scribed manner, to justify dispraise it should be shown, that the poet has failed of producing what he intended; and this has not been done. It is contrary to every principle of critical equity to judge him by the laws of the epopoeia, under which he never placed himself, and to which he is not amenable. If we mistake not his purpose, it was to mould his stories after the plan of the metrical romances, with all the accompaniments of scenery and manners suitable to the heroical ages of our history, yet with such improvements, both in sentiment and language, as the present state of literature required;-and to give a picture of an cient society in its different classes, preserving one guiding principle through all the varieties of change, viz. to display man as he then was. To accomplish this purpose, he selected his subjects from those periods when political defects were poetical advantages;-when characters started from the canvass in those bold lines, which civilization softens into comparative feebleness; -when the spirit of chivalry, with a wild and lofty irregularity striving to supply the deficiency of a scanty and ill-executed code of laws, by repressing what was base, and practising all that was generous, ruled the wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority. With such subjects, bold narration and graphical description never allow the attention to tire, and amply compensate for a statelier march, and a more complex arrangement. Sometimes, perhaps, they have kept the attention too intently fixed, and have occasioned a hurried, breathless reading, which passes over unobserved a large portion of the more delicate and retired beauties, yet all unconscious of its negligence, raises complaints against defects which do not exist. To this cause we are disposed to attribute, in a considerable degree, the condemna tion of Mr. Scott's versification for being flippant and jingling, which it certainly will appear to be when read at full speed. But we question whether any measure is so well suited to daring adventures, and rapid evolutions, as the eight-syllable verse, which keeps the mind alert and eager, and possesses the advantage (an advantage to be used with reserve) of sometimes sliding with ease and grace into other metres, more in harmony with different parts of the poem, where either gaiety or pathos prevail.

The Lord of the Isles takes a loftier flight than any of its predecessors. It exhibits a king struggling against a sea of trouble, encountering dangers of the most terrific form, with an arm that never tires, and a heart that never fails; converting enemies into friends by a dignified prudence and a magnanimous spirit; and succeeding, at length, in the establishment of his throne, by the total defeat of the most powerful invasion which ever threatened the independence of his country. The design is so grand as to excite a wish that no extraneous subject had injured its sim

plicity. But then we must have had an epic poem, which it was not the purpose of Mr. Scott to produce. He has, therefore, placed in the front of his piece Ronald, the Lord of the Isles, who possesses the ordinary virtues of a bold chieftain; but none of that resplendency of character which only high moral qualities can confer. The struggles between his honour and his love; his faith plighted to one fair lady, and his affections devoted to another, excite no sympathy; for there is such a want of honesty in offering the hand without the heart, that we calmly contemplate his crosses and disappointments as merited punishment. Yet to his wayward and fluctuating loves we are indebted for the interesting adventures of the Maid of Lorn, which interweave themselves very naturally with the tissue of the story. But the best apology for this island chief is the necessity of masking the real hero, who could scarcely have taken his station in the title-page, without rendering the poem more rigidly his torical than would have suited the texture of a romantic lay. Sweeping the ocean with his glittering fleet, and presiding at his magnificent feast in the Castle of Artornish, Lord Ronald raises expectations of his importance, which vanish in the circle of that illumination which the King spreads around him. The second place, however, being destined for Lord Ronald, if he was not to be great, at least he should have better deserved the affection of Edith, who is allowed to sacrifice that delicacy which constitutes the highest charm of beauty, by condescending to take the rejected lover of Isabel, scarcely repentant for his former scorn. This defect, together: with the want of that transparent honour which shows the purity of its motives at a glance, mars the appeals to the heart, and lowers the imagination to the level of vulgar convenience. Commonness of character, in all cases, has so much of the vis inertia about it, that it is difficult to overcome its resistance, and, with all the exertions of genius, its dead weight must be felt; but in an heroic age, where what is good or bad is such in an eminent degree, it is a sin for which an indulgence cannot easily be purchased. We lay the greater stress upon this point, because we think that strength and individuality of character are the more vital parts of such poems as those by which Mr. Scott has conferred fame upon his country. To narrate adventures, and describe scenery, are within the imitative faculty of middling minds: but to draw characters of the higher order with the firm pencil of nature; to show them in their strength and their weakness; to mark the steady operation of principles; to catch the changeable hues of passion; and to combine the differing parts into one consistent whole; ask for the highest tones of feeling with the deepest sagacity of research; a masculine vigour of observation with a delicate sensibility of

heart; grand original materials, happily counterpoised, and extensively improved.

That Mr. Scott possesses this admirable art, so powerful in effect, we shall show by the extracts which we shall soon give: we only regret that he uses it rather too sparingly, and sometimes too carelessly. But before we proceed to this part of our employment, we must give a brief account of the fable, if fable that may be called which is almost a history of an important period in the romantic life of a chivalrous king.

