And Normans call me James Fitz-James.
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,

Thus learn to right the injured cause.'
Then, in a tone apart and low,

-"Ah, little trait'ress! none must know
What idle dream, what lighter thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,

Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Benvenue, '
In dangerous hour, and all but gave
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"
Aloud he spoke—“ Thou still dost hold
That little talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring-
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"

2

XXIX.

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd,
He probed the weakness of her breast;
But, with that consciousness, there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,

up to the Castle of Stirling, so called. But the epithet would not have suited poetry, and would besides at once, and prematurely, have announced the plot to many of my countrymen, among whom the traditional stories above mentioned are still current.

[MS." Thy sovereign back

Thy sovereign's steps to Benvenue."]

[MS.-" Pledge of Fitz-James's faith, the ring."]

And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.-
"Forbear thy suit :-the King of Kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings,

I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand :
My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!-
Hast thou no other boon to crave?
No other captive friend to save?"
Blushing, she turn'd her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wish'd her sire to speak

The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek.—
"Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,
And stubborn justice holds her course.-
Malcolm, come forth!"-And, at the word,
Down kneel'd the Græme to Scotland's Lord.

2

[MS.-" And in her breast strove maiden shame;
More deep she deem'd the Monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Against bis Sovereign broadsword drew;
And, with a pleading, warm and true,

She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu."]

2 ["Malcolm Græme has too insignificant a part assigned him, considering the favour in which he is held both by Ellen and the

For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,
Who, nurtured underneath our smile,
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,
And sought, amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlaw'd man,
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name-
Fetters and warder for the Græme!
His chain of gold the King unstrung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.'

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;

author; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect character of Roderick Dhu, as a contrast to the purer virtue of his rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen into the common error, of making him more interesting than him whose virtues he was intended to set off, and converted the villain of the piece in some measure into its hero. A modern poet, however, may perhaps be pardoned for an error, of which Milton himself is thought not to have kept clear, and for which there seems so natural a cause in the difference between poetical and amiable characters."—JEFFREY.]

[--"And now, waving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities:

In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending,
With distant echo from the fold and lea,

And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp!
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,
And little reck I of the censure sharp

May idly cavil at an idle lay.

Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,
Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day,
And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone.
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.
Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,
Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string!

he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the 'Lay.' He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as they never appearde more fascinating than in 'Marmion' and the 'Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your James's as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," etc.-Letter from Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812. BYRON'S Life and Works, vol. ii. p. 156.]

'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.
Receding now, the dying numbers ring

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell-
And now, 'tis silent all!--Enchantress, fare thee well!'

["On a comparison of the merits of this poem with the two former productions of the same unquestioned genius, we are inclined to bestow on it a very decided preference over both. It would perhaps be difficult to select any one passage of such genuine inspiration, as one or two that might be pointed out in the Lay of the Last Minstrel-and, perhaps, in strength and discrimination of character, it may fall short of Marmion; although we are loath to resign either the rude and savage generosity of Roderick, the romantic chivalry of James, or the playful simplicity, the affectionate tenderness, the modest courage, of Ellen Douglas, to the claims of any competitors in the last-mentioned poem. But, for interest and artificial management in the story, for general ease and grace of versification, and correctness of language, the Lady of the Lake must be universally allowed, we think, to excel, and very far excel, either of her predecessors."—Critical Review.]

["There is nothing, in Mr. Scott, of the severe and majestic style of Milton-or of the terse and fine composition of Pope-or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell-or even of the flowing and redundant diction of Southey,—but there is a medley of bright images and glowing, set carelessly and loosely togethera diction tinged successively with the careless richness of Shakspeare, the harshness and antique simplicity of the old romances, the homeliness of vulgar ballads and anecdotes, and the sentimental glitter of the most modern poetry-passing from the borders of the ludicrous to those of the sublime-alternately minute and energetic-sometimes artificial, and frequently negligent, but