Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

Artornish tower. They also see a small vessel, the sport of the winds and waves, which with difficulty reaches the castle, and from which, after some parley with the Warder, are landed two noble persons, and a female under their care. With their reception in Artornish the canto concludes; and, except, perhaps, the scene on their arrival, and a few slight sketches of the situation and feelings of Edith, this part contains but little that is worthy of selection. The description of the bridal feast, in the second canto, has several animated lines but the real power and poetry of this author do not appear to us to be called out until the occasion of the Highland quarrel which follows the feast. While the company is yet waiting for the Holy Man' to celebrate the nuptials, (an arrival which Ronald does not anticipate with much impatience,) it is discovered that the strangers are "The Bruce," Edward, his brother, and the lady Isabel. The Earl of Lorn, stung with revengeful feelings for the death of the Red Comyn, who had been killed, as his country's enemy, by "The Bruce," rises in fierce defiance against him; and the picture of the Bridal-hall turned into the arena of an approaching battle is fine and original. Lord Ronald has in vain interfered to protect the strangers, and to save the rights of hospitality from violation:

"Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied,

"Of odds or match!-when Comyn died,
Three daggers clash'd within his side!
Talk not to me of sheltering hall,
The church of God saw Comyn fall!
On God's own altar stream'd his blood,
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood
The ruthless murderer-e'en as now-
With armed hand and scornful brow.-
Up, all who love me! blow on blow!
And lay the outlaw'd felons low!"
Then up sprung many a mainland lord,
Obedient to their chieftain's word.
Barcaldine's arm is high in air,
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare,
Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath,
And clench'd is Dermid's hand of death.
Their mutter'd threats of vengeance swell
Into a wild and warlike yell;
Onward they press with weapons high,
The affrighted females shriek and fly,
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray
Had darken'd ere its noon of day,

But
every chief of birth and fame,
That from the Isles of Ocean came,

At Ronald's side that hour withstood
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood.

Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high,
Lord of the misty hills of Skye,-
Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane,
Duart, of bold Clan Gillian's strain,
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay,
Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay,

Soon as they saw the broad-swords glance,
With ready weapons rose at once,
More prompt, that many an ancient feud,
Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd,
Glow'd twixt the chieftains of Argyle,
And many a lord of ocean's isle.

Wild was the scene - each sword was bare,
Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hair,
In gloomy opposition set,

Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met;
Blue gleaming o'er the social board,
Flash'd to the torches many a sword;
And soon those bridal lights may shine
On purple blood for rosy wine.

While thus for blows and death prepared,
Each heart was up, each weapon bared,
Each foot advanced, a surly pause
Still reverenced hospitable laws.
All menaced violence, but alike
Reluctant each the first to strike,
(For aye accursed in minstrel line
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,
And, match'd in numbers and in might,
Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight.)
Thus threat and murmur died away,

Till on the crowded hall there lay
Such silence, as the deadly still,

Ere bursts the thunder on the hill.'

We pass over the alarm of the ladies, the arrival of the Abbot, his accusation of "The Bruce" for the murder of Comyn, the calm and dignified answer of the King, and proceed as follows:

• Like man by prodigy amazed,

Upon the King the Abbot gazed;
Then o'er his pallid features glance
Convulsions of extatic trance.

His breathing came more thick and fast,
And from his pale blue eyes were cast
Strange rays of wild and wandering light;
Uprise his locks of silver white,

Flush'd

[ocr errors]

Flush'd is his brow, through every vein
In azure tide the currents strain,
And undistinguish'd accents broke
The awful silence ere he spoke.

"De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread
To speak my curse upon thy head,
And give thee as an outcast o'er
To him who burns to shed thy gore;
But, like the Midianite of old,

Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controul'd,
I feel within mine aged breast
A power that will not be repress'd.
It prompts my voice, it swells my veins,
It burns, it maddens, it constrains!-
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow
Hath at God's altar slain thy foe:
O'er-master'd yet by high behest,

I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd!"
He spoke, and o'er the astonish'd throng
Was silence, awful, deep, and long.

