poison. Our disgust and abhorrence mingle with our pity for her fate, and astonishment at the magnanimity of her endu rance.* * In speaking of Scott, we cannot resist the temptation of laying before our readers, an extract from a letter on the subject of his powers, addressed to us some time since, by one of the most accomplished critics as well as able statesmen of this country. The panegyric, lofty as it is, is scarcely too much so, for the merits of the poet, and the plan traced for his future labours eminently worthy of his attention. "Among the obligations," says the elegant writer," which you conferred upon me by the first number of your Review, was that it induced me to read "The Lady of the Lake," with which I was absolutely enchanted. I had not seen Scott's other poems; and the title of this had given me the impression, that it was some sickly, sentimental, or amatory tale. Judge then how I was charmed and transported to find, the highest combination of lyric, dramatic, and epic excellence, that, as far as I know, exists in any language. I then read the two other works, which afforded me great pleasure. They are both excellent, but far inferior to the last. The second is also, in my opinion, superior to the first. I much doubt whether any age has produced a poet, who has so greatly and in so short a time, improved upon himself. His flight upwards, which commences from a lofty eminence, is so rapid and so high, that he cannot fail, should he continue his exertions, to reach the summit of poetical glory. "Were I acquainted with Scott, I would advise him to rest a while, and collect all his force for a new and mightier effort. I would advise him to dedicate the rest of his life to an epic poem, of which Wallace should be the hero, and the struggles and final deliverance of Scotland the general subject. I should perhaps prefer Alfred and the expulsion of the Danes; but the other subject would fire his genius more, and give him a wider scope of illustrious characters. Indeed it is better suited to the epopee, by the rapidity of the events, the shortness of the period, the inequality of the forces, and the perpetual display of romantic valour. The character of Edward, too, would augment the interest; which would be raised to the highest pitch of dignity by the object of the struggle, so glori, ously maintained, against so distinguished a foe. "Upon such a subject I think that Scott, from the specimens which he has given us, would, in ten years, produce a poem not much inferior to the Eneid, and Paradise Lost, or even to the Iliad. The only defect in the theme, is the unworthy end of Wallace, who, instead of falling in battle, fell by the hands of an executioner. But still he died for his country, which it was thought could not be subdued while he lived. And this act of cruel and treacherous policy, being in fact an acknowledgment of his greatness by the oppressor of his country, might be so managed as to increase the attraction of the poem. 66 In We think Mr. Sotheby peculiarly felicitous in the incidents of his work. As an evidence of this, we might cite the magic girdle worn by Pedro, the gift of lady Blanche, which is indeed true, if Froissant's Chronicles are intitled to any credit; a historian who never was accused of a too rigid adherence to fact. Pedro was sirnamed the cruel, and something was wanting to palliate the disgust the reader must conceive, when he learns that the British monarch abets the cause of that tyrant. The poet, by a dexterity peculiar to himself, prepares to soften and do away our hostility to the act. Pedro has a presentiment in a dream of his future fate; an incident that answers the double purpose of informing the reader what it was, while it alarms that monarch to repentance. Trembling under such impres sions, he unfolds to Edward the whole history of his guilty life, and exposes the terrific girdle as evidence that divine indignation still pursues him. A reverend abbot, persuaded that the repentance is sincere, imposes a vow which, when the sovereign takes, the girdle falls from his body. Now, the cause of Pedro is righteous, and the reader yields a ready assent to its truth when it is confirmed by such a miracle. Such difficulties the bard was aware of, when he contemplated the subject at a distance, and he provided against them. He therefore employs the traditional superstition of the age to bear on the particular point, and then aban dons both the one and the other with the most perfect indif "In such a work this great poet ought to adopt the heroic measure, (I mean the verse of Pope, not that of Milton), and to discard his obsolete words and phrases. The measure which he has heretofore used, is admirably adapted to the subjects and nature of his former poems. They derive also an air of antique rusticity from the obsolete words and phrases, which is greatly becoming to them as romantic tales. But the grandeur and sublimity of an epic poem require a loftier verse; and such a work ought to be written in the utmost purity of the language, in its most improved state. "For his lighter studies, and the intermediate recreations of his muse, a poem upon the plan of Marmion, founded on the story of William Tell, or on the adventures and death of Schill the Ger man hero, and one on the exploits of Edward the Third, the Black Prince, or Henry the Fifth, would be most happily adapted to the times, and could not fail to produce the best effects. Such a genius should be devoted to the public cause. The strains of such a lyre should unceasingly stir the souls of his countrymen, and vibrate in its turn to their heroic and patriotic emotions. Scott is born to be the poet of his nation. He ought to be more. He ought to be the poet of honourable sentiments, dignity of mind, and national independence throughout the world." ference, satisfied that he has removed an obstacle that appeared to confront him in limine. Scott uses no precaution of this kind -he trusts to the momentary energy of his