"'Hush!' said the Bruce, 'we soon shall know,
If this be sorcerer's empty show,

Or stratagem of southern foe.

The moon shines out-upon the sand
Let every leader rank his band.'"

"Now ask you whence that wondrous light,
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight?
It ne'er was known, yet gray-hair'd eld
A superstitious credence held,

That never did a mortal hand

Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand;

Nay, and that on the self-same night

When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the light;"
a "beam celestial, lent

By Heaven to aid the King's descent."

So ancient and prevalent was the belief in the supernatural character of this signal, that for centuries the fire was firmly thought to appear on anniversaries of the moment when the Bruce first saw it from the battlements of Brodick Castle, and that "beyond the remembrance of man "the place where it appeared has been called "the Bogle's Brae."

The castle of Turnberry, to which it guided, stands upon a headland, or point, of the same name, rather out of ordinary tourist cruising-grounds, several miles south of Ayr. This point "is a rock projecting into the sea, the top of it about eighteen feet above high-water mark. Upon this rock was built the Castle," now a ruin rising forty or fifty feet above the sea. The castle "was surrounded by a ditch, but that is now nearly filled up." Even its ruined walls are now imposing. The Castle Park formerly extended over a broad plain around. The traveller may here pleasantly read Scott's story of the coming of the Bruce, and of those eventful scenes that followed. The writer hardly needs to state that the King was led by an accidental fire: whatever it was, it incidentally did not a little towards deciding his destinies. Sufficient on these pages is the poet's exclamation:

"The Bruce hath won his father's hall!

'Welcome, brave friends and comrades all,

Welcome to mirth and joy!

The first, the last, is welcome here.'"

"Well is our country's work begun,

But more, far more, must yet be done.
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new;

Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts!
Call all, call all! from Reedswair Path,
To the wild confines of Cape Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing !'"

While reading this, and more, the traveller may pleasantly further read how the inspiriting summons coursed over the wide land; and may also read the stories of Isabel and of Edith; for, after the unceremonious exposition of young ladies' private affairs already instituted upon these pages, a full disclosure of those pertaining to these two may be spared,- quite separate as the love-plot of this poem is from its epic or public plot of action. The latter chiefly brings "The Lord of the Isles " to its close, and with much magnificence of Scott's own peculiar descriptiveness. The scene shifts from Turnberry to the famous field of Bannockburn, near Stirling, and already mentioned in description of the view from the Castle there (chapter vii.). The poet's verses chronicle the memorable battle. They are not so extensively known or read as those that tell of Flodden Field in "Marmion,". a battle far less satisfactory to Scotchmen. We all, of course, know the general history of the great conflict; but we may not experience very much profit and pleasure by exploration of this famous field itself, apart from the interest that we can but very justly and desirably feel, while we tread ground whereon a nation's history has been determined. It has, like most battle-grounds, particularly those of times long gone by, lost traces of the action and those features suggesting the details or determinative of the issues of the struggle. However, the distance from Stirling to Bannockburn is short, and the traveller cannot well regret a visit to it. And those who read or who recall there Scott's poetic chronicle of its stirring acquisition of glory, and of King Robert the Bruce's and of Scotland's triumph, may agreeably have in mind the conclusion of this poem, and trace the progress of the battle over scenes around, and picture the ending that was there of the maiden life of Edith of Lorn, and how joyously fared gallant Ronald, "The Lord of the Isles."

The admirable work on Iona by the Duke of Argyle, that has appeared since this chapter was written, should be mentioned here, as perhaps the most prominent work relating to that island.

DURING this year, Scott went by sea to London with his wife

and daughter. He was received with much attention; for he was already famous, at a time when famous men abounded. He was presented to the Prince Regent, with whom he was, and continued to be, decidedly a favorite. Soon afterward he made a tour to the continent, during which he visited Bergen-op-Zoom, Antwerp, Brussels, Waterloo, and Paris.

