Volume I Part 37 (1/2)

But ah! the poor fiddler soon chanced to die, As a' men to dust must return; An' the poor widow cried, wi' the tear in her e'e, That as lang as she lived she wad mourn.

Alane by the hearth she disconsolate sat, Lamenting the day that she saw, An' aye as she look'd on the fiddle she grat, That silent now hang on the wa'.

Fair shane the red rose on the young widow's cheek, Sae newly weel washen wi' tears, As in came a younker some comfort to speak, Wha whisper'd fond love in her ears.

”Dear la.s.sie,” he cried, ”I am smit wi' your charms, Consent but to marry me now, I 'm as good as ever laid hair upon thairms, An' I 'll cheer baith the fiddle an' you.”

The young widow blush'd, but sweet smiling she said, ”Dear sir, to dissemble I hate, If we twa thegither are doom'd to be wed, Folks needna contend against fate.”

He took down the fiddle as dowie it hung, An' put a' the thairms in tune, The young widow dighted her cheeks an' she sung, For her heart lap her sorrows aboon.

Now sound sleep the dead in his cauld bed o' clay, For death still the dearest maun sever; For now he 's forgot, an' his widow's fu' gay, An' his fiddle 's as merry as ever.

LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF AN IRISH CHIEF.

He 's no more on the green hill, he has left the wide forest, Whom, sad by the lone rill, thou, loved dame, deplorest: We saw in his dim eye the beam of life quiver, Its bright orb to light again no more for ever.

Loud tw.a.n.g'd thy bow, mighty youth, in the foray, Dread gleam'd thy brand in the proud field of glory; And when heroes sat round in the Psalter of Tara, His counsel was sage as was fatal his arrow.

When in war's loud commotion the hostile Dane landed, Or seen on the ocean with white sail expanded, Like thee, swoll'n stream, down our steep vale that roarest, Fierce was the chieftain that hara.s.s'd them sorest.

Proud stem of our ancient line, nipt while in budding, Like sweet flowers' too early gem spring-fields bestudding, Our n.o.ble pine 's fall'n, that waved on our mountain,-- Our mighty rock dash'd from the brink of our fountain.

Our lady is lonely, our halls are deserted-- The mighty is fallen, our hope is departed-- Loud wail for the fate from our clan that did sever, Whom we shall behold again no more for ever.

THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.

Adieu, lovely Summer! I see thee declining, I sigh, for thy exit is near; Thy once glowing beauties by Autumn are pining, Who now presses hard on thy rear.

The late blowing flowers now thy pale cheek adorning, Droop sick as they nod on the lea; The groves, too, are silent, no minstrel of morning Shrill warbles his song from the tree.

Aurora peeps silent, and sighs a lorn widow, No warbler to lend her a lay, No more the shrill lark quits the dew-spangled meadow, As wont for to welcome the day.

Sage Autumn sits sad now on hill, dale, and valley, Each landscape how pensive its mien!

They languish, they languis.h.!.+ I see them fade daily, And losing their liv'ry of green.

O Virtue, come waft me on thy silken pinions, To where purer streamlets still flow, Where summer, unceasing, pervades thy dominions, Nor stormy bleak wint'ry winds blow.

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

Sir Walter Scott, the most chivalrous of Scottish poets, and the most ill.u.s.trious of British novelists, was born in Edinburgh, on the 15th of August 1771. His father, Walter Scott, Writer to the Signet, was descended from a younger branch of the baronial house of the Scotts of Harden, of which Lord Polwarth is the present representative. On his mother's side his progenitors were likewise highly respectable: his maternal grandfather, Dr John Rutherford, was Professor of the Practice of Physic in the University of Edinburgh, and his mother's brother, Dr Daniel Rutherford, an eminent chemist, afterwards occupied the chair of Botany. His mother was a person of a vigorous and cultivated mind. Of a family of twelve children, born to his parents, six of whom survived infancy, Walter only evinced the possession of the uncommon attribute of genius. He was born a healthy child, but soon after became exposed to serious peril by being some time tended by a consumptive nurse. When scarcely two years old he was seized with an illness which deprived him of the proper use of his right limb, a loss which continued during his life. With the view of retrieving his strength, he was sent to reside with his paternal grandfather, Robert Scott, who rented the farm of Sandyknowe, in the vicinity of Smailholm Tower, in Roxburghs.h.i.+re.

Shortly after his arrival at Sandyknowe, he narrowly escaped destruction through the frantic desperation of a maniac attendant; but he had afterwards to congratulate himself on being enabled to form an early acquaintance with rural scenes. No advantage accruing to his lameness, he was, in his fourth year, removed to Bath, where he remained twelve months, without experiencing benefit from the mineral waters. During the three following years he chiefly resided at Sandyknowe. In his eighth year he returned to Edinburgh, with his mind largely stored with border legends, chiefly derived from the recitations of his grandmother, a person of a romantic inclination and sprightly intelligence. At this period, Pope's translation of Homer, and the more amusing songs in Ramsay's ”Evergreen,” were his favourite studies; and he took delight in reading aloud, with suitable emphasis, the more striking pa.s.sages, or verses, to his mother, who sought every incentive to stimulate his native propensity. In 1778 he was sent to the High School, where he possessed the advantage of instruction under Mr Luke Fraser, an able scholar, and Dr Adam, the distinguished rector. His progress in scholars.h.i.+p was not equal to his talents; he was already a devotee to romance, and experienced greater gratification in retiring with a friend to some quiet spot in the country, to relate or to listen to a fict.i.tious tale, than in giving his princ.i.p.al attention to the prescribed tasks of the schoolroom. As he became older, the love of miscellaneous literature, especially the works of the great masters of fiction, amounted to a pa.s.sion; and as his memory was singularly tenacious, he acc.u.mulated a great extent and variety of miscellaneous information.

On the completion of his attendance at the High School, he was sent to reside with some relations at Kelso; and in this interesting locality his growing attachment to the national minstrelsy and legendary lore received a fresh impulse. On his return to Edinburgh he entered the University, in which he matriculated as a student of Latin and Greek, in October 1793. His progress was not more marked than it had been at the High School, insomuch that Mr Dalziel, the professor of Greek, was induced to give public expression as to his hopeless incapacity. The professor fortunately survived to make ample compensation for the rashness of his prediction.

The juvenile inclinations of the future poet were entirely directed to a military life; but his continued lameness interposed an insuperable difficulty, and was a source of deep mortification. He was at length induced to adopt a profession suitable to his physical capabilities, entering into indentures with his father in his fourteenth year. To his confinement at the desk, sufficiently irksome to a youth of his aspirations, he was chiefly reconciled by the consideration that his fees as a clerk enabled him to purchase books.

Rapid growth in a const.i.tution which continued delicate till he had attained his fifteenth year, led to his bursting a blood-vessel in the second year of his apprentices.h.i.+p. While precluded from active duty, being closely confined to bed, and not allowed to exert himself by speaking, he was still allowed to read; a privilege which accelerated his acquaintance with general literature. To complete his recovery, he was recommended exercise on horseback; and in obeying the instructions of his physician, he gratified his own peculiar tastes by making himself generally familiar with localities and scenes famous in Scottish story.