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Thou, of every good the Giver,

“ Redeem mine hours—the space is brief-Grant him long to bless his own!

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, Bless him, ʼmid his land's disaster,

And measureless thy joy or grief, For her rights who battled brave,

When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!” Of the land of foemen master,

Chap. x Bless him who their wrongs forgave.

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"As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he “ The window of a turret, which projected at an was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near | Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from that doleful recitative:”_ quarter he heard again the same music which bad probably broken short his dream. With its visionary Tue herring loves the merry moon-light, character it had lost much of its charms—it was now The mackerel loves the wind, nothing more than an air on the harpsicord, tolerably But the oyster loves the dredging sang, well performed-such is the caprice of imagination For they come of a gentle kind. as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something between a Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, song and a hymn, in words to the following effect :" And listen great and sma',

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl “ Wily sit’st thou by that ruin'd hall,

That fought on the red Harlaw.
Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recal,

The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
Or ponder how it pass'd away?”-

And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be “ Know'st thou not me?” the Deep Voice cried; For the sair field of Harlaw.

“ So long enjoy’d, so oft misused -Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, Desired, neglected, and accused !

They hae bridled a hundred black,

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, “ Bofore my breath, like blazing flax,

And a good knight upon his back.
Mar, and his marvels pass away!
And charging empires wane and wax,

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
Are founded, flourish, and decay.

A mile, but barely ten,

Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, are now of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the Grand- given from the newspapers of 1816, Nuke, now Emperor of Russin, was a personal friend of Sir


When Donald came branking down the brae failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in Wi’ twenty thousand men.

some cases, where actual names are affixed to the sup.

posed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seck Their tartans they were waving wide,

them in the works of the authors referred to. In Their glaives were glancing clear,

some cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts The pibrochs rung frae side to side,

and other graver authors have been ransacked in vain Would deafen ye to hear.

for stanzas for which the novelist alone was responsi

ble.”—Introduction to Chronicles of the Canongate. The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see:

1. “ Now here a knight that 's stout and good

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, May prove a jeopardie:

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him;

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, “What would'st thou do, my squire so gay,

And pleased again by toys which childhood please : That rides beside my reyne,

As—book of fables graced with print of wood, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, And I were Roland Cheyne?

Or the rare melody of some old ditty,

That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. “ To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wond’rous peril,

(2.)-CHAP. IX. What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,

“ Be brave,” she cried, “ you yet may be our guest Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?”

Our haunted room was ever held the best:

If, then, your valour can the fight sustain “ Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,

Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain; And ye were Roland Cheyne,

If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, The spear should be in my horse's side,

When round your bed the horrid ghost shal walk And the bridle upon his mane.

If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb,

I'll see your sheets well air’d, and show the room." “ If they hae twenty thousand blades,

True Story And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,

(3.)–CHAP. XI. And we are mail-clad men.

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent,

And orderd all the pageants as they went; “ My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, As through the moorland fern,

The loose and scatter'd relics of the day.
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.”

(4.)-CHAP. XII.
Beggar!—the only freemen of your Commonwoalib
Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws,
Obey no governor, use no religion

But what they draw from their own ancient customs He turn'd him right and round again,

Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebeis. Said, Scorn na at my mither;

Brome. Light loves I may get mony a ane, But minnie ne'er anither.

(5.)-CHAP. XIX.
Chap. xl.

Here has been such a stormy encounter,
Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier,

About I know not what !-nothing, indeed;

Competitions, degrees, and comparatives

Of soldiership! “The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases

A Faire Quarrel tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from

(6.)-CHAP. xx. memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention.

If you fail honour here, I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of Never presume to serve her any more; the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the And the honourable name of soldier white paper which represented his shower of snow was Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath of lantel exhausted, continued the shower by snowing brown, I By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that

A Frire Quarto


(7.)-CHAP. XXI.

Mine is the poor residuum of the cup,
The Lord Abbot had a soul

Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling

With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire: By magic stairs he went as deep as hell,

Old Play. And if in devils' possession gold be kept,

(14.)–CHAP. XXXVII. He brought some sure from thence—’tis hid in

Yes! I love Justice well—as well as you docaves, Known, save to me, to none —

But, since the good dame 's blind, she shall excuse The Wonder of a Kingdome.


If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb;-

The breath I utter now shall be no means
Many great ones

To take away from me my breath in future.
Would part with half their states, to have the plan

Old Play And credit to beg in the first style.Beggar's Bush.


Well, well, at worst, ʼtis neither theft nor coinage, (9.)—CHAP. XXX.

Granting I knew all that you charge me with. Who is he?-One that for the lack of land

What, tho' the tomb hath born a second birth, Shall fight upon the water-he hath challenged And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles Yet fair exchange was never robbery, Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth.

Far less pure bounty,

Old Play He tilted with a sword-fish- Marry, sir, Th’aquatic had the best—the argument

(16.)-CHAP. XL. Still galls our champion's breech.

Life ebbs from such old age, unmark’d and silent, Old Play. As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.

Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse (10.)-CHAP. xxxi.

That wiyd or wave could give; but now her keel
l'ell me not of it, friend—when the young weep, Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta’en
Their tears are lukewarm brine;—from our old eyes An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not.
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, Each wave receding shakes her less and less,
Chilling the furrow's of our wither'd cheeks,

Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain
Cold as our hopes, and harden'd as our feeling Useless as motionless.
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless-ours recoil,

Old Play. Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us.

Old Play.

(17.)-CHAP. XLI.

So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, (11.)-CHAP. XXXIII.

Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold, Remorse-she ne'er forsakes us!