The decisive victory of June 17th and 18th could but have great effect upon Scott as it did on all Europe. The immediate manifestation of effect upon him was his poem entitled "The Field of Waterloo," dedicated to Her Grace the Duchess of Wellington. The advertisement of this, one of his minor and less celebrated, and perhaps attractive, works, informs that: "It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was composed hastily during a short tour on the Continent, when the Author's labors were liable to frequent interruption; but its best apology is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subcription." Whatever critics think or say concerning the work as poetry, its author's generosity gives it charms compensating for demerits that may have been attributed to it. The profits of the first edition formed Scott's contribution to this "subscription,” a fund "for the relief of widows and children of the soldiers slain in the battle;" and thus he, as poet, a second time, was by no means among the smaller donors to a patriotic provision. Persons who visit that now most visited of European battle-fields, Waterloo, and thus, usually, many places in its vicinity, grand, old, picturesque, and storied Flemish cities, — and who thus see many objects associated with some of the most stirring incidents of modern or late middle-age history, may rather regret that the genius of the great poet of place and romantic picturesqueness did not give us some composition from the abundant and intensely interesting materials that are everywhere presented. But he was, with all his power, a mortal man; and his labors could but be finite. We had best be quiet, and thankful for the immensity

of richness and enjoyment he has actually provided for us, and be abundantly satisfied since the brilliant pages of Prescott and of Motley present to us so much of these materials with the truth of history invested with the fascinations of romance. Each to his own work; and each of these three authors has been nobly true to his

own.

During this same year Scott was introduced to many distinguished men; among these, to the Emperor Alexander of Russia, and to the Duke of Wellington. The Duke's kind attention then, and afterwards, Scott often said he considered "the highest distinction of his life." And he further said, that he "had seen and conversed with all classes of society, from the palace to the cottage, and including every conceivable shade of science and ignorance; but that he had never felt awed or abashed except in the presence of one man, — the Duke of Wellington."

XV.

"HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS."

THIS poem, the last of the greater poems by Scott, was published in January, 1817, although it had been begun years previously. It appeared almost simultaneously with some of his renowned romances, that, by their more brilliant fame have tended to obscure it. In bookseller's phrase it met with "considerable success," yet it has never been considered, as a whole, equal to the "Bridal." The first of its six Cantos begins, by at once introducing the subject: —

"List to the valorous deeds that were done

By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son !"

"Count Witikind came of a regal strain,

And roved with his Norsemen the land and the main.
Woe to the realms which he coasted! for there

Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair,

Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest,
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast:

When he hoisted his standard black,

Before him was battle, behind him was wrack,
And he burn'd the churches, that heathen Dane,
To light his band to their barks again."

He flourished before the reign of William I., and was one of those fierce pagan sea-rovers, the scourge and terror of long extents of European coasts, during many generations.

"He liked the wealth of fair England so well,

That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell.

He enter'd the Humber in fearful hour,

And disembark'd with his Danish power."

In this respect, he acted as the sea-kings were wont; and, as frequently occurred, his hostility was appeased, his forbearance bought, "And the Count took upon him the peaceable style

Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain's broad isle."

After years of peace, he gradually became old and feeble, until, on the principle pithily set forth in the old lines, –

"When the Devil was sick

The Devil a monk would be,"

he endeavored to make reconciliation with the church he had often robbed, and to atone for his sins when, at last, he would lose nothing temporally by repentance. The result was one not infrequently produced by tardy contrition and priestly influence, especially during the Middle Ages.

"Saint Cuthbert's Bishop" induced the Count to make a change of faith, and the Count changed it in such a manner, that,

"Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear,
To be held by the church by bridle and spear;
Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part,
To better his will, and to soften his heart."

In "the high church of Durham,"

"He kneel'd before Saint Cuthbert's shrine,
With patience unwonted at rites divine;
He abjured the gods of heathen race."

But the Count had a son, "Young Harold," with "strength of frame and ""fury of mood," who deemed that he had something to say and to decide in the bestowal of the paternal estate. And he undutifully addressed his father in this wise:

"What priest-led hypocrite art thou,

With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow,
Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow?
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known,

Royal Eric's fearless son,

Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord,

Who won his bride by the axe and sword!""