The Complete Poetical and Dramatic Works of Sir Walter Scott. With an introductory memoir by W. B. Scott. With illustrations

Front matter

THE COMPLETE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT sie -fadJ^ot/cA/fc- ',.. THE COMPLETE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS Of SIR WALTER SCOTT IBitfj mx Jf-thotructaro fpemnir BY WILLIAM B. SCOTT WITH ILLUSTRATIONS LONDON GEORGE ROUT LEDGE AND SONS THE BROADWAY, LUDCATE NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET LONDON '. PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER, M1LFOED LANE, STRAND, W.C CONTENTS. PAGE Preliminary Memoir .... 9 Tne Lay of the Last Minstrel : — Introduction to Edition 1830 . . 17 Preface to First Edition, 1805 . . 22 Introduction to Poem in Verse . . 22 Canto 1 23 .,n " • ■ =7 ,, ni 32 „ IV 36 „ V 43 „ VI 48 Notes to The Lay of the Last Minstrel . 55 Marmion : — Introduction to Edition 1 S30. . . 78 Advertisement to First Edition, 1808 . 80 Introduction to Canto I. ... 80 Canto I.— The Castle .... 83 Introduction to Canto IT. 89 Canto II. — The Convent .... 92 Introduction to Canto III. ... 98 Canto III.— The Hostel, or Inn . . 100 Introduction to Canto IV. . . .106 Canto IV.— The Camp . . . . 10S Introduction to Canto V. . . . 115 Canto V.— The Court . . . -117 Introduction to Canto VI. . . .127 Canto VI.— The Battle . . . • 129 • Notes to Marmion 14° The Lady of the Lake : — Introduction to Edition 1G30 . . • 153 Canto I.— The Chase . . . • 155 „ II.— The Island . . . . 1-3 „ III.— The Gathering . . -172 IV.— The Prophecy . . ■ 180 ,, V.— The Combat . . . . 1S9 „ VI.— The Guard-Room . . .198 Notes to The Lady of the Lake . . 207 The Vision of Don Roderick :— Dedication and Preface .... 223 .

PAP.E Introduction 224 The Vision of Don Roderick . . . 225 Conclusion 234 Notes to Don Roderick , 237 ROKEEY : — Introduction to Edition 1830 . . . 241 Canto 1 243 „ II 251 „ HI " . .258 „ IV 267 „ V 274 „ VI 283 Notes to Rokeby 291 The Bridal of Triermain :— Preface to First Edition, 1813 . . 306 Introduction 307 Canto 1 3°9 „ II 312 ,, III 319 Conclusion 327 Notes to Bridal of Triermain . . . 3-8 The Lord of the Isles : — Introduction to Edition 1830 . . . 329 Advertisement to First Edition, 1814 . 330 Canto 1 330 „ II 336 „ HI 343 „ IV 350 „ V 353 „ VI 365 Conclusion 374 Notes to The Lord of the Isles . . 375 The Field of "Waterloo :— Advertisement to Edition 18.5 . . 400 Conclusion 4°5 CONTENTS. PAGE FACE Harold the Dauntless : — Introduction 406 Canto 1 407 II. 410 „ HI 413 „ IV 416 V A-o „ VI 4=3 Conclusion 426 Contributions to the Border Minstrelsy : — Thomas the Rhymer. — Part I. . . 4-7 >.