[ocr errors]

Again that light has fired his eye,
Again his form swells bold and high,
The broken voice of age is gone,
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone:
"Thrice vanquish'd on the battle-plain,
Thy followers slaughter'd, fled, or ta'en,
A hunted wanderer on the wild,
On foreign shores a man exiled,
Disown'd, deserted, and distress'd,
`I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd;
Bless'd in the hall and in the field,
Under the mantle as the shield.
Avenger of thy country's shame,
Restorer of her injured fame,
Bless'd in thy sceptre and thy sword,
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord,
Bless'd in thy deeds and in thy fame,
What lengthen'd honours wait thy name!
In distant ages, sire to son

Shall tell thy tale of freedom won,
And teach his infants, in the use
Of earliest speech, to faulter Bruce.
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along
Thy course, the theme of many a song!
The Power, whose dictates swell my breast,
Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd!
Enough my short-lived strength decays,

[ocr errors]

And sinks the momentary blaze.
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke,
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ;

Brethren

Brethren, our errand here is o'er,

Our task discharged. - Unmoor, unmoor!"
His priests received the exhausted monk,
As breathless in their arms he sunk.
Punctual his orders to obey,

The train refused all longer stay,

Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away.'

In the third canto, we have the flight of Edith from Artornish, the dismissal of Edward Bruce with the lady Isabel to Ireland, and the approach of the King and Lord Ronald to the Hebrides. Here are some vivid and (we have no doubt) exact descriptions of scenery :

(St. Mary! what a scene is here!' Page 97.)

but we meet with little action or interest in the conduct of the poem until we arrive at the cave of some Highlanders, who, as usual, turn out to be banditti, or rather hired assassins. In the corner of their savage abode, sits a melancholy and speechless boy, their prisoner by chance of war, by whose warning signal the King is awakened in time to save his own life, although not that of Allan, his faithful page; and the dreams of the different individuals are well contrasted, previously to the fearful catastrophe which we have mentioned. In the conflict, (where, as throughout the poem, the personal strength of King Robert is faithfully recorded from the traditions of the day,) the mute and captive youth is actively instrumental in assisting Bruce and the Lord of the Isles, and, after the ruffians have been dispatched, seems by the confession of the chieftains themselves, to have well deserved his deliverance: resting on his bloody blade,

The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
"Now shame upon us both!-that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven,

And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high,

For strange deliverance given.

His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!".
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But mark'd him shudder at the sword;
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
"Alas, poor child! unfitting part
Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart,
And form so slight as thine,
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then, in his stead, a patron gave

Of wayward lot like mine;

A land

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Was false, that she had hoisted sail.".

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The island lord bade sad farewell
To Allan: "Who shall tell this tale,"
He said, "in halls of Donagaile!
Oh, who his widow'd mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell!
Rest, thee, poor youth! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;
While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie,
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!"
And now the eastern mountain's head
On the dark lake threw lustre red;
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak
Ravine and precipice and peak-
(So earthly power at distance shows;
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.)
O'er sheets of granite dark and broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,

And the mute page moves slow behind.'

We scarcely know whether we could have selected a passage from the poem that will more fairly illustrate its general merits and pervading blemishes, than the one which we have just quoted. The same happy mixture of moral remark and vivid painting of dramatic situations frequently occurs, and is as frequently debased by prosaic expressions and couplets, and by every variety of ungrammatical licence, or even barbarism. Our readers, in short, will immediately here discover the powerful hand that has so often presented them with descriptions calculated at once to exalt and animate their thoughts, and to lower and deaden the language which is their vehicle:-but, as we have before observed, again and again we believe, Mr. Scott is inaccessible even to the mildest and the most just reproof on this subject. We really believe that he cannot write correct English; and we therefore dismiss him as an incurable, with unfeigned compassion for this one fault, and with the highest admiration of his many redeeming virtues. Our critical vengeance will much better be wreaked (wroke,' if Mr. Scott

[ocr errors]
« ElőzőTovább »