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Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier,
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold.
For time will rust the brightest blade,
And years will break the strongest bow;
[“ It may be worth noting, that it was in correcting the proof-sheets of The Antiquary that Scott first took to equipping his chapters with mottoes of his own fa- (2.)—VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S brication. On one occasion he happened to ask John
POCKET-BOOK. Ballantyne, who was sitting by him, to hunt for a par
“ With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in ticular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John did as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the
a copy of verses, written obviously with a feeling which lines. • Hang it, Johnnie, cried Scott, “ I believe I atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the roughness of the I can make a motto sooner than you will find one.' poetry, and the conceits with which it abounded, acHe did so accordingly; and from that hour, when cording to the taste of the period: ”– ever memory failed to suggest an appropriate epi
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, graph, he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of
As in that well-remember'd night, old play' or old ballad, to which we owe some of
When first thy mystic braid was wove, the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. pen”-Life, vol. v., p. 145.]
Since then how often hast thou press’d
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell From the Black Dwarf.
With the first sin which peopled hell,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion! 1816.
O, if such clime thou canst endure,
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,
What conquest o’er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath
I had not wander'd wild and wide, Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring;
With such an angel for my guide; And, in the April dew, or beam of May,
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, Its moss and lichen freshen and revive;
If she had lived, and lived to love me.
Not then this world's wild joys had been
My sole delight the headlong race,
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Then—from the carcass turn away!
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed!
Yes, God and man bt now approve me,
From Old Mortality.
(1.)-MAJOR BELLENDEN’S SONG. AND what though winter will pinch severe
Through locks of grey and a cloak that 's old,
(3.)-EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY
“GENTLE reader, I did request of mine honest friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, known to many of this land for his faithful and just dealings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in small wares, to procum
me, on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, a copy Yet fear not, ladies, the naïve detall of the Epitaphion alluded to. And, according to his Given by the natives of that land canorous; report, which I see no ground to discredit, it runneth Italian license loves to leap the pale,
We Britons have the fear of shame before us,
And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be de-
In the far eastern clime, no great while since,
Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince,
“ Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !”
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like; MOTTOES.
For me, I love the honest heart and warm
Of Monarch who can amble round his farm, (1.)-CAAP. V.
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, Arouse thee, youth!—it is no common call,
In chimney corner seek domestic joys-
In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,
Such Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, (2.)-CHAP. XIV.
But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. My hounds may a' rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,
This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway-
And where's Serendib? may some critic say.-
Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! (3.HCHAP. xxxiv.
If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map,To all the sensual world proclaim,
Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations One crowded hour of glorious life
Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, Is worth an age without a name.
Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter.
The last edition see, by Long. and Co.,
the search after Happiness;'
i First published in “ The Sale Room, No. V.," February 1, 1817.
? The hint of the following tale is taken from La Camiscia Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti.
3 See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
In his long list of melancholies, mad,
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad. And fearing these as China-men the Tartars.
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers,
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers.
And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, Imaum and Mollah there of every station, “ His majesty is very far from well.”
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. Then each to work with his specific fell:
Their votes were various some advised a Mosque The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought
With fitting revenues should be erected, His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut,
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, While Roompot, a practitioner more wily,
To recreate a band of priests selected; Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily.2
Others opined that through the realms a dole More and yet more in deep array appear,
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit And some the front assail, and some the rear; The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul. Their remedies to reinforce and vary,
But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;
More closely touch'd the point:" Thy studious Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary, mood," Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, Quoth he, “O Prince ! hath thicken'd all thy blood, Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre.
And dull'd thy brain with labour beyond measure ; There lack’d, I promise you, no longer speeches Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, To rid the palace of those learned leeches.
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure;
From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge thee, VI.
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." Then was the council call?d--by their advice, (They deem’d the matter ticklish all, and nice,
And so the patient (as is not uncommon
Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders
Resolved to take advice of an old woman; Such have the Persians at this very day,
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ;-3 And still was called so by each subject duteous. I'm not prepared to show in this slight song Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest, That to Serendib the same forms belong,
Or only made believe, I cannot say— E’en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest, wrong.
By dint of magic amulet or lay;
And, when all other skill in vain was shown,
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own.
“ Sympathia magica hath wonders done," Too long has slept, nor own’d the work of death; (Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle,
“ It works upon the fibres and the pores,
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure.
Bid every current of your veins rejoice, (Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's.” Look'd ruefully in one another's faces,
Such was the counsel from his mother came;From this oration auguring much disquiet, I know not if she had some under-game,
3 See Sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia.
I See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned editor of the Recipes of Avicenna.
As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd liim, And live abroad, when sure to die at home;
Only the glory of his house had fail'd him; Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding, Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mother; Gave indication of a recent hiding. 5 But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it,) Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are beed. That such was her advice, the Sultaun took it.
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless
To ask, if at that moment he was happy.
Loud voice mustered up, for “ Vive le Roi !" The old Rais I was the first who questioned, Then whisper'd,“ Ave you any news of Nappy ?" “ Whither?”
The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross question,They paused—“ Arabia,” thought the pensive Prince, “ Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, “ Was call’d The Happy many ages since
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring-pool ?" For Mokha, Rais."-And they came safely thither. The query seem'd of difficult digestion, But not in Araby, with all her balm,
The party shrugg’d, and grinn’d, and took his snuft, Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm,
And found his whole good-breeding scarce enough.
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers,
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause,
“ Jean Bool !I vas not know him-Yes, I vas“ Enough of turpans,” said the weary King,
I vas remember dat, von year or two, “ These dolimans of ours are not the thing;
I saw him at von place call’d Vaterloo
So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the strait
And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo.
old boot,” ! they said, " is torn to pieces. But then, 'twas reckoning-day with honest John; Its tops 3 the vengeful claws of Austria feel,
And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way,
And then he always thinks, his temper's such,
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty,
That when his mortal foe was on the floor, By land or ocean never strikes his flag
And past the power to harm his quiet more, And then-a perfect walking money-bag."
Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bonaparte ! Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, Such was the wight whom Solimaun salamd, But first took France-it lay upon the road.
“ And who are you,” John answerd, “and be d-d!”
6 Or drubbing ; so called in the Slang Dictionary.
1 Master of the vessel.
• The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins. One of the leaders was called Fra Diavolo, i. e. Brother Devil.
6 See the True Born Englishman, by Daniel De Foc