More strong than armed warders in array, Cast spells across the gate, and barr'd the onward Vain now those spells; for soon with heavy clank IV. Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced As if a bridal there of late had been, And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear— V. In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head; While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrown. For these were they who, drunken with delight, For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, Of human life are all so closely twined, Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes VI. But where the work of vengeance had been done, The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see, For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill;- Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill VII. The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd, (Our Scalds have said, in dying hour until some hundred years after the era of the poem, and many of the scenes described, like that last quoted, (stanzas iv. v. vi.) belong even to a still later period. At least this defect is not an imitation of Mr. Scott, who, being a skilful antiquary, 1 "In an invention like this we are hardly to look for probabilities, but all these preparations and ornaments are not quite consistent with the state of society two hundred years before the Danish Invasion, as far as we know any thing of it. In these matters, however, the author is never very scrupu- is extremely careful as to niceties of this sort."-Critical Relous, and has too little regarded propriety in the minor cir- | view. cumstances: thus Harold is clad in a kind of armour not worn Not in each breast such truth is laid, But Eivir was a Danish maid." VIII. "Thou art a wild enthusiast," said But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade Thy master slumbers nigh." Thus couch'd they in that dread abode, IX. An alter'd man Lord Harold rose, There's trouble in his eyes, And traces on his brow and cheek "My page," he said, " arise;--Leave we this place, my page."-No more He utter'd till the castle door They cross'd-but there he paused and said, My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain X. "With haggard eyes and streaming hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there, And there pass'd Wulfstane, lately slain, A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows; Sable their harness, and there came Mount, in the name of Zernebock!-- Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true! My inmost soul the summons knew, As captives know the knell That says the headsman's sword is bare, Commands them quit their cell. I felt resistance was in vain, XI. "His sable cowl, flung back, reveaï'd The features it before conceal'd; And, Gunnar, I could find In him whose counsels strove to stay So oft my course on wilful way, My father Witikind! Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine, Until his son shall turn to grace, XII. Trembling at first, and deadly pale, Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale; But when he learn'd the dubious close, XIII. What sees Count Harold in that bower, So late his resting-place?— The semblance of the Evil Power, Adored by all his race! Such height was his, as when in stone XIV. "Harold," he said, "what rage is thine, To quit the worship of thy line, To leave thy Warrior-God?— With me is glory or disgrace, Mine is the onset and the chase, Embattled hosts before my face Are wither'd by a nod. Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat XV. 66 Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, "I charge thee, hence! whate'er thou art, I do defy thee-and resist The kindling frenzy of my breast, 1 Mr. Adolphus, in his Letters on the Author of Waverley, p. 230, remarks on the coincidence between "the catastrophe, of The Black Dwarf,' the recognition of Mortham's lost son Nor glove, nor buckler, spleut, nor nail, Or that a borrow'd sex and name Can abrogate a Godhead's claim?" Thrill'd this strange speech through Harold's brain, He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, I will assail thee, fiend !"-Then rose XVI. Smoke roll'd above, fire flashi'd around, Evanish'd in the storm. Nor paused the Champion of the North, But raised, and bore his Eivir forth, From that wild scene of fiendish strife, To light, to liberty, and life! XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, His stubborn sinews fly, The while with timid hand the dew And glimmer'd in her eye. That bosom's pride belie? O, dull of heart, through wild and wave in the Irish orphan of Rokeby,' and the conversion of Harold's page into a female,"—all which he calls "specimens of unsuccessful contrivance, at a great expense of probability." XVIII. Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd, And Eivir life is on her cheek, And the deep blush, which bids its dye XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek "Eivir! since thou for many a day And we will grace his altar's side, A Christian knight and Christian bride; And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be said, CONCLUSION. AND now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow? No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. Be cheer'd-'tis ended-and I will not borrow, To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A Tale six cantos long, yet scorn'd to add a note.1 "Harold the Dauntless,' like The Bridal of Triermain,' is a tolerably successful imitation of some parts of the style of Mr. Walter Scott; but, like all imitations, it is clearly distinguishable from the prototype; it wants the life and seasoning of originality. To illustrate this familiarly from the stage:-We have all witnessed a hundred imitations of popular actors-of Kemble, for instance, in which the voice, the gesture, and somewhat even of the look, were copied. In externals the resemblance might be sufficiently correct; but where was the informing soul, the mind that dictated the action and expression? Who could endure the tedium of seeing the imitator go through a whole character? In Harold the Dauntless,' the imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obvious, but we are weary of it before we arrive near the end. The author has talent, and considerable facility in versification, and on this account it is somewhat lamentable, not only that he should not have selected a better model, but that he should copy the parts of that model which are least worthy of study. Perhaps it was not easy to equal the energy of Mr. Scott's line, or his picturesque descriptions. His peculiarities and defects were more attainable, and with these the writer of this novel in verse has generally contented himself; he will also content a certain number of readers, who merely look for a few amusing or surprising incidents. In these, however, 'Harold the Dauntless' does not abound so much as The Bridal of Triermain.' They are, indeed, romantic enough to satisfy all the parlour-boarders of ladies' schools in England; but they want that appearance of probability which should give them interest."