With hand outstretch'd, impatient to destroy, A bloodhound stanch—she tracks our rapid step Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream. Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us; For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our joints,

The Loves of the Sea-Weeds. And maim'd our hope of combat, or of flight, We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all

(18.)—CHAP. XLII. Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. Let those go see who will—I like it not

Old Play.

For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp,

And all the nothings he is now divorced from (12.)—CHAP. Xxxiv.

By the hard doom of stern necessity; Still in nis dead hand clench'd remain the strings Yet is it sad to mark his alter'd brow, That thrill his father's heart-e'en as the limb, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil Lopp’d off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, O’er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguishi Strange commerce with the mutilated stump,

Old Piay. Whose nerves are twinging still in maim'dexistence.

Old Play.

(19.)-CHAP. XLIII.

Fortune, you say, flies from us—She but circles, (13.)-CHAP. xxxv.

Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff,Life, with you,

Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries; Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing, 'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaffd, As if to court the aim.-Experience watches, That glads the heart and elerates the fancy: And has her on the wheel.

Old Play

(20.)--CHAP. XLIV.

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier,
Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her:

For a cup of sack shall fence the cold.
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms!
Or sigh because she smiles—and smiles on others ?

For time will rust the brightest blade,
Not I, by Heaven!—I hold my peace too dear,

And years will break the strongest bolly';
To let it, like the plume upon

сар, ,

Was never wight so starkly made,
Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate.

But time and years would overthrow?
Old Play.

Chap. xix.

a copy

[“It may be worth noting, that it was in correcting the proof-sheets of The Antiquary that Scott first took to equipping his chapters with mottoes of his own fa (2.)—VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S brication. On one occasion he happened to ask John

POCKET-BOOK. Ballantyne, who was sitting by him, to hunt for a par

“ With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in ticular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John did

of as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the

verses, written obviously with a feeling which lines. “Hang it, Johnnie,' cried Scott, “ I believe I atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the roughness of the I can make a motto sooner than you will find one." poetry, and the conceits with which it abounded, arHe did so accordingly; and from that hour, when- cording to the taste of the period :"ever memory failed to suggest an appropriate epi

Tuy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, graph, le had recourse to the inexliaustible mines of

As in that well-remember'd night, old play' or old ballad, to which we owe some of

When first thy mystic braid was wove, the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his pen”—Life, vol. v., p. 145.]

And first my Agnes whisper'd love.

From the Black Dwarf.


Since then how often hast thou press'd
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin which peopled hell,
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotioul-.
0, if such clime thou canst endure,
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,
What conquest o’er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wander'd wild and wide,
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me,
If she had lived, and lived to love me.


(1.)-CHAP. v.
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath
Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring;
And, in the April dew, or beam of May,
Its moss and lichen freshen and revive;
And thus the heart, most sear’d to human pleasure,
Melts at the tear, joys in the smile of woman.


(2.)--CHAP. xvi.

-'Twas time and griefs
That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer hand,
Offering the fortunes of his former days,
The former man may make him—Bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.

Old Play.

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(1.MAJOR BELLENDEN’S SONG. AND what though winter will pinch severe

Through locks of grey and a cloak that 's old,

“GENTLE reader, I did request of mine honest friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, known to many of this land for his faithful and just dealings, as well ip muslins and cambrics as in small wares, to procure


me, on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, a copy Yet fear not, ladies, the naïve detali
of the Epitaphion alluded to. And, according to his Given by the natives of that land canorous ;
report, which I see no ground to discredit, it runneth Italian license loves to leap the pale,

We Britons have the fear of shame before us,

And, if not wise in mirth, at least must bo do HERE lyes ane saint to prelates surly, Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley, Who, stirred up to vengeance take,

II. For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake,

In the far eastern clime, no great while since, Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife,

Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Did tak’ James Sharpe the apostate's life;

Whose eyes, as oft as they perform’d their round, By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot, Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground; Then drowned in Clyde near this saam spot. Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase,

Chap. xliv.

“ Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !' All have their tastes—this may the fancy strike

Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like;


I love the honest heart and warm

Of Monarch who can amble round his farm, (1.)-Chap. v.

Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, Arouse thee, youth!—it is no common call,

In chimney corner seek domestic joysGod's Church is leaguer’d-haste to man the wall ;

I love a prince will bid the bottle pass,
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on bigh, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ;
Signals of honour'd death or victory.

In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,
James Duff

Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay

Such Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, (2.)-CHAP. XIV.

But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. My hounds may a' rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,

My lord may grip my vassal lands,

This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway-
For there again maun I never be!

And where's Serendib? may some critic say.-
Old Ballad. Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart,

Scare not my Pegasus before I start! (3.)-CHAP. XXXIV.

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!

The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map,-To all the sensual world proclaim,

Famed mariner ! whose merciless narrations One crowded hour of glorious life

Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, Is worth an age without a name.

Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter
Anonymous. He deign’d to tell them over to a porter_3

The last edition see, by Long, and Co.,
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row,

The Search after Happiness ;'



Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction-
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction-
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses,
To raise the spirits and reform the juices,
-Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,)
The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter,
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter--
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid bis dreams
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes
Belonging to the Mollah’s subtle craft,
I wot not-but the Sultaun never laugh’d,
Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy
That scorn'd all remedy-profane or holy;

Ou for a glance of that gay Muse's eye,
That lighten’d on Bandello's laughing tale,
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly,
When Giam Battista bale her vision hail ! -

First published in “ The Sale Room, No. V.," February 1, 1817.

2 The hint of the following tale is taken from La Camiscia Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti.

3 See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.

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