ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Sir Walter Scott
Anonymous, "Lines written on a blank Leaf at the End of the Novel of Waverley" Analectic Magazine [Philadelphia] NS 5 (June 1815) 513-14.
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
[I am afraid that Waverley has not been as popular in this country as it deserves to be. Scott's prose style, to be sure, is none of the best, and the first part of his novel is a little heavy, for he certainly does not feel himself at home in England; but the instant he touches Scottish ground his strength revives. Nothing can be more exquisite than his Scottish characters, whether grave or comic: his delineation, both of general nature and of the habits and characters of those times, is at once spirited and accurate, and though the tale depends more upon characters than incident, the interest was so strong that, in spite of whiggish prejudice, my whole heart was with the prince, and, for the time, I was an arrant Jacobite.]
Closed is the book — the tale is o'er—
Its scene from Fancy's eyes are faded;
The gallant chieftain is no more,
The mists of death his brows have shaded.
Too soon, brave chief! thy course was run,
Too soon thy bright career was clouded;
Thy glory's hardly risen sun,
Untimely sunk — in darkness shrouded.
Ah! where are now the matchless pair,
Who through old Scotland's valley roved?
Where rests the high-born, noble fair,
Who Wogan's memory so much loved?
The lily, and the mountain oak,
United, braved the warring wind;
The tree has felt the spoiler's stroke,
The blighted flow'r is left behind.
And cold are now those Highland breasts,
Which beat with Valour's fervid glow;
Low in the tomb each warrior rests,
Unconscious of his chieftain's wo.
Deserted is that ancient hall,
Where once the bard's sweet numbers rose;
Where grace and beauty led the ball,
The spider's filmy brood repose.
The owl usurps Mac-Ivor's chair,
The bat there spreads his ebon wings;
And screaming to the dusky air,
Hoarsely the sable raven sings.
That magic harp is silent laid,
Which once could charm the listening throng;
No more the echoing hill and glade
Repeat the notes of Flora's song:—
All, all are faded from the mind,
Like lightning in a summer sky;
And few the traces left behind,
Past days of greatness to descry.
Then, oh! how soothing here to trace,
Though faintly, that unclouded day;
To search the annals of a race
Oblivion's stream hath swept away.
And thou, whose pages have essay'd,
To save what yet is spared by time—
Receive the thanks of many a maid,
And many a youth of Scotia's clime.
The young with rapture long shall read
Of warlike times — too great to last;
The old, while yet their bosoms bleed,
May almost dream they are not past!