-Critical Review, April, 1817. "We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable praise, The Bridal of Triermain. We remarked it as a pretty close imitation of Mr. Scott's poetry; and as that great master seems, for the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a substitute, even of inferior value, may be welcomed by the public. It appears to us, however, and still does, that the merit of the present author consists rather in the soft and wildly tender passages, than in those rougher scenes of feud and fray, through which the poet of early times conducts his reader. His warhorse follows with somewhat of a hobbling pace the proud and impetuous courser whom he seeks to rival. Unfortunately, as it appears to us, the last style of poetical excellence is rather more aimed at here than in the former poem ; and as we do not discover any improvement in the mode of treating it, Harold the Dauntless scarcely appears to us to equal the Bridal of Triermain. It contains, indeed, passages of similar merit, but not quite so numerous; and such, we suspect, will ever be the case while the author continues to follow after this line of poetry."-Scots Mag., Feb. 1817. "This is an elegant, sprightly, and delightful little poem, written apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who either possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, or regards it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In this we do not widely differ from him, but are sensible, meantime, that many others will; and that the rambling and uncertain nature of the story will be the principal objection urged against the poem before us, as well as the greatest bar to its extensive popularity. The character of Mr. Scott's romances has effected a material change in our mode of estimating poetical compositions. In all the estimable works of our former poets, from Spenser down to Thomson and Cowper, the plot seems to have been regarded as good or bad, only in proportion to the advantages which it furnished for poetical description; but, of late years, one half, at least, of the merit of a poem is supposed to rest on the interest and management of the tale. "We speak not exclusively of that numerous class of readers who peruse and estimate a new poem, or any poem, with the same feelings, and precisely on the same principles, as they do a novel. It is natural for such persons to judge only by the effect produced by the incidents; but we have often been surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whose judgment we were most disposed to bow, should lay so much stress on the probability and fitness of every incident which the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must necessarily be descriptive. The author of Harold the Dauntless seems to have judged differently from these critics; and in the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he has chosen, we feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of the easy and careless manner in which he has arranged his story. In many instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, and has truly studied and seized the essential character of the antique-his attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and varied with demi-tints, possessing much of the lustre, freshness, and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, and his distances something of the lightness and keeping of Salvator Rosa. The want of harmony and union in the carnations of his females is a slight objection, and there is likewise a meagre sheetiness in his contrasts of chiaroscuro; but these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and master traits distinguishable in his grouping, as in a Murillo or Carraveggio. But the work has another quality, and though its leading one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if viewed as an original production. On the other hand, regarded solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most successful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general manner of Scott ably maintained throughout, but the very structure of the language, the associations, and the train of thinking, appear to be precisely the same. It was once alleged by some writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr. Scott's style; but it is now fully proved to the world that there is no style more accessible to imitation; for it will be remarked, (laying parodies aside, which any one may execute), that Mr. Davidson and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byron and Wordsworth, each in one instance, have all, without we believe intending it, imitated him with considerable closeness. The author of the Poetic Mirror has given us one specimen of his most polished and tender style, and another, still more close, of his rapid and careless manner; but all of them fall greatly short of The Bridal of Triermain, and the poem now before us. We are sure the author will laugh heartily in his sleeve at our silliness and want of perception, when we confess to him that we never could open either of these works, and peruse his pages for two minutes with attention, and at the same time divest our minds of the idea that we were engaged in an early or experimental work of that great master. That they are generally inferior to the works of Mr. Scott in vigour and interest, admits not of dispute; still they have many of his wild and softer beauties; and if they fail to be read and admired, we shall not on that account think the better of the taste of the age."-Blackwood's Magazine, April, 1817. END OF HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. |