After some preparatory lines of great beauty, the poem begins with a morning address to Edith, the Maid of Lorn, by the bards:

"met from main land and from isle, Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle,"

at Artornish Castle, to celebrate her marriage with Lord Ronald, its possessor. But song had lost all power to fascinate her heart, which was oppressed by sorrows, and insensible to the blandishments of flattery and the promises of bliss. In gloomy silence having endured the officious zeal of her attendants to adorn her person, she retires with her foster-mother to a distant tower, where the cause of her distress is drawn from her in a burst of indignation, when she is urged to believe herself the happiest of women. She complains, in the eloquence of grief, of love unreturned, of cold observance, and of long neglect: she even expresses her suspicions, that some lighter fair has detained the tardy bridegroom on that very morning. Scarcely has she finished the enumeration of her grievances, before the fleet of the Lord of the Isles is descried, "streamer'd with silk and tricked with gold," flying in the gay costume before the gale.

The attention is then directed to a solitary vessel, which allday-long had been beating up against the adverse wind and baffling tide. In this frail bottom King Robert Bruce, his brother Edward, and sister Isabel, had embarked their last hopes, and were endeavouring to reach some friendly port on their native shore. Finding all their efforts useless, they resolved to seek shelter in the castle of an enemy, and to claim the rights of hospitality as unknown warriors. They are readily admitted into Artornish, under the supposition that they are the Abbot and his attendants come to perform the marriage ceremony. The mistake being soon discovered, they are left in a room appropriated to squires and grooms, and inferior clansmen, while their arrival is announced to Lord Ronald and his guests. The description of the lowering tempest, the boisterous sea, the conflicting currents, the hoarse blasts of the gale swollen with the loud shouts of revelry, and Artornish "'twixt cloud and ocean

hung," flinging its thousand lights upon the crested waves, unite the powers of poetry and painting, and leave the imagination nothing to wish.

The second canto throws open the festive hall, and shows misery most miserable when assuming the air of happiness. Amidst splendid gaiety Lord Ronald presides in the torture of constraint; sometimes falling into fits of melancholy musing→ then rousing his scattered senses to increase the chorus of noisy jollity. This fitful humour raises no suspicions in the bridal throng, who attribute it entirely to the agitations which are presumed to be often felt on such occasions.

"But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery,
And watch'd, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.

"She watch'd-yet fear'd to meet his glance,
And he shunn'd hers;-till when by chance
They met, the point of foeman's lance
Had given a milder pang!

Beneath the intolerable smart

He writhed; then sternly mann'd his heart
To play his hard but destined part,

And from the table sprang."

Cant. II. St. Iv. p. 46.

This scene of woe is closed by the entrance of the strangers, who, from their commanding aspect and lofty demeanour are placed by the seneschal, the first of the company, much to the surprise and dissatisfaction of many in the noble party. The haughty chief of Lorn suspects at once that he has met with his old enemy, and to turn suspicion into certainty, he soon orders his minstrel to sing a song claiming a victory, gained by him over the King in a personal encounter. This boast so enrages the impetuous Edward, that he grasps his sword, but is restrained from violence by his calmer brother, who rebukes with dignity the braggart falsehood, and clearly intimates who he is. A dreadful confusion immediately follows. Lorn demands, and prepares to take, instant vengeance for the death of Comyn, his relation, who was slain by Bruce at the high altar in Dumfries. This Lord Ronald peremptorily forbids, and exerts his authority, in a manner becoming his station, to prevent a dastardly revenge.

"Loudly Ronald calls, Forbear!
Not in my sight while brand I wear,
O'er match'd by odds, shall warrior fall,
Or blood of stranger stain my hall!

This ancient fortress of my race
Shall be misfortune's resting place,
Shelter and shield of the distress'd

No slaughter-house for shipwreck'd guest.'"

xv. 1. 5-12.

The enfuriated Lorn is not to be restrained by an appeal to honour; he orders his followers to avenge the cause of his house. They rise at his command, but are instantly resisted by the island chieftains.

"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.”

The fierce storm of tumult and uproar sinks into an awful calm; each side still respected the laws of hospitality, and was afraid to incur the curse of first breaking them. This pause allows an opportunity to Isabel and Edith to entreat the generous De Argentine to interpose his mediation for the prevention of bloodshed. In this address Isabel, throwing aside her veil, discovers herself to be the beauty who had long usurped that place in Lord Ronald's heart which was due to Edith. This discovery confirms his resolution to defend his royal guests at the peril of his life. The debate is again resumed, and again hushed on hearing the bugle of the Abbot of Iona. Both parties agree to refer the subject of their contention to the decision of this holy man, who had the reputation of being favoured with communi cations from heaven. He hears the different pleadings, then sternly addresses the excommunicated King, who disdaining to enter upon any defence, yet expresses the deepest contrition for the murder of Comyn, and his fixed resolve to make all the atone ment in his power for the dreadful deed. The Abbot hears, trembles, and, under the influence of a supernatural power, blesses the monarch, foretelling, in the finest inspiration of poetry, all the changes of fortune in his variegated life, and his final success. Then he falls exhausted into the arms of the attendant priests, and is conveyed into his ship. The fray is terminated by the departure of Lorn, who is goaded into a paroxysm of ungovernable fury by the discovery that his sister had left the castle, as it was conjectured, with the Abbot. The island chiefs remain, and the King retires to rest, confiding in the generosity of Ronald, who comes in the night to the royal apartment, accompanied by Dunvegan's Lord, to swear allegiance to their lawful sovereign,