Imágenes de páginas

Were every

(2.)–CHAP. XI.

Till the bewildering scenes around us seem One thing is certain in our Northern land,

The vain productions of a feverish dream. Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,

Astolpho, a Romance. Give each precedence to their possessor, Envy, that follows on such eminence,

(9.)-CHAP. XXIV. As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,

A grain of dust
Shall pull them down each one.

Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject
Sir David Lindsay. Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for ;

A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, (3.)-CHAP. XIII.

Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy. You talk of Gayety and Innocence !

Even this small cause of anger and disgust The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, They parted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice And wreck their noblest purposes. Has ever since been playmate to light Gayety,

The Crusade. From the first moment when the smiling infant Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with,

(10.)-CHAP. XXVI. To the last chuckle of the dying miser,

The tears I shed must ever fall!

I Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear


not for an absent swain, His wealthy neighbor has become a bankrupt.

For time may happier hours recall,
Old Play.

And parted lovers meet again.
(4.)-CHAP. XVI.

I weep not for the silent dead, 'Tis not her sense—for sure, in that

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er, There's nothing more than common;

And those that loved their steps must tread, And all her wit is only chat,

When death shall join to part no more. Like any other woman.


But worse than absence, worse than death, (5)–CHAP. XVII.

She wept her lover's sullied fame, bair his head a life,

And, fired with all the pride of birth, upon And every life were to be supplicated

She wept a soldier's injured name.

By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled,
Life after life should out like waning stars
Before the day break-or as festive lamps,
Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel,
Each after each are quench'd when guests depart.

Life of Napoleon.
Old Play.
(6.)-CHAP. XIX.

JUNE, 1825.
Must we then sheath our still victorious sword;
Turn back our forward step, which ever trode

WHILE Scott was engaged in writing the life of O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory; Napoleon, Mr. Lockhart says, “ The rapid acUnclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow, cumulation of books and MSS. was at once flatterIn God's own house we hung upon our shoulders; ing and alarming; and one of his notes to me, That vow, as unaccomplish'd as the promise about the middle of June, had these rhymes by Which village nurses make to still their children,

way postscript:And after think no more of ?The Crusade, a Tragedy.

When with Poetry dealing

Room enough in a shieling : (7.)--CHAP. xx.

Neither cabin nor hovel
When beauty leads the lion in her toils,

Too small for a novel:
Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane, Though my back I should rub
Far less expand the terror of his fangs,

On Diogenes' tub,
So great Alcides made his club a distaff,

How my fancy could prance And spun to please fair Omphalé. Anonymous. In a dance of romance !

But my house I must swap (8.)-CHAP. XXIII.

With some Brobdignag chap, 'Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her

Ere I grapple, God bless me !• with Emperor hand,

Nap." To change the face of the mysterious land;

Life, vol. vii. p. 391.



From Woodstock.

(3.)-CHAP. IV.

Yon path of greensward

Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion; 1826.

There is no flint to gall thy tender foot,

There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shos(1.)-- AN HOUR WITH THEE.

But Duty guides not that way—see her stand,

With wand entwined with amaranth, near yea An hour with thee ! - When earliest day

cliffs. Dapples with gold the eastern gray,

Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footOh, what can frame my mind to bear

steps, The toil and turmoil, cark and care,

Oft where she leads thy head must bear the New griefs, which coming hours unfold,

storm, And sad remembrance of the old ?

And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and One hour with thee.


But she will guide thee up to noble heights, One hour with thee !--When burning June Which he who gains seems native of the sky, Waves his red flag at pitch of noon;

While earthly things lie stretch'd beneath his What shall repay the faithful swain,

feet, His labor on the sultry plain;

Diminish'd, shrunk, and valuelessAnd more than cave or sheltering bough,

Anonymous. Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow One hour with thee.

(4.)–CHAP. V.

My tongue pads slowly under this new language, One hour with thee!-When sun is set,

And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phraO, what can teach me to forget The thankless labors of the day;

They may be great in worth and weight, but hangi The hopes, the wishes, flung away;

Upon the native glibness of my language
The increasing wants, and lessening gains, Like Saul's plate-armor on the shepherd boy,
The master's pride, who scorns my pains ?- Encumbering and not arming him.
One hour with thee.

J. B.
Chap. xxyi.

(5.)—CHAP. X.

Here we have one head
Upon two bodies—your two-headed bullock
Is but an ass to such a prodigy.

These two have but one meaning, thought, and (2.)— MOTTOES.


And when the single noddle has spoke out, (1)–CHAP. II.

The four legs scrape assent to it. COME forth, old man---Thy daughter's side

Old Play. Is now the fitting place for thee: When Time hath quell’d the oak’s bold pride,

(6.)-CHAP. XIV. The youthful tendril yet may hide

Deeds are done on earth, The ruins of the parent tree.

Which have their punishment ere the earth

closes (2.)-CHAP. III.

Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision, stage,

Distinct and real, of unearthly being, To vapor forth the acts of this sad age,

All ages witness, that beside the couch Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost West,

Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. And northern clashes, where you still fought best;

Old Play. Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear, When bullets flew between the head and ear,

Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, We do that in our zeal,
Of you I speak.

Our calmer moments are afraid to answer.
Legend of Captain Jones.


(8.)-CHAP. XXIV.

"So much for oblivion, my dear Sir C.; and The deadliest snakes are those which, twined now, having dismounted from my Pegasus, who is ’mongst flowers,

rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like an old draBlend their bright coloring with the varied blos- goon as I am,” &c. &c.Life of Scott, vol. ix. p. 165.

soms, Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew

drop; In all so like what nature has most harmless, That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger, from Chronicles of the Canongate. Is poison'd unawares.

Old Play.


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1 An allusion to the enthusiastic reception of the Duke of composition, to say nothing of her singing, might make any Wellington at Sunderland.--Ep.

poet proud of his verses, Mrs. Robert Arkwright, born Miss · This lay has been set to beautiful music by a lady whose Kemble.

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The Death of Beeldar


PERCY or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redesdale, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradition as a huntsman, and a soldier. He was, upon two occasions, singularly unfortunate; once, when an arrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed his celebrated dog Keeldar; and again, when, being on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the hands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was murdered. Mr. Cooper's painting of the first of these incidents, suggested the following stanzas.'

The game's afoot !—Halloo! Halloo! Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue ; But woe the shaft that erring flew

That e'er it left the string ! And ill betide the faithless yew! The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew, And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true

Has drench'd the gray.goose wing. The noble hound-he dies, he dies, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,

Without a groan or quiver. Now day may break and bugle sound, And whoop and hollow ring around, And o'er his couch the stag may bound,

But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

1 These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from Mr. Coop- a whole plume of them-I owe, and with the hand of my heart er's subject, “ The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Gem acknowledge, a deep obligation. A poem

from his


is likeof 1829, a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In ly to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, at the acknowledgment to his contributors, Mr. Hood says, least a very Old Mortality."-- Preface, p. 4. The original Sir Walter Scott--not merely a rary feather in my cap, but | painting by Cooper, remains at Abbotsford.—ED.


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