hundred gentlemen, (and ladies,') who could fence very nearly, or quite as well as himself. For this there was no remedy; the harmony became tiresome and ordinary, and both the original inventor and his invention must have fallen into contempt, if he had not found out another road to public favour. What has been said of the metre only, must be considered to apply equally to the structure of the Poem and of the style. The very best passages of any popular style are not, perhaps, susceptible of imitation, but they may be approached by men of talent; and those who are less able to copy them, at least lay hold of their peculiar features, so as to produce a strong burlesque. In either way, the effect of the manner is rendered cheap and common; and, in the latter case, ridiculous to boot. The evil consequences to an author's reputation are at least as fatal as those which come upon the musical composer, when his melody falls into the hands of the street ballad-singer. Of the unfavourable species of imitation, the author's style gave room to a very large number, owing to an appearance of facility to which some of those who used the measure unquestionably leaned too far. The effect of the more favourable imitations, composed by persons of talent, was almost equally unfortunate to the original minstrel, by showing that they could overshoot him with his own bow. In short, the popularity which once attended the School, as it was called, was now fast decaying. Besides all this, to have kept his ground at the crisis when "Rokeby" appeared, its author ought to have put forth his utmost strength, and to have possessed at least all his original advantages, for a mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on the stage-a rival not in poetical powers only, but in that art of attracting popularity, in which the present writer had hitherto preceded better men than himself. The reader will easily see that Byron is here meant, who, after a little velitation of no great promise, now appeared as a serious candidate, in the "First two Cantos of Childe Harold."2 I was astonished at the power evinced by that work, which neither the "Hours of Idleness," nor the "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," had prepared me to expect from its author. There was a depth in his thought, an eager abundance in his diction, which argued full confidence in the inexhaustible resources of which he felt himself possess ed; and there was some appearance of that labour of the file, which indicates that the author is conscious of the necessity of doing every justice to his work, that it may pass warrant. Lord Byron was also a traveller, a man whose ideas were fired by having seen, in distant scenes of difficulty and danger, the places whose very names are recorded in our bosoms as the shrines of ancient poetry. For his own misfortune, perhaps, but certainly to the high increase of his poetical character, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system those passions which agitate the human heart with most violence, and which may be said to have hurried his bright career to an early close. There would have been little wisdom in measuring my force with so formidable an antagonist; and I was as likely to tire of playing the second fiddle in the concert, as my audience of hearing me. Age also was advancing. I was growing insensible to those subjects of excitation by which youth is agitated. I had around me the most pleasant but least exciting of all society, that of kind friends and an affectionate family. My circle of employments was a narrow one; it occupied me constantly, and it became daily more difficult for me to interest myself in poetical composition: "How happily the days of Thalaba went by!" Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the opinion of good judges, inferior to the place I had for four or five years held in letters, and feeling alike that the latter was one to which I had only a temporary right, I could not brook the idea of relinquishing literary occupation, which had been so long my chief diversion. Neither was I disposed to choose the alternative of sinking into a mere editor and commentator, though that was a species of labour which I had prac tised, and to which I was attached. But I could not endure to think that I might not, whether known or concealed, do something of more importance. My inmost thoughts were those of the Trojan Captain in the galley race,— "Non jam, prima peto, Mnestheus, neque vincere certo; Quanquam O!-sed superent, quibus hoc, Neptune, dedisti; Extremos pudeat rediisse: hoc vincite, cives, Et prohibete nefas." 3-EN. lib. v. 194. I had, indeed, some private reasons for my "Quanquam O!" which were not worse than those of Mnes famous.' In truth, he had fixed himself, at a single bound, on a summit, such as no Fnglish poet had ever before attained, but after a long succession of painful and comparatively neglected efforts."