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XXVII. Wilfrid must love and woo' the bright Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. To love her was an easy hest, The secret empress of his breast ; To woo her was a harder task To one that durst not hope or ask. Yet all Matilda could, she gave In pity to her gentle slave; Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, And praise, the poet's best reward! She read the tales his taste approved, And sung the lays he framed or loved; Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame Of hopeless love in friendship’s name, In kind caprice she oft withdrew The favoring glance to friendship due,? Then grieved to see her victim's pain, And gave the dangerous smiles again.

XXIX. The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight" Waits in his halls the event of fight; For England's war revered the claim Of every unprotected name, And spared, amid its fiercest rage, Childhood and womanhood and age. But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, Must the dear privilege forego, By Greta's side, in evening gray, To steal upon Matilda's way, Striving, with fond hypocrisy, For careless step and vacant eye; Claming each anxious look and glance, To give the meeting all to chance, Or framing, as a fair excuse, The book, the pencil, or the muse: Something to give, to sing, to say, Some modern tale, some ancient lay. Then, while the long'd-for minutes last,Ah! minutes quickly over-past !Recording each expression free, Of kind or careless courtesy, Each friendly look, each softer tone, As food for fancy when alone. All this is o'er—but still, unseen, Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, To watch Matilda's wonted round, While springs his heart at every sound. She comes !—'tis but a passing sight, Yet serves to cheat his weary night; She comes not-he will wait the hour, When her lamp lightens in the tower ; 'Tis something yet, if, as she past, Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. “What is my life, my hope?" he said; “Alas! a transitory shade.”


XXVIII. So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, When war's loud summons waked the

land. Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, The wo-foreboding peasant sees; In concert oft they braved of old The bordering Scot's incursion bold; Frowning defiance in their pride," Their vassals now and lords divide. From his fair hall on Greta banks, The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, To aid the valiant northern Earls, Who drew the sword for royal Charles. Mortham, by marriage near allied,His sister had been Rokeby's bride, Though long before the civil fray, In peaceful grave the lady lay Philip of Mortham raised his band, And march'd at Fairfax's conimana While Wycliffe, bound by many a train Of kindred art with wily Vane, Less prompt to brave the bloody field, Made Barnard's battlements his shield, Secured them with his Lunedale powers, And for the Commons held the towers.

XXX. Thus wore his life, though reason strove For mastery in vain with love, Forcing upon his thoughts the sum Of present woe and ills to come, While still he turn'd impatient ear From Truth's intrusive voice severe. Gentle, indifferent, and subdued,

healthy frame of body. In both these particulars, the character of Wilfrid is exempt from the objections to which we think that of the Minstrel liable. At the period of the Civil Wars, in the higher orders of Society, intellectual refinement had advanced to a degree sufficient to give probability to its existence. The remainder of our argument will be best explained by the beautiful lines of the poet," (stanzas xxv. and xxvi.)-Critical Review.

1 MS.-"And first must Wilfrid woo," &c.
2 MS.--" The fuel fond her favor threw."
3 MS.-"Now frowning dark on different side,

Their vassals and their lords divide.' 4 MS.--" Dame Alice and Matilda bright,

Daughter and wife of Rokeby's Knight,

Wait in his halls," &c.
5 MS."But Wilfrid, when the strife arose,

And Rokeby and his son were foes,
Was doom'd each privilege to lose,

Of kindred friendship and the muse." 6 M8.-"* A ping, with fond hypocrisy,

The careless step,”' &c. 7 The MS. has not this couplet. 8 MS.—"May Wilfrid haant the

$thickets Wilfrid haunts Scargill's 9 MS.

- watch the hour, That her lamp kindles in her tower."


While one augments its gaudy show,
More to enhance the loser's woe.*
The victor sees his fairy gold
Transform’d, when won, to drossy mold,
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss,
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross.

In all but this, unmoved he viewd
Each outward change of ill and good:
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild,
Was Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child;
In her bright' car she bade him ride,
With one fair form to grace his side,
Or, in some wild and lone retreat,
Flung her high spells around his seat,
Bathed in her dews his languid head,
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread,
For him her opiates gave to flow,
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego,
And placed him in her circle, free
From every stern reality,
Till, to the Visionary, seem
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream.

