The Lord of the Isles: A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. THE Composition of "The Lord of the Isles," as we now have it in the Author's MS., seems to have been begun at Abbotsford, in the autumn of 1814, and it ended at Edinburgh the 16th of December. Some part of Canto I. had probably been committed to writing in a rougher form earlier in the year. The original quarto appeared on the 2d of January 1815.1 It may be mentioned, that those parts of this Poem which were written at Abbotsford, were composed almost all in the presence of Sir Walter Scott's family, and many in that of casual visitors also: the original cottage which he then occupied not affording him any means of retirement. Neither conversation nor music seemed to disturb him. INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1833. I COULD hardly have chosen a subject more popular in Scotland, than any thing connected with the Bruce's history, unless I had attempted that of Wallace. But 1 am decidedly of opinion, that a popular, or what is called a taking title, though well qualified to ensure the publishers against loss, and clear their shelves of the original impression, is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the reputation of the author. He who attempts a subject of distinguished popularity, has not the privilege of awakening the enthusiasm of his audience; on the contrary, it is already awakened, and glows, it may be, more ardently than that of the author himself. In this case, the warmth of the author is inferior to that of the party whom he addresses, who has, therefore, little chance of being, in Bayes's phrase, "elevated and surprised" by what he has thought of with more enthusiasm than the writer. The sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness of striving against wind and tide, made the task of composing the proposed Poem somewhat heavy and hopeless; but, like the prize-fighter in "As You Like it," I was to wrestle for my reputation, and not neglect any advantage. In a most agreeable pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to commemorate in the Introduction to the new edition of the "Pirate," I visited, in social and friendly company, the coasts and islands of Scotland, and made myself acquainted with the localities of which I meant to treat. But this voyage, which was in every other effect so delightful, was in its conclusion saddened by one of those strokes of fate which so often mingle themselves with our pleasures. The accomplished and excellent person who had recommended to me the subject for "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," and to whom I proposed to inscribe what I already suspected might be the close of my poetical labours, was unexpectedly removed from the world, which she seemed only to have visited for purposes of kindness and benevolence. It is needless to say how the author's feelings, or the composition of his trifling work, were affected by a circumstance which occasioned so many tears and so much sorrow. True it is, that "The Lord of the Isles" was concluded, unwillingly and in haste, under the painful feeling of one who has a task which must be finished, rather than with the ardour of one who endeavours to perform that task well. Although the Poem cannot be said to have made a favourable impression on the public, the sale of fifteen thousand copies enabled the author to retreat from the field with the honours of war.1 In the meantime, what was necessarily to be considered as a failure, was much reconciled to my feelings by the success attending my attempt in another species of composition. "Waverley" had, under strict incognito, taken its flight from the press, just before visiting the Giant's Causeway, and immediately returned home. 4"As Scott passed through Edinburgh on his return from his voyage, the negotiation as to the Lord of the Isles, which had been protracted through several months, was completedConstable agreeing to give fifteen hundred guineas for one half of the copy right, while the other moiety was retained by the author."-Life, vol. iv. p. 394. I set out upon the voyage already mentioned; it had now made its way to popularity, and the success of that work and the volumes which followed, was sufficient to have satisfied a greater appetite for applause than I have at any time possessed.1 I may as well add in this place, that, being much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily no more, William Erskine, (a Scottish judge, by the title of Lord Kinedder,) I agreed to write the little romantic tale called the " Bridal of Triermain ;" but it was on the condition, that he should make no serious effort to disown the composition, if report should lay it at his door. As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I took care, in several places, to mix something which might resemble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and manner, the train casily caught, and two large editions were sold. A third being called for, Lord Kinedder became unwilling to aid any longer a deception which was going farther than he expected or desired, and the real author's name was given. Upon another occasion, I sent up another of these trifles, which, like schoolboy's kites, served to show how the wind of popular taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in opposition to the " Bridal of Triermain," which was designed to belong rather to the Italian school. This new fugitive piece was called "Harold the Dauntless ;" and I am still astonished at my having committed the gross error of selecting the very name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. James Hogg, had published, about the same time, a work called the "Poetic Mirror," containing imitations of the principal living poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, which bore such a resemblance to "Harold the Dauntless," that there was no discovering the original from the imitation; and I believe that many who took the trouble of thinking upon the subject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was the true, and not the fictitious Simon Pure. Since this period, which was in the year 1817, the Author has not been an intruder on the public by any poetical work of importance. ABBOTSFORD, April 1830. W. S. 1 The first edition of Waverley appeared in July 1814. "Harold the Dauntless" was first published in a small 12mo volume, January 1817. Mr. Hogg's "Poetic Mirror" appeared in October 1816. The Lord of the Isles. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. The scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the English, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish monarchy; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce' will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr Jamieson. ABBOTSFORD, 10th December, 1814.o The work alluded to appeared in 1820, under the title of | presume, to match that of 'The Lady of the Lake;' but there "The Bruce and Wallace." 