II- • • 43i „ HI- • - 437 Glenfinlas ; or. Lord Ronald's Coronach 440 The Eve of Saint John .... 444 Notes to The Eve of Saint John . . 446 Cadyow Castle 449 The Gray Brother 453 War-Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons 456 Translations or Imitations from the German :— Thc Wild Huntsman .... 457 "William and Helen 460 Thc Fire-King 463 Frederick and Alice .... 466 The Erl-King 457 Tho Battle of Sempach .... 468 Thc Noble Moringer .... 471 Lyrical and Miscellaneous Pieces: — Hellvellyn 4_- The Maid of Toro 475 The Palmer 47£ Wandering Willie 476 The Maid of Neidpath .... 477 The Bard's Incantation .... 477 To a Lady.— With Fluwcrs from a Roman Wall 47g The Violet ....*.. 47S Hunting Song 478 The Resolve 47S Thc Last Words of Cad wallon ; or, The Dying Bard 479 The Nurman Horseshoe .... 47g Tlie Poacher 48o S«ng 4Si Epitaph 4S2 Health to Lord Melville . . . . 4S2 The Bold Dragoon ; or, The Plain of Badajos 483 On the Massacre of Glcncoe, 1692 . . 4S3 Prologue to Miss Baillie's Play of the " Family Legend " .... 484 For a' that nn* a' that .... 484 Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the Pitt Club of Scotland . . - 485 Pharos Loquitur 485 Lines, addressed to Ranald MacDonald, Esq., of Staffa 485 Letter in Verse on the Voyage with the Commissioners of Northern Lights : addressed to His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch 485 Verses, Mottoes, etc, from the Waverley Novels and Tales; — From " Waverley."

Introduction

. A poem of nearly thirty years' standing may be supposed hardly to need an Introduction, since, without one, it has been able to keep itself afloat through the best part of a generation. Nevertheless, as, in the edition of the Waverley Novels now in course of publication, I have imposed on myself the task of saying something concerning the purpose and history i Published iu 4to (£i 51.) 1805. C acknowledgment of his professional talents which they had it in their power to offer. But this is an incident much beyond the ideas of a period of thirty years' distance, when a barrister who really possessed any turn for lighter literature, was at as much pains to conceal it, as if it had in reality been some thing to be ashamed of ; and I could mention mor! than one instance in which literature and society have suffered much loss, that juris prudence might be enriched.

Such, however, was not my case ; for the reader will not wonder that my open inter ference with matters of light literature diminished my employment in the weightier matters of the law. Nor did the solicitors, upon whose choice the counsel takes rank in his profession, do me less than justice, by regarding others among my contemporaries as titter to dis charge the duty due to their clients, than a young man who was taken up with running after ballads, whether Teutonic or national. My profession and I, therefore, came to stand nearly upon the footing which honest Slender consoled himself on having established with Mistress Anne Page ; " There was no great love between us at the beginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease it on farther acquaintance." I became sensible that the time was come when I must cither buckle myself resolutely to the "toil by day, the lamp by night," renouncing all the Delilahs of my imagination, or bid adieu to the profession of the law, and hold another course.

I confess my own inclination revolted from the more severe choice, which might have been deemed by many the wiser alternative. As my transgressions had been numerous, my repentance must have been signalized by unusual sacrifices. I ought to have mentioned, that since my fourteenth or fifteenth year, my health, originally delicate, had become extremely robust. From infancy I had laboured under the infirmity of a severe lameness, but, as I believe is usually the case with men of spirit who suffer under personal inconveniences of tins nature, I had, since the improvement of my health, in defiance of this incapacitating circumstance, distinguished myself by the endurance of toil on foot or horseback, having often walked thirty miles a-day, and rode upwards of a hundred, without resting. In this manner I made many pleasant journeys through parts of the country then not very accessible, gaining more amusement and instruction than I have been able to acquire since I have travelled in a more commodious manner.

I practised most silvan sports also, with some success, and with great delight. But these pleasures must have been all re i signed, or used with great moderation, had I determined to regain my station at the bar. . It was even doubtful whether I could, with : perfect character as a jurisconsult, retain a situation in a volunteer corps of cavalry, which ■ I then held. The threats of invasion were at - this time instant and menacing ; the call by , Britain on her children was universal, and was . answered by some, who, like myself, consulted f rather their desire than their ability to bear t arms. My services, however, were found usequity accompanied wdth notes referring to the obscure feuds of barbarous clans, of whose very names civilized history was ignorant. _ It was. on the whole, one of those books which are more praised than they are read.

