He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit,

He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit;

Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won,
And now must the faith of my mistress be shown:
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run,
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun.

"I restore,' says my master, the garment I've worn, And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn;

For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more,

Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd with gore."

Then deep blush'd the Princess-yet kiss'd she and press'd

The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast. "Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show,

If I value the blood on this garment or no.'

(2.)-CHAP. XI,

One thing is certain in our Northern land,
Allow that birth, or valour, wealth, or wit,
Give each precedence to their possessor,
Envy, that follows on such eminence,

As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,
Shall pull them down each one.
Sir David Lindsay.

(3.)-CHAP. XIII.

You talk of Gaiety and Innocence! The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, They parted ne'er to meet again; and Malice Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety, From the first moment when the smiling infant Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with, To the last chuckle of the dying miser, Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear His wealthy neighbour has become a bankrupt.

When with Poetry dealing
Room enough in a shieling:
Neither cabin nor hovel
Too small for a novel :

Though my back I should rub

On Diogenes' tub,

How my fancy could prance

In a dance of romance!

But my house I must swap

With some Brobdignag chap,

(2.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)—СПАР. II.

COME forth, old man-Thy daughter's side
Is now the fitting place for thee:
When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride,
The youthful tendril yet may hide

The ruins of the parent tree.

(2.)-CHAP. III.

Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage,
To vapour forth the acts of this sad age,
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West,
And northern clashes, where you still fought best;
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,
When bullets flew between the head and ear,
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit,
Of you I speak.

Legend of Captain Jones.

Nap."

Life, vol. vii. p. 391.

There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower.But Duty guides not that way-see her stand,

Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp.

1827.

"SIR CUTHBERT SHARP, who had been particularly kind and attentive to Scott when at Sunderland, happened, in writing to him on some matter of business, to say he hoped he had not forgotten his friends in that quarter. Sir Walter's answer to Sir Cuthbert (who had been introduced to him by his old and dear friend Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth) begins thus :

FORGET thee? No! my worthy fere !
Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer!
Death sooner stretch me on my bier!
Forget thee? No.

Forget the universal shout 1
When "canny Sunderland" spoke out-
A truth which knaves affect to doubt-

Forget thee? No.

Forget you? No-though now-a-day I've heard your knowing people say, Disown the debt you cannot pay, You'll find it far the thriftiest way

But I-O no.

Forget your kindness found for all room,
In what, though large, seem'd still a small room,
Forget my Surtees in a ball-room-

Forget you? No.

Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles,
And beauty tripping to the fiddles,
Forget my lovely friends the Liddells-
Forget you? No.

"So much for oblivion, my dear Sir C.; and now, having dismounted from my Pegasus, who is rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like an old dragoon as I am," &c. &c.-Life of Scott, vol. ix., p. 165.

From

Chronicles of the Canongate.

1827.

MOTTOES.

(1.) THE TWO DROVERS.

CHAP. II.

WERE ever such two loving friends!—
How could they disagree?

An allusion to the enthusiastic reception of the Duke of Wellington at Sunderland.-Ed.

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.1

UP rose the sun, o'er moor and mead;
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede;
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed,

Career'd along the lea;

The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound,
As if to match the gamesome hound;
His horn the gallant huntsman wound:
They were a jovial three!

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came,
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game
On Cheviot's rueful day;
Keeldar was matchless in his speed,
Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed,
A peerless archer, Percy Rede:

And right dear friends were they.

The chase engross'd their joys and woes,
Together at the dawn they rose,
Together shared the noon's repose,
By fountain or by stream;
And oft, when evening skies were red,
The heather was their common bed,
Where each, as wildering fancy led,
Still hunted in his dream.

1 These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from Mr. Cooper's subject "The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Gem of 1829, a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In the acknowledgment to his contributors, Mr. Hood says, "To Sir Walter Scott-not merely a literary feather in my cap,

but a whole plume of them-I owe, and with the hand of my heart acknowledge, a deep obligation. A poem from his pen, is likely to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, at least a very Old Mortality."-Preface, p. 4. The original painting by Cooper, remains at Abbotsford.-ED.