-Advertisement to BYRON'S Life and Works, vol. viii. "Scott found peculiar favour and imitation among the had been witnessed in this country for at least two generafair sex there was Miss Halford, and Miss Mitford, and Misstions. I awoke one morning,' he says, and found myself Francis: but, with the greatest respect be it spoken, none of his imitators did much honour to the original, except Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, until the appearance of the Bridal of Triermain' and 'Harold the Dauntless,' which, in the opinion of some, equalled, if not surpassed, him; and lo! after three or four years, they turned out to be the Master's own compositions."-BYRON's Works, vol. xv. p. 96. 2"These two Cantos were published in London in March 1812, and immediately placed their author on a level with the very highest names of his age. The impression they created was more uniform, decisive, and triumphant, than any that "I seek not now the foremost palm to gain; Rokeby: A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. TO JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esq., THIS POEM, THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY, IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY WALTER SCOTT.' ADVERTISEMENT. The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that Vicinity. The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto. The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great Battle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644, This period of public confusion has been chosen, without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the Fictitious Narrative now presented to the Public.? Rokeby. CANTO FIRST. I. THE Moon is in her summer glow, 1 Dec. 31, 1812. "Behold another lay from the harp of that indefatigable minstrel, who has so often provoked the censure, and extorted the admiration of his critics; and who, regardless of both, and following every impulse of his own inclination, has yet raised himself at once, and apparently with little effort, to the pinnacle of public favour. "A poem thus recommended may be presumed to have already reached the whole circle of our readers, and we believe that all those readers will concur with us in considering Rokeby as a composition, which, if it had preceded, instead of following, Marmion, and the Lady of the Lake, would have contributed, as effectually as they have done, to the establishment of Mr. Scott's high reputation. Whether, timed as it When conscience, with remorse and fear, now is, it be likely to satisfy the just expectations which that Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, II. Those towers, which in the changeful gleam The sounding scourge and hissing snake; III. Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh, IV. He woke, and fear'd again to close Or the sad breeze that whistles by, V. Far town-ward sounds a distant tread, "He stood. Some dread was on his face. Impatient of his flight delay'd, Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade; The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; BYRON'S Works, vol. ix. p. 157. 6 MS.-"Till underneath the castle bank. 7 See Appendix, Note B. "The natural superiority of the instrument over the employer, of bold, unhesitating, practised vice, over timid, selfish, crafty iniquity, is very finely painted throughout the whole of this scene, and the dialogue that ensues. That the mind of Wycliffe, wrought to the utmost agony of suspense, has given such acuteness to his bodily organs, as to enable him to distinguish the approach of his hired bravo, while at a distance beyond the reach of common hearing, is grandly imagined, and admirably true to nature."-Critical Review. As marshalling the stranger's way, Straight for the room where Oswald lay; The cry was, "Tidings from the host,' Of weight-a messenger comes post." Stifling the tumult of his breast, His answer Oswald thus express'd"Bring food and wine, and trim the fire; Admit the stranger, and retire." VI. The stranger came with heavy stride,2 Then from his brows the casque he drew, VII. With deep impatience, tinged with fear, Cursing each moment that his guest VIII. On his dark face a scorching clime, IX. But yet, though BERTRAM'S harden'd look, Had plough'd them with impressions strong. 1 MS.-"The cry was,-'Heringham comes post, With tidings of a battle lost.' 2 MS. As one that roused himself from rest, His answer," &c. -" with heavy pace, The plumed morion hid his face." 8 See Appendix, Note C. 4 MS.-"That fell upon the stranger's face." 6 MS." he freed his hands." MS." Then turn'd to the replenish'd board." 7 "The description of Bertram which follows, is highly picturesque; and the rude air of conscious superiority with which he treats his employer, prepares the reader to enter into the full spirit of his character. These, and many other little cir cumstances, which none but a poetical mind could have conceived, give great relief to the stronger touches with which this excellent sketch is completed."-Critical Review. 8 MS." Protracted o'er his savage feast. Yet with alarm he saw at last." 9 "As Roderick rises above Marmion, so Bertram ascends above Roderick Dhu in awfulness of stature and strength of colouring. We have trembled at Roderick; but we look with doubt and suspicion at the very shadow of Bertram-and, as we approach him, we shrink with terror and antipathy from |