At this time I stood personally in a different position from that which I occupied when 1 first dipt my desperate pen in ink for other purposes than those of my profession. In 1796, when I first published the translations from Burger, I was an insulated individual, with only my own wants to provide for, and having, in a great measure, my own inclina tions alone to consult. In 1803, when the second edition of the Minstrelsy appeared, I had arrived at a period of life when men, however thoughtless, encounto-r duties and circumstances which press consideration and plans of life upon the most careless minds. I had been for some time married— was the father of a rising family, and, though fully enabled to meet the consequent demands upon me, it was my duty and desire to place myself in a situation which would enable me to make honourable provision against the various con tingencies of life.

It may be readily supposed that the attempts which I had made in literature had been unfavourable to my success at the bar. The god dess Themis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose everywhere else, of a peculiarly jealous disposition. She will not readily consent to share her authority, and sternly demands from her votaries not only that real duty be cue fully attended to and discharged, but that a certain air of business shall be observed even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, if not absolutely necessary, in a young bar rister, to appear completely engrossed by his profession ; however destitute of employment he may in reality be, he ought to preserve, if possible, the appearance of full occupation. He should, therefore, seem perpetually engaged among his law-papers, dusting them, as it were ; and, as Ovid advises the fair, " Si nullns erit pulvis. tamen excute nullura.*' Perhaps such extremity of attention is more especially required, considering the great number of counsellors who are called to the bar, and how very small a proportion of them ave finally disposed, or find encouragement, to follow the law as a profession.

Hence the number of deserters is so great, that the least lingering look behind occasions a young novice to be set down as one of the intending fugi tives. Certain it is, that the Scottish Themis was at this time peculiarly jealous of any flirta tion with the Muses, on the part of those who b Ld ranged themselves under her banners. This was probably owing to her consciousness of the superior attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she has relaxed in some instances in this particular, an eminent example of which has been shown in the case of my friend, Mr. Jeffrey, who, after long conduct ing one of the most influential literary period icals of the age, with unquestionable ability, has been, by the general consent of his brethren, recently elected to be their Dean of Faculty, or President,— being the highest ful in assisting to maintain the discipline of the corps, being tne point on which their constitu tion rendered them most amenable to military criticism.

In other respects, the squadron was a fine one, consisting chiefly of handsome men, well mounted and armed at their own expense. My attention to the corps took up a good deal of time ; and while it occupied many of the happiest hours of my life, it furnished an additional reason for my reluctance again to encounter the severe course of study indispensable to success in the juridical profes sion. general company, without yielding to the very natural temptation of narrowing myself to what is called literary society. By doing so, I imagined I -should escape the besetting sin of listening to language, which, from one motive or other, is apt to ascribe a very undue degree of consequence to literary pursuits, as if they were, indeed, the business, rather than the amusement, of life. The opposite course can only be compared to the injudicious conduct of one who pampers himself with cordial and luscious draughts, until he is unable to endure wholesome bitters.

Like Gil Bias, therefore, I resolved to stick by the society of my com mis, instead of seeking that of a more literary cast, and to maintain my general interest in what was going on around me, reserving thc man of letters for the desk and the library. My second resolution was a corollary from the tirst. I determined that, without shutting my ears to the voice of true criticism, I would pay no regard to that which assumes the form of satire. I therefore resolved to arm myself with that triple brass of Horace, of which those of my profession are seldom held defi cient, against all the roving warfare of satire, parody, and sarcasm ; to laugh if the jest was a good one, or. if otherwise, to let it hum and buzz itself to sleep. It is to the observance of these rules (according to my best belief), that, after a life of thirty years engaged in literary labours of various kinds, I attribute my never having been entangled in any literary quarrel or controversy ; and, which is a still more pleasing result, that 1 have been distinguished by the personal friendship of my most approved contemporaries of all parties.

