Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, Told England, from his mountain-throne Long looked the anxious squires; their eye But nought distinct they see: [Evening fell on the deadly struggle, and the spectators were forced from the agitating scene.] But as they left the darkening heath, That fought around their king. Unbroken was the ring; The stubborn spearmen still made good Each stepping where his comrade stood, No thought was there of dastard flight; As fearlessly and well; When streams are swoln and south winds blow, Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, To gain the Scottish land; To town and tower, to down and dale, Still from the sire the son shall hear Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her shield! The hero receives his death-wound, and is borne off the field. The description, detached from the context, loses much of its interest; but the mingled effects of mental agony and physical suffering, of remorse and death, on a bad but brave spirit trained to war, is described with much sublimity: [Death of Marmion.] When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? Cry-"Marmion to the rescue!"-Vain! That shout shall ne'er be heard again! Let Stanley charge with spur of fire- Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets! fly! Of all my halls have nurst, To slake my dying thirst!' O, woman! in our hours of ease, By the light quivering aspen made; Scarce were the piteous accents said, To the nigh streamlet ran: Sees but the dying man. She stooped her by the runnel's side, But in abhorrence backward drew; Where water, clear as diamond-spark, Above, some half-worn letters say, Drink. weary. pilgrim. drink. and. pray. For. the. kind. soul. of. Sybil. Grep. Who. built. this. cross. and. well. A monk supporting Marmion's head; To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, And, as she stooped his brow to laveIs it the hand of Clare,' he said, 'Or injured Constance, bathes my head?' Then, as remembrance rose'Speak not to me of shrift or prayer! I must redress her woes. Short space, few words, are mine to spare; Alas!' she said, 'the while- Lord Marmion started from the ground, I would the fiend, to whom belongs With fruitless labour Clara bound, Ever, he said, that, close and near, A lady's voice was in his ear, And that the priest he could not hear, For that she ever sung, 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! O look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine; By many a death-bed I have been, A light on Marmion's visage spread, With dying hand above his head 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 Highlands (the 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. Young Lochinvar. [From Marmion."] Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, We may contrast with this the silent and appalling His face grows sharp; his hands are clenched, As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched; Set are his teeth, his fading eye Is sternly fixed on vacancy: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword- The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!' [From the 'Lady of the Lake."] He is gone on the mountain, When our need was the sorest. From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi,1 How sound is thy slumber! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu. [Written for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology,' 1816.] Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war array, Gentles and Commons! 1 Or corri: the hollow side of the hill, where game usually lics. Come from deep glen, and The flock without shelter; The bride at the altar. Come as the winds come, when Fast they come, fast they come; Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set; Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset! [Time.] [From the Antiquary.'] Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall, Or ponder how it passed away? 'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried, 'So long enjoyed, so oft misusedAlternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused? Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away; And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay. Redeem mine hours-the space is briefWhile in my glass the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part for ever!' [Hymn of the Hebrew Maid.] 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; Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own. 67 But, present still, though now unseen! To temper the deceitful ray. And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. [Song from the Pirate.] Love wakes and weeps O for music's softest numbers, For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers! Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing. O wake and live! No dreams can give A shadowed bliss the real excelling; From lattice peep, And list the tale that love is telling! LORD BYRON. 