enthusiasm for the work. A public road divides the mansion and pleasaunce from the main body of the park and wood. The house stands near the edge of the wooded bank, sloping down towards the Tweed. A pious pride has been taken in preserving the whole building as it was in Scott's time. The armour and weapons of all kinds are all in their old array; the same pictures hang on the walls; the books are ranged in the order familiar to the master's hand; and even the lounging-coat, the hat, walking-shoes, and staff are ready in their places. Passing through a porch, you enter the hall, which, with its stained glass, trophies of armour, blazonry of Border heroes, "who keepit the marchys of Scotland in the auld time for the kinge," and lozenge pavement of black and white marble, is the finest part of the house. A narrow, low-arched room, running quite across the building, and filled with more armour and other curiosities, leads to the drawing-room on one side, and the dining-room on the other. The latter is a handsome chamber, with a low, richly-carved roof of dark oak, spacious bowwindow, and numerous valuable and interesting pictures, such as the head of Mary Queen of Scots in a charger, painted by Amias Cawood the day after her decapitation; portraits of old "Beardie," Lucy Walters, the Duchess of Buccleuch, to whom the Minstrel is supposed to chant his Lay, &c. The drawing-room is panelled with cedar, and fitted with_antique ebony furniture, quaint, richly carved cabinets and precious china ware. In a pleasant breakfast-room, overlooking the river, there are some good pictures by Turner, Thomson of Duddingstone, and others. The library is the largest room of the house. Some 70,000 vols. crowd its shelves. From this opens Sir Walter's private study-a snug little chamber, with no furniture, except a sïnall writing-table, a plain arm-chair, covered with black leather, and another smaller chair-clearly indicating it as a place for work, not company. There are a few books on each side of the fire-place, and a sort of supplemental library in a gallery which runs round three sides of the room. closet are preserved, under a glass case, the clothes Sir Walter wore just before his death a broad-skirted green coat, with large buttons, plaid trousers, heavy shoes, broad-brimmed hat, and stout walking-stick. The relics set one thinking of the old man's last days in the house of which he was so proud, the kindly placid figure wheeled about, with all the dogs round him, in a chair, up and down the hall and library, saying, "Ah, I've seen much, but nothing like my ain house-give me one turn more.' Much of the decoration of the house is of ancient design, some borrowed from Melrose, some from Dumfermline, Linlithgow, and Roslin. Even portions of various old edifices are worked into the building. Within the estate is the scene of the last great clan battle of the Borders, that fought in 1526 between the Earls of Angus and Home, backed the former by the Kerrs, and the other by Buccleuch. Mr. Hope Scott, Q.C. who married Scott's granddaughter, has inherited the property. In a The success of the Lay was beyond the most sanguine expectations of Scott's most enthusiastic admirers. In the preface of 1830, he himself estimated the sale at upwards of 30,000 copies; but Lockhart tells us that this was an underestimate, and that in twenty-five years no fewer than 44,000 copies had been disposed of an event with few parallels in the history of British poetry. The first edition, a magnificent quarto, of which 750 copies were printed, was quickly exhausted; eleven octavo editions, a small quarto, and a foolscap edition followed in rapid succession. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. INTRODUCTION. THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; Old times were changed, old manners gone; stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne; The bigots of the iron time Had call'd his harmless art a crime., He pass'd where Newark's stately The Duchess* mark'd his weary pace, When kindness had his wants supplied, Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone, He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, The humble boon was soon obtain'd; His trembling hand had lost the ease, And then, he said, he would full fain When he kept court in Holyrood; The long-forgotten melody. In varying cadence, soft or strong, In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier The warlike foresters had bent; And many a flower, and many a tear, Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent: But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear! Vengeance,deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had lock'd the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee"And if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be!" Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, But not alone the bitter tear All purple with their blood; XI. Of noble race the Ladye came, Her father was a clerk of fame, Of Bethune's line of Picardie: He learned the art that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. Men said, he changed his mortal frame, By feat of magic mystery; For when, in studious mood he paced St. Andrew's cloister'd hall, His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall! XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, He taught that Ladye fair, The viewless forms of air. XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. In the hall, both squire and knight Swore that a storm was near, And looked forth to view the night; But the night was still and clear! XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, XV. RIVER SPIRIT. "Sleep'st thou, brother?". MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Brother, nay- On my hills the moonbeams play. Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. "Tears of an imprisoned maiden Mix with my polluted stream; Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, When shall cease these feudal jars? What shall be the maiden's fate? Who shall be the maiden's mate?" XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, Orion's studded belt is dim; XVIII. And the heavy sound was still; It died on the side of the hill. But round Lord David's tower The sound still floated near; For it rung in the Ladye's bower, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbb'd high with pride: "Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!" |