XXXI. Woe to the youth whom fancy gains, Winning from Reason's hand the reins, Pity and woe! for such a mind Is soft, contemplative, and kind; And woe to those who train such youth, And spare to press the rights of truth, The mind to strengthen and anneal, While on the stithy glows the steel ! O teach him, while your lessons last, To judge the present by the past; Remind him of each wish pursued, How rich it glow'd with promised good; Remind him of each wish enjoy'd, How soon his hopes possession cloy'd ! Tell him, we play unequal game, Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ;' And, ere he strip him for her race, Show the conditions of the chase. Two sisters by the goal are set, Cold Disappointment and Regret; One disenchants the winner's eyes, And strips of all its worth the prize.

XXXII. More wouldst thou know-yon tower survey, Yon couch unpress'd since parting day, Yon untrimm'd lamp, whose yellow gleam Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, And yon thin form !-the hectic red On his pale cheek unequal spread ;' The head reclined, the loosen'd hair, The limbs relax'd, the mournful air.See, he looks up;-a woful smile Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while,'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought, To gild the ruin she has wrought; For, like the bat of Indian brakes, Her pinions fan the wound she makes, And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, She drinks his life-blood from the vein. Now to the lattice turn his eyes, Vain hope! to see the sun arise. The moon with clouds is still o'ercast, Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; Another hour must wear away, Ere the East kindle into day, And hark! to waste that weary hour, He tries the minstrel's magic power.



Hail to thy cold and clouded beam,

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky!
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream

That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind, More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shined !


1 MS.--** Wild car."
MS.-"Or in some fair but lone retreat,

Flung her wild spells around his seat,
For im her opiates gave to

opiate draughts bade
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego,
Taught him to turn impatient ear

From trath's intrusive voice severe." : la the MS., after this couplet, the following lines conclude the stanza :

** That all who on her visions press,

Find disappointment dog success ;
But, miss'd their wish, lamenting hold

Her gilding false for sterling gold.”
4" Soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways,

And yet, even there, if left without a guide,
The young adventurer unsafely plays.
Eyes, dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays,
In modest Truth no light nor beauty find ;
And who, my child, would trust the meteor blaze

“Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart,

And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight;
To joy each heightening charm it can impart,
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.
And often, where no real ills affright,
Its visionary fiends, an endless train,
Assail with equal or superior might,

And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain, And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain."

BEATTIE. 6 MS.—"On his pale cheek in crimson glow;

The short and painful sighs that show
The shrivell'd lip, the teeth's white row,

The head reclined,” &c. 6 MS.

" the sleeper's pain, Drinks his dear life-blood from the vein.' 7 " The little poem that follows is, in our judgment, one of


Lend to thy brow their sullen dye!' How should thy pure and peaceful eye

Untroubled view our scenes below, Or how a tearless beam supply

To light a world of war and woe!


Fair Queen! I will not blame thee now,

As once by Greta's fairy side;
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow

Did then an angel's beauty hide.
And of the shades I then could chide,

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, For while a softer strain I tried,

They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear.

Then did I swear thy ray serene

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, By two fond lovers only seen,

Reflected from the crystal well, Or sleeping on their mossy cell,

Or quivering on the lattice bright, Or glancing on their couch, to tell

How swiftly wanes the summer night!

Far in the chambers of the west,
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest;
The moon was cloudless now and clear,
But pale, and soon to disappear.
The thin gray clouds wax dimly light
On Brusleton and Houghton height;
And the rich dale, that eastward lay,
Waited the wakening touch of day,
To give its woods and cultured plain,
And towers and spires to light again.
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell,
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell,
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar;
While, as a livelier twilight falls,
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls.
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale,
The sovereign of the lovely vale.

He starts—a step at this lone hour !
A voice !-his father seeks the tower,
With haggard look and troubled sense,
Fresh from his dreadful conference.
“ Wilfrid !-what, not to sleep address'd!
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest.
Mortham has fall’n on Marston-moor ;)
Bertram brings warrant to secure
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood,
For the State's use and public good.
The menials will thy voice obey ;
Let his commission have its way,'
In every point, in every word.”—
Then, in a whisper,—" Take thy sword!
Bertram is—what I must not tell.
I hear his hasty step-farewell !"4