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 Scott retreated from poetry into the wide and and attachments, and his very misanthropy and open field of prose fiction as the genius of Byron scepticism (relieved by bursts of tenderness and began to display its strength and fertility. A new, pity, and by the incidental expression of high and or at least a more finished, nervous, and lofty style holy feelings), formed a combination of personal of poetry was introduced by the noble author, who circumstances in aid of the legitimate effects of his was as much a mannerist as Scott, but of a different passionate and graceful poetry, which is unparalleled school. He excelled in painting the strong and in the history of modern literature. Such a result gloomy passions of our nature, contrasted with is even more wonderful than the laureled honours feminine softness and delicacy. Scott, intent upon awarded to Virgil and Petrarch, if we consider the the development of his plot, and the chivalrous difference between ancient and modern manners, machinery of his Gothic tales, is seldom personally and the temperament of the northern nations compresent to the reader. Byron delighted in self-pared with that of the sunny south.' Has the portraiture, and could stir the depths of the human heart. 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 spell yet broke? Has the glory faded into the common light of day?' Undoubtedly the later writings of the noble bard helped to dispel the illusion. To competent observers, these works added to the impression of Byron's powers as an original poet, but they tended to exorcise the spirit of romance from his name and history; and what Don Juan failed to effect, was accomplished by the biography of Moore. His poetry, however, must always have a powerful effect on minds of poetical and warm sensibilities. If it is a rank unweeded garden,' it also contains glorious fruits and plants of celestial seed. The art of the poet will be a study for the ambitious few; his genius will be a source of wonder and delight to all who love to contemplate the workings of human passion, in solitude and society, and the rich effects of taste and inspiration. The incidents of Byron's life may be briefly related. He was born in Holles Street, London, on the 22d of January 1788, the only son of Captain John Byron of the Guards, and Catherine Gordon of Gight, an Aberdeenshire heiress. The lady's fortune was soon squandered by her profligate husband, and she retired to the city of Aberdeen, to bring up her son on a reduced income of about £130 per annum. The little lame boy, endeared to all in spite of his mischief, succeeded his grand-uncle, William Lord Byron, in his eleventh year; and the happy mother sold off her effects (which realised just £74, 17s. 4d.), and left Aberdeen for Newstead Abbey. The seat of the Byrons was a large and ancient, but dilapidated structure, founded as a priory in the twelfth century by Henry II., and situated in the midst of the fertile and interesting district once known as Sherwood Forest. On the dissolution of the monasteries, it was conferred by Henry VIII. on Sir John Byron, steward of Manchester and Rochdale, who converted the venerable convent into a castellated mansion. The family was ennobled by Charles I., in consequence of high and honourable services rendered to the royal cause during the civil war. On succeeding to the title, Byron was put to a private school at Dulwich, and from thence he was sent to Harrow. During his minority, the estate was let to another party, but its youthful lord occasionally visited the seat of his ancestors; and whilst there in 1803, he conceived a passion for a young lady in the neighbourhood, who, under the name of Mary Chaworth, has obtained a poetical immortality. So early as his eighth year, Byron fell in love with a simple Scottish maiden, Mary Duff; and hearing of her marriage, several years afterwards, was, he says, like a thunder-stroke to him. He had also been captivated with a boyish love for his cousin, Margaret Parker, one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings,' who died about a year or two afterwards. He was fifteen when he met Mary Chaworth, and conceived an attachment which, young as he was even then for such a feeling, sunk so deep into his mind as to give a colour to all his future life.' The father of the lady had been killed in a duel by Lord Byron, the eccentric grand-uncle of the poet, and the union of the young peer with the heiress of Annesley Hall 'would,' said Byron, have healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers; it would have joined lands broad and rich; it would have joined at least one heart, and two persons not ill matched in years (she was two years my elder), and-andand-what has been the result?' Mary Chaworth saw little in the lame boy, and became the betrothed of another. They had one parting interview in the following year, which, in his poem of the Dream, Byron has described in the most exquisite colours of descriptive poetry: I saw two beings in the hues of youth But a most living landscape, and the wave This boyish idolatry nursed the spirit of poetry in Byron's mind. He was recalled, however, from his day-dreams and disappointment, by his removal to Trinity college, Cambridge, in October 1805. At Harrow he had been an idle irregular scholar, though he eagerly devoured all sorts of learning, excepting that which was prescribed for him; and at Cambridge he pursued the same desultory course of study. In 1807 appeared his first volume of poetry, printed at Newark, under the title of Hours of Idleness. There were indications of genius in the collection, |