once it bore; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the treeAre they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me? Alas, the warped and broken board, How can it bear the painter's dye? To feverish pulse each gale blows chill; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill. Coronach.-From the Lady of the Lake' Like a summer-dried fountain, From the rain-drops shall borrow, The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, Waft the leaves that are searest, Hymn of the Hebrew Maid.-From Ivanhoe. Out from the land of bondage came, And trump and timbrel answered keen; And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; But, present still, though now unseen! 1 Or corri, the hollow side of the hill where game usually lies. POETS. ENGLISH LITERATURE. And oh, when stoops on Judah's path And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. Scott retreated from poetry into the wide and open field of prose fiction as the genius of Byron began to display its strength and fertility. A new, or at least a more finished, nervous, and lofty style of poetry was introduced by the noble author, who was as much a mannerist as Scott, but of a different school. He excelled in painting the strong and gloomy passions of our nature, contrasted with feminine softness and delicacy. Scott, intent upon the development of his plot, and the chivalrous machinery of his Gothic tales, is seldom personally present to the reader. Byron delighted in selfportraiture. His philosophy of life was false and pernicious; but the splendour of the artist concealed the deformity of his design. Parts were so nobly finished, that there was enough for admiration to rest upon, without analysing the whole. He conducted his readers through scenes of surpassing beauty and splendour-by haunted streams and mountains, enriched with the glories of ancient poetry and valour; but the same dark shadow was ever by his side-the same scorn and mockery of human hopes and ambition. The sententious force and elevation of his thoughts and language, his eloquent expression of sentiment, and the mournful and solemn melody of his tender and pathetic passages, seemed, however, to do more than atone for his want of moral truth and reality. The man and the poet were so intimately blended, and the spectacle presented by both was so touching, mysterious, and lofty, that Byron concentrated a degree of interest and anxiety on his successive public appearances. which no author ever before was able to boast. Scott had created the public taste for animated poetry, and Byron, taking advantage of it, soon engrossed the whole field. For a few years it seemed as if the world held only one great poet. The chivalry of Scott, the philosophy of Wordsworth, the abstract theory and imagination of Southey, and even the lyrical beauties of Moore and Campbell, were for a time eclipsed by this new and greater light. The rank, youth, and misfortunes of Byron, his exile from England, the mystery which he loved to throw around his history and feelings, the apparent depth of his sufferings and attachments, and his very misanthropy and scepticism-relieved by bursts of tenderness and pity, and by the incidental expression of high and holy feelings-formed a combination of personal circumstances in aid of the legitimate effects of his passionate and graceful poetry, which is unparalleled in the history of modern literature. Such a result is even more wonderful than the laurelled honours awarded to Virgil and Petrarch, if we consider the difference between ancient and modern manners, and the temperament of the The incidents of Byron's life may be briefly 6 121 |