Lend to thy brow their sullen dye!'
How should thy pure and peaceful eye Untroubled view our scenes below, Or how a tearless beam supply
To light a world of war and woe!
Fair Queen! I will not blame thee now,
As once by Greta's fairy side;
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow
Did then an angel's beauty hide.
And of the shades I then could chide,
Still are the thoughts to memory dear,
For while a softer strain I tried,
They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear.
Then did I swear thy ray serene
Was form'd to light some lonely dell, By two fond lovers only seen,
Reflected from the crystal well, Or sleeping on their mossy cell,
Or quivering on the lattice bright, Or glancing on their couch, to tell How swiftly wanes the summer night!
He starts a step at this lone hour!
A voice-his father seeks the tower,
With haggard look and troubled sense,
Fresh from his dreadful conference.
"Wilfrid !—what, not to sleep address'd?
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest.
Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor;2
Bertram brings warrant to secure
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood,
For the State's use and public good.
The menials will thy voice obey;
Let his commission have its way,
In every point, in every word."-
Then, in a whisper,-"Take thy sword!
Bertram is-what I must not tell.
I hear his hasty step-farewell !"
the best of Mr. Scott's attempts in this kind. He, certainly,
is not in general successful as a song-writer; but, without any
extraordinary effort, here are pleasing thoughts, polished ex-
pressions, and musical versification."--Monthly Review.
1 MS.-"Are tarnishing thy lovely dye!
A sad excuse let Fancy try-
How should so kind a planet show
Her stainless silver's lustre high,
To light a world of war and woe!"
MS.-"Here's Risingham brings tidings sure,
Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor;
And he hath warrant to secure,'
3 MS.-"See that they give his warrant way."
4 With the MS. of stanzas xxviii. to xxxiv. Scott thus addresses his printer:-"I send you the whole of the canto. I wish Erskine and you would look it over together, and consider whener upon the whole matter, it is likely to make an impression. If it does really come to good, I think there are no limits to the interest of that style of composition; for the variety of life and character are boundless.
FAR in the chambers of the west,
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest;
The moon was cloudless now and clear,
But pale, and soon to disappear.
The thin gray clouds wax dimly light
On Brusleton and Houghton height;
And the rich dale, that eastward lay,
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give its woods and cultured plain,
And towers and spires to light again.
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell,
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls.
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.
What prospects, from his watch-tower high,
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye!-
Far sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,
And tracks his wanderings by the steam
Of summer vapors from the stream;
And ere he paced his destined hour
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,
These silver mists shall melt away,
And dew the woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad lustre shall be shown
That mighty trench of living stone,'
And each huge trunk that, from the side,
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide,
"I don't know whether to give Matilda a mother or not. Decency requires she should have one; but she is as likely to be in my way as the gudeman's mother, according to the prov erb, is always in that of the gudewife. Yours truly, W. S.— Abbotsford," (Oct. 1812.)
"We cannot close the first Canto without bestowing the highest praise on it. The whole design of the picture is ex cellent; and the contrast presented to the gloomy and fearful opening by the calm and innocent conclusion, is masterly. Never were two characters more clearly and forcibly set in opposition than those of Bertram and Wilfrid. Oswald com. pletes the group; and, for the moral purposes of the painter, is perhaps superior to the others. He is admirably designed That middle course to steer
To cowardice and craft so dear.'"
See Appendix, Note L.
MS.-"Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower."
7 MS.-"Those deep-hewn banks of living stone."