2 vols. 4to. "Here is another genuine lay of the great Minstrel, with all his characteristic faults, beauties, and irregularities. The same glow of colouring-the same energy of narration-the same amplitude of description, are conspicuous here, which distinguish all his other productions: with the same still more characteristic disdain of puny graces and small originalities the true poetical hardihood, in the strength of which he urges on his Pegasus fearlessly through dense and rare, and aiming gallantly at the great ends of truth and effect, stoops but rarely to study the means by which they are to be attainedavails himself, without scruple. of common sentiments and common images wherever they seem fitted for his purposesand is original by the very boldness of his borrowing, and impressive by his disregard of epigram and emphasis. "Though bearing all these marks of the master's hand, the work before us does not come up, in interest, to the Lady of the Lake, or even to Marmion. There is less connected story; and, what there is, is less skilfully complicated and disentangled, and less diversified with change of scene, or variety of character. In the scantiness of the narrative, and the broken and discontinuous order of the events, as well as the inartificial insertion of detached descriptions and morsels of ethical reflection, it bears more resemblance to the earliest of the author's greater productions; and suggests a comparison, perhaps not altogether to his advantage, with the structure and execution of the Lay of the Last Minstrel :-for though there is probably more force and substance in the latter parts of the present work, it is certainly inferior to that enchanting performance in delicacy and sweetness, and even-is it to be wondered at, after four such publications ?—in originality. "The title of "The Lord of the Isles,' has been adopted, we is no analogy in the stories-nor does the title, on this occasion, correspond very exactly with the contents. It is no unusual misfortune, indeed, for the author of a modern Epic to have his hero turn out but a secondary personage, in the gradual unfolding of the story, while some unruly underling runs off with the whole glory and interest of the poem. But here the author, we conceive, must have been aware of the misnomer from the beginning; the true, and indeed the ostensible hero being, from the very first,. no less a person than King Robert Bruce."-Edinburgh Review, No. xlviii. 1815. "If it be possible for a poet to bestow upon his writings a superfluous degree of care and correction, it may also be possible, we should suppose, to bestow too little. Whether this be the case in the poem before us, is a point upon which Mr. Scott can possibly form a much more competent judgment than ourselves; we can only say, that without possessing greater beauties than its predecessors, it has certain violations of propriety, both in the language and in the composition of the story, of which the former efforts of his muse afforded neither so many nor such striking examples. "We have not now any quarrel with Mr. Scott on account of the measure which he has chosen; still less on account of his subjects: we believe that they are both of them not only pleasing in themselves, but well adapted to each other, and to the bent of his peculiar genius. On the contrary, it is be cause we admire his genius, and are partial to the subjects which he delights in, that we so much regret he should leave room for any difference of opinion respecting them, merely from not bestowing upon his publications that common degree of labour and meditation which we cannot help saying it is scarcely decorous to withhold."-Quarterly Review, No. xxvi. July, 1815. The Laid of the Isles. CANTO FIRST. AUTUMN departs-but still his mantle's fold The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill; Autumn departs-from Gala's fields no more Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer; Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging wain, On the waste hill no forms of life appear, Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain. Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still, Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray, To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill, To note the red leaf shivering on the spray, O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain. No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, Though faint its beauties as the tints remote That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky, And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, When wild November hath his bugle wound; Nor mock my toil-a lonely gleaner I,3 Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound, Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found. 1 John, fifteenth Lord Somerville, illustrious for his patriotic devotion to the science of agriculture, resided frequently In his beautiful villa called the Pavilion, situated on the Tweed over against Melrose, and was an intimate friend and almost daily companion of the poet, from whose windows at Abbotsford his lordship's plantations formed a prominent object. Lord S. died in 1819. The river Gala, famous in song, flows into the Tweed a few hundred yards below Abbotsford, but probably the word So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved, To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day; In distant lands, by the rough West reproved, Still live some relics of the ancient lay. For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay, With such the Seer of Skye1 the eve beguiles; "Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, In Harries known, and in Iona's piles, Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. I. "WAKE, Maid of Lorn!" the Minstrels sung. Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung, Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, And ne'er to symphony more sweet II. "Wake, Maid of Lorn!" 'twas thus they sung, And yet more proud the descant rung, "Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours, To charm dull sleep? from Beauty's bowers; Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy But owns the power of minstrelsy. In Lettermore the timid deer Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear; Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud; Then let not Maiden's car disdain III. "O wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine, The dew that on the violet lies Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; But, Edith, wake, and all we see Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!"— IV. "Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly, Which yet that maiden-name allow; Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, When Love shall claim a plighted vow. By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest, By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest, And wake thee at the call of Love! "Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mann'd, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers' silken band. What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tellThe riddle must be read by Love." V. Retired her maiden train among, Her locks, in dark-brown length array'd, VI. O! lives there now so cold a maid, Save that such lived in Britain's isle, VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care (Form of some sainted patroness,) Which cloister'd maids combine to dress; She mark'd-and knew her nursling's heart In the vain pomp took little part. In finish'd loveliness-and led To where a turret's airy head, Slender and steep, and battled round, O'erlook'd, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound, IMS.-"Retired amid her menial train, Edith of Lorn received the strain." • MS.-"The train upon the pavement Then to the floor descending flow'd." 8 MS." But Morag, who the maid had press'd, An infant, to her fostering breast, And seen a mother's early aid," &c. 4 See Appendix, Note C. 2 |