I adopted, at the same time, another resolu tion, on which it may doubtless be remarked, that it was well for me that I had it in my power to do so, and that, therefore, it is a line of conduct which, depending upon accident, can be less generally applicable in other cases. Yet I fail not to record this part of my plan, convinced that, though it may not be in every one's power to adopt exactly the same resolution, he may nevertheless, by his own exer tions, in some shape or other, attain the object on which it was founded, namely, to secure the means of subsistence, without relying exclusively on literary talents. In this respect, I determined that literature should be my staff, but not my crutch, and that thc profits of my literary labour, however convenient otherwise, should not, if I could help it, become necessary to my ordinary expenses.

With this purpose I resolved, if the interest of my friends could so far favour me, to retire upon any of the respectable offices of the law, in which persons of that profession are glad to take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are judged by others, incompetent to aspire to its higher honours. Upon such a post an author might hope to retreat, without any perceptible alteration of circumstances, whenever the time should arrive that the public grew weary of his endeavours to please, or he himself should tire of the pen. At this period of my life, I possessed so many friends capable of assisting c 2 On the other hand, my father, whose feel ings might have been hurt by my quitting the bar, had been for two or three years dead, so that I had no control to thwart my own inclination ; and my income being equal to all the comforts, and. some of tlu elegancies, of life, I was not pressed to an irksome labour by necessity, that most powerful of motives ; consequently, I was the more easily seduced to choose the employment which was most agreeable to me.

This was yet the easier, that in 1800 I had obtained the prefer ment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire, about ,£300 a-year in value, and which was the more agreeable to me, as in that county I had several friends and relations. But I did not abandon the profession to which I had been educated, without certain prudential resolu tions, which, at the risk of some egotism, I will here mention ; not without the hope that they may be useful to young persons who may stand in circumstances similar to those in which I then stood. In the first place, upon considering the lives and fortunes of persons who had given them selves up to literature, or to the task of pleas ing the public, it seemed to me, that the circumstances which chiefly affected their happiness and character, were those from which Horace has bestowed upon authors the epithet of the Irritable Race.

It requires no depth of philosophic reflection to perceive, that the petty warfare of Pope with the Dunces of his period could not have been carried on without his suffering the most acute torture, such as a man must endure from musquittoes, by whose stings he suffers agony, although he can crush them in his grasp by myriads. Nor is it necessary to call to memory tbe many humiliating instances in which men of the greatest genius have, to avenge some pitiful quarrel, made themselves ridiculous during their lives, to become the still more degraded objects of pity to future times. Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to the genius of the distinguished persons who had fallen into such errors, I concluded there could be no occasion for imitating them in their mistakes, or what I considered as such ; and, in adopting literary pursuits as the principal occupation of my future life, I resolved, if possible, to avoid those weaknesses of temper which seemed to have most easily beset my more celebrated predecessors.

With this view, it was my first resolution to keep as far as was in my power abreast of society, continuing to maintain my place in doubtless for that reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the composer who uses it in more modern days, by encouraging him in a habit of slovenly composition. The necessity of occasional pauses often forces the young poet to pay more attention to sense as the boy's kite rises highest when the tram is loaded by a due counterpoise. The Author was therefore intimidated by what Byron calls the " fatal facility " of the octo-syllabic verse which was otherwise better adapted to his purpose of imitating the more ancient IJO_\Vas not less at a loss for a subject which might admit of being treated with the simpli city and wildness of the ancient ballad.

But accident dictated both a theme .and measure, which decided the subject, as well as the strucme in this object of ambition, that 1 .could hardly over-rate my own prospects of obtain ing the preferment to which I limited my wishes ; and, in fact, I obtained in no long period the reversion of a situation which 1 and the Author had ! been guilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, when he relinquished his forensic practice 1 with the hope of making some figure m the field of literature. But an established character i with the public, in my new capacity, still re mained to be acquired. 1 have noticed, that the translations from Burger had been unsuccessful nor had the original poetry which appeared under the auspices of Mr. Lewis, in the "Tales of Wonder," in any great degree raided my reputation.

