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Freemen's force, or false beguiling,
WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH.
When the lone pilgrim views afar
*[Mr, afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the Grand-Duke, now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, are now given from the newspapers of 1816.]
· [These lines were first printed in “The Forget-Me-Not, for 1834.” They were written for recitation by the distinguished actress, Miss Smith, now Mrs. Bartley, on the night of her benefit at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1817; but reached her too late for her purpose. In a letter which enclosed them, the poet intimated that they were written on the morning of the day on which they were sent—that he thought the idea better than the execution, and forwarded them with the hope of their adding perhaps "a little salt to the bill.”]
No longer dare he think his toil
We too, who ply the Thespian art,
' ["O favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms, For manly talent, and for female charms."
Lines Written for Mr. J. Kemble.]
POETRY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT,
Published in the Border Minstrelsy.
THOMAS THE RHYMER.1
When seven years more were come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,
His beacon blazing red.
Pitch'd palliouns took their room,
Glanced gaily through the broom.
Resounds the ensenzie ;*
To distant Torwoodlee.5
"This is the Third Part of the ancient poem so entitled; but, being the production of Sir Walter Scott, it is included in the present edition.
AM. PUB. ? Ruberslaw and Dunyon, are two hills near Jedburgh.
: An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family of the name of Home. One of Thomas's prophecies is said to have run thus:
“Vengeance! vengeance! when and where ?
On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever mair!" The spot is rendered classical by its having given name to the beautiful melody called the Broom o' the Coudenknows.
4 Ensenzie --War-cry, or gathering word.
Torwoodlee and Caddenbead are places in Selkirkshire; both the property of Mr. Pringle of Torwoodlee.
The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall :
And ladies, laced in pall.
The music nor the tale,
Nor mantling quaighs' of ale.
When as the feast was done :
The elfin harp he won.)
And harpers for envy pale;
And hearken'd to the tale.
The prophet pour'd along ;
Those numbers to prolong.
Float down the tide of years,
A parted wreck appears.
The Warrior of the Lake;
And bled for ladies' sake.
The notes melodious swell;
The knight of Lionelle.
Quaighs—Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped together. ? See introduction to this ballad.
See, in the Fabliaux of Mousieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the ate Gregory Way. Esq., the tale of the Knight and the Sword.
For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right,
A venom'd wound he bore;
Upon the Irish shore.
No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found, Till lovely Isolde's lily hand
Had probed the rankling wound.
With gentle hand and soothing tongue
She bore the leech's part;
He paid her with his heart.
O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doom'd in evil tide, The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,
His cowardly uncle's bride.
Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard,
In fairy tissue wove; Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.
The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High rear'd its glittering head; And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.
Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin's 'gramarye; Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?
Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.