ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Sir Walter Scott
W., "To Sir Walter Scott" Belfast Monthly Magazine 13 (December 1814) 488-89.
Sir Walter Scott:
1801: Alexander Thomson
1801: A. M.
1802: Joseph Ritson
1802: Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe
1805: Thomas Campbell
1805: Robert Southey
1805 ca.: Anna Seward
1805: Anna Seward
1805: Francis Jeffrey
1807: Lady Anne Hamilton
1808: Bp. Richard Mant
1808: Mary Leadbeater
1808: W. M. T.
1808: Francis Jeffrey
1808: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1809: Thomas Campbell
1809: Lord Byron
1810: Sir Walter Scott
1810: James Hogg
1810: Robert Surtees
1810: George Ellis
1810: Francis Jeffrey
1811: Leigh Hunt
1811: Charles Phillips
1811: M. J.
1811: Hugh Henry Brackenridge
1811: Charles Philips
1811: John Taylor Esq.
1811: M. A. S.
1811: Francis Jeffrey
1811: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1812: John Murray
1812: Bernard Barton
1812: John Wilson
1812: A Native Bard
1812: Lord Byron
1812: George Ellis
1813: James and Horace Smith
1813: P. G. P.
1813: Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen
1813: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1814: George Daniel
1814: Thomas Barnes
1814: G. C. H.
1814: George Daniel
1814: Francis Jeffrey
1815: Roderick Dhu
1815: Author of The Rival Muses
1815: Rev. Lionel Thomas Berguer
1816: John Hamilton Reynolds
1816: J. R.
1816: H. A.
1816: John Neal
1816: Edward Bulwer-Lytton
1818: John Keats
1818: William Hazlitt
1818: P. G. P.
1819: Charles Lloyd
1819: George Ticknor
1819: R. C.
1819: John Gibson Lockhart
1819: John Mitford Esq.
1820: John Scott
1820: David Carey
1821: Mother Goose
1822: James Harley
1823: W. G. King
1823: Rev. Charles Burton
1824: Bernard M. Carter
1824: Sir Whitelaw Ainslie
1825: William Hazlitt
1825: Thomas Hood
1825 ca.: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1825: Thingamy Bob
1825: Thomas Stott
1826: Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen
1826: John Gibson Lockhart
1828: Leigh Hunt
1828: Thomas Pringle
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1829: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1829: James Hogg
1829: William Ainslie
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1830: William Maginn
1831: John Wilson
1831: William Sotheby
1831: Allan Cunningham
1832: Henry Fothergill Chorley
1832: William Wordsworth
1832: Mary Howitt
1832: A. S.
1833: John Wilson
1833: Allan Cunningham
1842: Robert Story
1844: William Wordsworth
1850: Walter Savage Landor
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1858: Cyrus Redding
1871: S. C. Hall
1873: Joseph Devey
1880: Goldwin Smith
Hark! on Caledonia's shore,
What hand awakes the harp again;
Who dares to modern days restore,
The glories of her former reign?
Sure o'er the deep-resounding lyre,
His hand some tuneful seraph flings;
Ah no — 'tis Walter — soul of fire,
That strikes the trembling strings.
And as its sound does westward roll,
The lover's lay I hear;
The strain that fires the hero's soul,
The victor warrior's lofty tone,
Mix'd with the vanquish'd dying groan,
Burst on my listening ear.
List to yon closing fall,
It soothes the soul to rest,
Sweet as a dying spirit's call,
To mansions of the blest.
But ah! how solemn, deep, and slow,
It tells some victim's tale of wo,
Some hapless sufferer's wail;
Whence burst that shriek, that horror-breathing groan,
That chills my fluttering breath;
That stifled sigh, that smother'd moan,
Declare some deed of darkness done,
Some secret work of death.
From yonder convent's gloomy walls,
That mocks at misery's cries,
The injured Constance madly calls
For vengeance, e'er she dies.
Ye human fiends forbear,
Urge not your cruel doom;
Demons of hell, in pity spare,
Oh let that look of fixed despair,
Plead for an erring, hapless fair,
A respite from the tomb.
'Tis vain — they mercy's voice disown,
Oh see the ministers of fate,
They point the living stone,
Array'd in all their gloomy state,
Around their trembling victim wait,
The deed of death is done.
View yon embattled plain,
That lately waved so gay,
Save broken arms, and heaps of slain,
No other trophies now remain,
Of this disast'rous day;
And lo! at distance from the host,
The haughty Marmion lies,
His vassals pride, his country's boast,
Crest fallen, all his wishes crost,
His honour gone, his glory lost,
In fear and terror, passion tost,
He bleeds, he raves, he dies.
But soft as morn's all-cheering ray,
On night's dark slumbers break,
So sweet the note, so soft the lay,
That paints in nature's fair array,
The Lady of the Lake.
And see as touch'd by Naiad's hand,
Like mercy's angel prompt to save,
Her light barque leaves the shaded strand,
And shoots o'er Cat'rine's wave;
Or whilst she stops and turns to land,
All ruffled with her false alarm,
See beauty's self embodied stand,
In Ellen's faultless form.
But, ah, 'tis gone, the pleasing vision's fled,
That sound so changed, so sad and slow,
That ghastly form, the cross of red,
Those imprecations deep and dread,
On the devoted recreant's head,
Betoken death and wo,
The Trosach's gorge, thick strew'd with dead,
Proclaim that it is so.
Oh! say, whence to the aching sight
As fixed as fate, as black as night,
Does yon dire shape appear;
Some fiend in hell's dark regions nurst,
And at his fall supremely curst,
Does from his dreary confine burst,
To plague this upper air;
But no — 'tis Bertram — nor was e'er
To earth born mortal given,
A soul so dead to love or fear,
That spurn'd at misery's hallow'd tear,
That mocked both earth and heaven.
Fell as Sameyel's dire force,
Strikes Persia's sons with deadly glow,
And marks its withering baleful course,
With misery, death, and wo.
Let India's climes his deeds proclaim,
Let Marston field this truth declare,
And Rokeby's turrets once so fair,
Wrapt in yon bloody flame.
Sure minstrel at thy natal hour,
The spirits of the air did bow;
Young fancy op'd her inmost store,
To wreath thy favour'd brow.
Awake again thy magic lays,
The song of rapture pour,
Bid Scotia fired with former days,
Again from her long slumber raise,
Oh let her sleep no more.