It is true, I had private friends disposed to second me m my efforts to obtain popularity. But I was sports man enough to know, that if the greyhound does not run well, the halloos of his patrons will not obtain the prize for him. Neither was I ignorant that the practice of ballad writing was for the present out of fashion, and that any attempt to revive it, or to found a poetical character upon it, would certainly fail of success. The ballad measure itself, which was once listened to as to an enchanting melody, had become hackneyed i and sickening, from its being the accompani ment of every grinding hand-organ ; and besides, a long Work in quatrains, whether those of the common ballad, or such as are termed elegiac, has an effect upon the mind like that of the bed of Procrustes upon the human body ; for, as it must be both awkward and difficult to carry on a long sentence from one stanza to another, it follows, that the meaning of each period must be comprehended within four lines, and equally so that it must lie extended so as to fill that space.

The alternate dilation and contraction thus rendered necessary is singularly unfavourable to narrative composition ; and the " Goudibert " of Sir William D'Avenant, though containing many striking pass.ages, has never become popular, owing chiefly to its being told in this species of elegiac verse. In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the idea occurred to the Author of using the measured short line, which forms the structure of so much minstrel poetry, that it may be properly termed the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction ; and which appears so natural to our language, that the very best of our poets have not been able to protract it into the verse properly called Heroic, without the use of epithets which are, to say the least, unnecessary.' But, on the other hand, the extreme facility of the short couplet, which seems congenial to our language, and was, ture of the poem.

The lovely voung Countess of Dalkeitn, afterwards Harriet Duchess of Buccleuch. had come to the land of her husband with the de sire of making herself acquainted with its traditions and customs, as well as its manners and historv. All who remember this lady will .agree that the intellectual character of her extreme beautv, the amenity .and courtesy of her manners, the soundness of her under standing, and her unbounded benevolence, gave more the idea of an angelic visitant, than of a being belonging to this netherworld : and such a thought was but too consistent with the short sp.ace she was permitted to tarry among us. Of course, where all made it a pride and pleasure to gratify her wishes, she soon heard enough of Border lore : among others, an aged gentleman of property.1 near Langholm, com municated to her ladyship the story of Gilpin Homer, a tradition in which the narrator, and many more of that country, were firm believers.

The young Countess, much delighted with the legend, and the gravity and full confidence with which it was told, enjoined on me as a task to compose a ballad on the subject Of course, to hear was to obey ; and thus the goblin story, objected to by several critics as an excrescence upon the poem, was, in fact, the occasion of its being written. A chance similar to that which dictated the subject, gave me also the hint of a new mode of treating it. We had at that time the lease of a pleasant cottage, near Lasswade. on the romantic banks of the Esk, to which we escaped vwhen the vacations of the Court permitted me so much leisure. Here I had the pleasure to receive a visit from Mr. Stoddart (now Sir John Stoddart, Judge-Advocate at Malta), who was .at that time collecting the 1 This was Mr. Beattie of Mlckledale, a man then con siderably upwards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic temper, which be did not at .all times suppress, as the following anecdote will show : A worthy clergyman, now deceased, with better good-will than tact, was endeavour ing to push the senior forward in his recollection of Border ballads and legends, by expressing reitera'ed surprise at his wonderful memory.

" No. sir." said old Mlckledale ; '■ luy memory is good for little, for it cannot retain what ought to be preserved. I can remember all these stories about the auld riding days, which are of no earthly im portance; but were you. reverend sir. b) repeat your best sermon in this drawing-room. 1 could not tell you half au hour afterwards what yon had been speaking about." 1 Thus it has been often remarked, that, in the opening couplets us Pope's translation of the Iliad, there are two syllables forming a superfluous word in each line, as may be observed by attending to such words as are printed in Italics. " Achilles' vi rath to Greece tbe direful spring Of woes unnunilier'd. hea*':**hj goddess, sing ; That wrath which sent to Pluto's gloomy reign, Tbe souls of mighty chiefs in battle slain. Whose hones, unbiiried on the ___ w shore.