genius to bear him out, confident that if he fails of persuading, he is sure of admiration; that the reader, while overpowered by the witchery of his muse, will gladly compound the matter with the bard, and overlook where he cannot be completely reconciled. In the speech of the hermit, who predicts the approaching victory at Navaret, the author was unable to forego the tempting opportunity afforded him of glancing at the present times. Bonaparte of course appears in high relief, and the assistance which England now renders to Spain, is alluded to by the hermit. Gracefully as this incident falls in with the narrative, and flattering as the compliment must be to the poet's countrymen, we question the policy, in a literary point of view, of mingling events so recent with the story of times so antique. The tissue displays in such cases such disparity of tints, and the last hues which we discover are so much more vivid than the preceding, that they dazzle from our minds the memory of the remainder. Artifices of this nature, if admissible at all, ought certainly to be covered with a deeper veil than the present example affords. What we precisely mean is this, that some remoter period of history in some measure analogous to ours, should, we conceive, be taken as the groundwork of the plot. In such situations, the events of the present day might be cautiously and delicately shadowed out, and to the reader should be left the task of the discovery. If no such periods of history exist, reflections may be introduced which, without seeming to bear designedly upon the present day, remind the reader of passing occurrences. Of this latter class we have an instance in the poem before us. "At Edward's voice, at glory's call, Many fastidious critics have objected to the structure of this species of verse. They triumphantly ask, how persons, who profess entire veneration for the sounding, majestic march of Dryden and Pope, can possibly reconcile them selves to the short trip in the footsteps of the modern Muses? We reply, very easily. The grandeur of the epic measure, we conceive, has been essentially impaired by unrestrained indulgence. It should be reserved for high and great occasions, and kept more distinct from ordinary use than it has hitherto been. Having become so common, it now par takes, we fear, in a great measure of the triviality of the incident it celebrates, and has lost by such frequent repetition that lofty majesty, with which it was once endowed, and which it is its proper office to assume. We regard as a happy omen the adoption of a measure, that relieves us from such misapplica tion of epic metre. It tends to advance another desirable object, which is to raise the heroic strain to its former dignity. The old ballad style, while it does not sacrifice melody, is not encumbered with it; it is susceptible of an endless variety of modulation, and gives a freedom to expression which epic stub bornly refuses to admit. A few sounding words destitute of meaning will not now be enabled to hide their total imbecility behind the popularity of epic. The ancient style of writing 50 long disused, has been suddenly ennobled, invigorated and brought into repute, by the splendid genius of those who have not disdained its adoption. In reviewing a poem like the present one, which pleases us by its uniformity of merit, we confess that we feel considerable embarrassment, when we undertake the selection of particular passages. They are so well connected with precedent and subsequent matter, that we run the hazard of breaking this thread, and even of injuring the character of the poet by extracting the parts we most admire. They seem beautiful in their places, and for that reason lose something when separated from the community they adorn, and by which they are adorned. The following extract evinces the propriety of this remark. "Weep not the brave at Ronceval! They live-the chiefs who bravely fall Weep for the youth to Virtue dying, Weep those whom never valour lov'd Nor patriot zeal nor honour mov'd, Nor the trumpet's voice most musical, Like those who bled at Ronceval. Weep no more th' immortal dead; Their country's blessing guards their bed." The reader approves merely of this extract, but discovers nothing in it peculiarly beautiful. Here palpable injustice is done to the bard. We have now to image to ourselves Edward's army on the march against the usurper Trastamere, and stopping at Ronceval, the theatre of a former bloody action. Gloom gathers on all their countenances, when they behold the bones of their countrymen, who fell in this engagement, whitening in the sun, ominous of the sad destiny many of the spectators are shortly to encounter. At a season like this, we have further to consider, that Constance seizes the harp and pours the heroic strain just quoted. Then indeed, "To arms, to arms the warriors cried And wav'd their flaming falchions wide." The following lines serve to remind us of some fine passages in the Georgics, which Sotheby has so gracefully told in his native dialect.The army of Edward pass, "Mid champaigns o'er whose fertile bed Where Autumn carols as the swain Shakes from full sheaves the golden grain." Virgil himself, in his sixth pastoral, seems modestly to doubt his ability, to employ his muse with success, on martial subjects. That he never satisfied himself, is evident from his anxiety to burn the manuscript of the Eneid. Reverencing as we do the genius of Mr. Sotheby in this walk, we think it more at home in milder scenes. Virgil says of his muse thus employed, "But when I tried her tender voice too young, Mr. Sotheby appears to eminent advantage whenever he is occupied in the description of the amiable, the tender, and the delicate. Of examples of this class many might be cited. In the tomb of Maria de Padilla her alabaster image was seen. "That lady bore Maria's air, Each living charm seem'd featur'd there: Still on her lip a smile was seen, As if a blessing on the dead Had rested as the spirit fled." |