What prospects, from his watch-tower high,
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye! -
Faz sweeping to the east, he sees
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,
And tracks his wanderings by the steam
Of summer vapors from the stream;
And ere he paced his destined hour
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower,
These silver mists shall melt away,
And dew the woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad lustre shall be shown
That mighty trench of living stone,"
And each huge trunk that, from the side,
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide,

the best of Mr. Scott's attempts in this kind. He, certainly, “I don't know whether to give Matilda a mother or not.
is not in general successful as a song-writer ; but, without any Decency requires she should have one; but she is as likely to
extraordinary effort, here are pleasing thoughts, polished ex- be in my way as the gudeman's mother, according to the pror-
pressions, and musical versification."'-- Monthly Review. erb, is always in that of the gudewife. Yours truly, W. S.-
1 MS.—"Are tarnishing thy lovely dye !

Abbotsford," (Oct. 1812.)
A sad excase let Fancy try--

“We cannot close the first Canto without bestowing the How should so kind a planet show

highest praise on it. The whole design of the picture is er. Her stainless silver's lustre

cellent; and the contrast presented to the gloomy and fearful To light a world of war and woe!"

opening by the calm and innocent conclusion, is masterly. 2 MS." Here's Risingham brings tidings sure,

Never were two characters more clearly and forcibly set in Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor;

opposition than those of Bertram and Wilfrid. Oswald comAnd he hath warrant to secure," &c

pletes the group; and, for the moral purposes of the painter, 3 MS.—"See that they give his warrant way.”

is perhaps superior to the others. He is admirably designed 4 With the MS. of stanzas xxviii. to xxxiv. Scott thus ad

That middle course to steer dresses his printer:-"I send you the whole of the canto. I wish Erskine and you would look it over together, and con

To cowardice and craft so dear.'sider whether upon the whole matter, it is likely to make an

Monthly Review. impression. If it does really come to good, I think there are

6 See Appendix, Note L. no limits to the interest of that style of composition; for the & MS.-"Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower." variety of life and character are boundless.

* MS.--"Those deep-hewn banks of living stone."

Where Tees, full many a fathom low,
Wears with his rage no common foe;
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here,
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career,
Condemn'd to mine a channell'd way,
O'er solid sheets of marble gray.

Their winding path then eastward cast,
And Egliston's gray ruins pass'd ;*
Each on his own deep visions bent,
Silent and sad they onward went.
Well may you think that Bertram's mood,"
To Wilfrid savage seem’d and rude;
Well may you think bold Risingham
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame;
And small the intercourse, I ween,
Such uncongenial souls between.

III. Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright, Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight; But many a tributary stream Each from its own dark dell shall gleam: Staindrop, who, from her silvan bowers,' Salutes proud Raby's battled towers; The rural brook of Egliston, And Balder, named from Odin's son; And Greta, to whose banks ere long We lead the lovers of the song ; And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild, And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child, And last and least, but loveliest still, Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd, Yet long'd for Roslin's magic glade ? Who, wandering there, hath sought to change Even for that vale so stern and strange, Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, Through her green copse like spires are sent ? Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, Thy scenes and story to combine ! Thou bid’st him, who by Roslin strays, List to the deeds of other days ;' Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave, The refuge of thy champion brave ;9 Giving each rock its storied tale, Pouring a lay for every dale, Knitting, as with a moral band, Thy native legends with thy land, To lend each scene the interest high Which genius beams from Beauty's eye.

V. Stern Bertram shunn'd the nearer way, Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay, And, skirting high the valley's ridge, They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge, Descending where her waters wind Free for a space and unconfined, As, 'scaped from Brignalls dark-wood glen, She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, Raised by that Legiono long renown’d, Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, “ Stern sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sigh’d, “Behold the boast of Roman pride! What now of all your toils are known! A grassy trench, a broken stone !"This to himself; for moral strain To Bertram were address'd in vain.

VI. Of different mood, a deeper sigh Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high? Were northward in the dawning seen To rear them o'er the thicket green. O then, though Spenser's self had stray'd Beside him through the lovely glade, Lending his rich luxuriant glow Of fancy, all its charms to show, Pointing the stream rejoicing free, As captive set at liberty, Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, And clamoring joyful on her road; Pointing where, up the sunny banks, The trees retire in scatter'd ranks, Save where, advanced before the rest, On knoll or hillock rears his crest, Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, As champions, when their band is broke,

IV. Bertram awaited not the sight Which sunrise shows from Barnard's height, But from the towers, preventing day, With Wilfrid took his early way, While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, Still mingled in the silent dale. By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, The southern bank of Tees they won;

1 MS.--"Staindrop, who, on her silvan way,

Salutes proud Raby's turrets gray.' 3 See Notes to the song of Fair Rosabelle, in the Lay of the Last Minstrel.

* Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the favorite retreats of Sir William Wallace.

* See Appendix, Note M.
* MS.—"For brief the intercourse, I ween,

Such uncongenial souls between ;
Well may you think stern Risingham
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame;
And naught of mutual interest lay

To bind the comrades of the way." 6 See Appendix, Note N.

7 Ibid. Note 0. 6 MS.-"Flashing 10 heaven her sparkling spray,

And clamoring joyful on her way."

Stand forth to guard the rearward post,
The bulwark of the scatter'd host-
All this, and more, might Spenser say,
Yet waste in vain his magic lay,
Wbile Wilfrid eyed the distant tower,
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower.

Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,
And wreathed its garland round their crest,
Or from the spires bade loosely flare
Its tendrils in the middle air.
As pennons wont to wave of old
O'er the high feast of Baron bold,
When revell’d loud the feudal rout,
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout:
Such and more wild is Greta's roar,
And such the echoes from her shore.
And so the ivied banners gleam,
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream.

VII. The open vale is soon pass'd o'er, Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more;' Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, A wild and darker course they keep, A stern and lone, yet lovely road, As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode !? Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, Deeper and narrower grew the dell; It seem'd some mountain, rent and riven, A channel for the stream had given, So high the cliffs of limestone gray Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, Yielding, along their rugged base, A flinty footpath's niggard space, Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, May hear the headlong torrent rave, And like a steed in frantic fit, That flings the froth from curb and bit, May view her chafe her waves to spray, O'er every

rock that bars her way, Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, Thick as the schemes of human pride That down life's current drive amain, As frail, as frothy, and as vain!

VIII. The cliffs that rear their haughty head High o'er the river's darksome bed, Were now all naked, wild, and gray, Now waving all with greenwood spray; Here trees to every crevice clung, And o'er the dell their branches hung; And there, all splinter'd and uneven, The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven;

Now from the stream the rocks recede,
But leave between no sunny mead,
No, nor the spot of pebbly sand,
Oft found by such a mountain strand;"
Forming such warm and dry retreat,
As fancy deems the lonely seat,
Where hermit, wandering from his cell,
His rosary might love to tell.
But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew
A dismal grove of sable yew,
With whose sad tints were mingled seen
The blighted fir's sepulchral green.
Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast,
The earth that nourish'd them to blast;
For never knew that swarthy grove
The verdant hue that fairies love;
Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower,
Arose within its baleful bower:
The dank and sable earth receives
Its only carpet from the leaves,
That, from the withering branches cast,
Bestrew'd the ground with every blast.
Though now the sun was o'er the hill,
In this dark spot 'twas twilight still,
Save that on Greta's farther side
Some straggling beams through copsewood

And wild and savage contrast made

Waved wildly trembling o'er the scene,

Waved wild above the clamorous stream." 7 MS.

"a torrent's strand; Where in the warm and dry retreat,

May fancy form some hermit's seat." 8 MS.-" A darksome grove of funeral yew,

Where trees a baleful shadow cast,
The ground that nourish'd them to blast,
Mingled with whose sad tints were seen

The blighted fir's sepulchral green."
• MS." In this dark grove 'twas twilight still,

Save that upon the rocks opposed
Some straggling beams of morn reposed;
And wild and savage contrast made
That bleak and dark funereal shade
With the bright tints of early day,
Which, struggling through the greenwood spray,
Upon the rock's wild summit lay."

1 MS.--" And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ;

Sinking mid Greta's thickets green,

The journeyers seek another scene." 2 See Appendix, Note P. 8 MS.—-* Yielding their rugged base beside

A { lintard } path by Greta's tide."
MS.-"That Hings the foam from curb and bit,

Chafing her waves to whiten wrath,

O'er every rock that bars her path,

Till down her boiling eddies ride," &c. 6 MS.-" The frequent idy swathed their breast,

And wreathed its tendrils round their crest,
Or from their summit bade them fall,

And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl." • MS —" And so the ivy's banners Green,


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