Devouring dogs aud hungry vultures tore." particulars which he afterwards embodied in his " Remarks on Local Scenery in Scotland."1 I was of some use to him in procuring the information which he desired, and guiding him to the scenes which he wished to see. In return, he made me better acquainted than I had hitherto been with the poetic effusions which have since made the Lakes of Westmoreland, and the authors by whom they have been sung, so famous wherever the English tongue is spoken. I was already acquainted with the " Joan of Arc, ' the " Thalaba," and the "Metrical Ballads "of Mr. Southey, which bad found their way to Scotland, and were generally admired. But Mr. Stoddart, who bad the advantage of personal friendship with the authors, and who possessed a strong memory with an excellent taste, was able to repeat to me many long specimens of their poetry, which had not yet appeared in print.

Amongst others, was the striking fragment called " Christabel,'' by Mr. Coleridge, which, from the singularly irregular structure of the stanzas, and the liberty which it allowed the author to adapt the sound to the sense, seemed to be exactly suited to such an extravaganza as I meditated on the subject of Gilpin Horncr. As applied to comic and humorous poetry, this mesculanzaof measures had been already used by Anthony Hall, Anstey, Dr. "Wolcott, and others ; but it was in "Christabel' that I first found it used in serious poetry, and it is to Mr. Coleridge that I am bound to make the acknowledgment due fiom the pupil to his master. I observe that Lord Byron, in noticing my obligations to Mr. Coleridge, which I have been always most ready to acknowledge, expressed, or was understood to express, a hope that I did not write an unfriendly review on Mr. Coleridge's I productions.2 On this subject I have only to say, that I do not even know the review which is alluded to ; and were I ever to take the unbecoming freedom of censuring a man of Mr. Coleridge's extraordinary talents, it would be on account of the caprice and indolence with which he has thrown from him, as if in mere wantonness, those unfinished scraps of poetry, which, like the Torso of antiquity, defy the skill of his poetical brethren to complete them.

The charming fragments which the author abandons to their fate, are surely too valuable to be treated like the proofs of care less engravers, the sweepings of whose studios often make the fortune of some painstaking collector. were men whose talents might have raised them to the highest station in literature, had they not preferred exerting them in their own profession of the law, in which they attained equal preferment. 1 was in the habit of con sulting them on my attempts at composition, having equal confidence in their sound taste and friendly sincerity. ' In this specimen 1 had, in the phrase of the Highland servant, packed all that was my own at least, for I had also in cluded a line of invocation, a little softened, from Coleridge — " Mary, mother, shield us well." ; As neither of my friends said much to me on , the subject of the stanzas I showed them : before their departure, I had no doubt that j their disgust had been greater than their good i nature chose to express.

Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, I threw the manuscript into the fire, and thought as little more as I could of the matter. Some time afterwards I met one of my two counsellors, who enquired, with considerable appearance of interest, about tbe progress of the romance I had commenced, and was greatly surprised at learning its fate. He confessed that neither lie nor our mutual friend had been at first able to give a precise opinion on a poem so much out of the common road, but that as they walked home together to the city, they had talked much on the subject, and the result was an earnest desire that I would proceed with the composition. He also added, that some sort of prologue might be necessary, to place the mind of the hearers in the situation to understand and enjoy the poem, and recommended the adoption of such quaint mottoes as Spenser has used to announce the contents of the chapters of the "Faery Queen," such as — " Babe's bloody hands may not be cleaDsed.

The fact; of golden Mean : Her sisters two. Extremities, Her strive to banish clean. I entirely agreed with my friendly critic in the necessity of having some sort of pitchpipe, which might make readers aware of the object, or rather the tone, of the publication. But I doubted whether, in assuming the oracular style of Spenser's mottoes, the interpreter might not be censured as the harder to be understood of the two. I therefore introduced the Old Minstrel, as an appropriate prolocutor, by whom the lay might be sung, or spoken, and the introduction of whom betwixt the cantos, might remind the reader at intervals, of the time, place, and circumstances of the recitation. This species of cadre, or frame, afterwards afforded the poem its name of " The Lay of the Last Minstrel." The work was subsequently shown to other friends during its progress, and received the imprimatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had been already for some time distinguished by his critical talent.