of Kenilworth; it was Constable who proposed the title Kenilworth after Scott had intended to give the novel the same name as the ballad. Mickle also wrote a play on The Siege of Marseilles, which Garrick refused; and the Prophecy of Queen Emma, on American independence. He assisted in Evans's Collection of Old Ballads-in which Cumnor Hall and other pieces of his first appeared in 1784; and though he did not reproduce the direct simplicity and unsophisticated ardour of the real old ballads, he attained to something of their tenderness and pathos. He wrote a number of songs, the last being on his birthplace, Eskdale Braes. The famous Scotch song originally called, somewhat absurdly, The Mariner's Wife, but usually named from its chorus There's nae Luck about the House, is almost certainly Mickle's ; though in 1810 Cromek asserted it to be the work of Jean Adam (afterwards calling herself Miss Jane Adams), successively servant-maid in Greenock, schoolmistress, and hawker, who, born in 1710, died in 1765 in the Glasgow poorhouse, having published in 1734 a small volume of poor religious poems. There's nae Luck was sung in the streets about 1772, and was first asserted to be Jean's by some of her old pupils, without evidence. An imperfect, altered, and corrected copy was found among Mickle's manuscripts after his death; and his widow confirmed the external evidence in his favour by an express declaration that her husband had said the song was his own, and that he had explained to her the Scottish words. It is the fairest flower in his poetical chaplet, but was not published till after his death, by the editor of his works (1806). Beattie (a kinsman of Mickle's) added a double stanza to this song, containing a happy epicurean fancy-which Burns, who commended the whole song as one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any language,' said was 'worthy of the first poet :' The present moment is our ain, Cumnor Hall. The dews of summer night did fall, And many an oak that grew thereby. That issued from that lonely pile. Immured in shameful privity? 'No more thou com'st, with lover's speed, Thy once beloved bride to see; But be she alive, or be she dead, I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee. 'Not so the usage I received When happy in my father's hall; No faithless husband then me grieved, No chilling fears did me appal. 'I rose up with the cheerful morn, No lark so blithe, no flower more gay; And, like the bird that haunts the thorn, So merrily sung the livelong day. If that my beauty is but small, Among court-ladies all despised, Why didst thou rend it from that hall, Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized? 'And when you first to me made suit, How fair I was, you oft would say ! And, proud of conquest, plucked the fruit, Then left the blossom to decay. 'Yes! now neglected and despised, The rose is pale, the lily 's dead; But he that once their charms so prized, Is sure the cause those charms are fled. 'For know, when sickening grief doth prey And tender love's repaid with scorn, The sweetest beauty will decay : What floweret can endure the storm? 'At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne, Where every lady 's passing rare, That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun, Are not so glowing, not so fair. 'Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds Where roses and where lilies vie, To seek a primrose, whose pale shades Must sicken when those gauds are by? "Mong rural beauties I was one; Among the fields wild-flowers are fair; Some country swain might me have won, And thought my passing beauty rare. 'But, Leicester-or I much am wrongIt is not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. "Then, Leicester, why, again I pleadThe injured surely may repineWhy didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair princess might be thine? 'Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And, oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms, Then leave to mourn the livelong day? 'The village maidens of the plain Salute me lowly as they go : Envious they mark my silken train, Nor think a countess can have woe. 'The simple nymphs! they little know How far more happy's their estate; To smile for joy, than sigh for woe; To be content, than to be great. 'How far less blest am I than them, Daily to pine and waste with care! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air. 66 Countess, prepare; thy end is near." Thus sore and sad that lady grieved In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appeared, In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear. The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, An aerial voice was heard to call, And thrice the raven flapped his wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. The mastiff howled at village door, The oaks were shattered on the green; Woe was the hour, for never more That hapless Countess e'er was seen. And in that manor, now no more Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance, Full many a traveller has sighed, And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wandering onwards they 've espied The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. There's nae Luck about the House. Is this a time to think o' wark, Rax down my cloak-I'll to the quay, Rise up and mak a clean fireside, Gie little Kate her cotton gown, And mak their shoon as black as slaes, He likes to see them braw. There are twa hens into the crib, Bring down to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown, For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to town. My Turkey slippers I'll put on, Sae true his heart, sae smooth his tongue; His breath's like caller air; His very fit has music in 't As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again? In the author's manuscript (which has button gown' where 'cotton gown' is usually given) another verse is added: If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave, And gin I live to mak him sae, The following was the addition made by Beattie : But what puts parting in my head? The present moment is our ain, The Spirit of the Cape.-From the 'Lusiad." Now prosperous gales the bending canvas swelled; From these rude shores our fearless course we held: Beneath the glistening wave the god of day Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray, When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread, And slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head A black cloud hovered; nor appeared from far The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star; So deep a gloom the lowering vapour cast, Transfixed with awe the bravest stood aghast. Meanwhile a hollow bursting roar resounds, As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds; Nor had the blackening wave, nor frowning heaven, Or through forbidden climes adventurous strayed, Were doomed to hide from man's unhallowed eye? His clouded front, by withering lightning scarred, With every bounding keel that dares my rage, James Beattie (1735-1803) was the son of a small farmer and shopkeeper at Laurencekirk in Kincardine. He lost his father in childhood, but was assisted in his education by a kindly elder brother; and in his fourteenth year he obtained a bursary or exhibition (implying some proficiency in Latin) at Marischal College, Aberdeen. Having graduated and been appointed schoolmaster of the parish of Fordoun (1753), he was placed amidst scenery 'which stirred his love of nature and poetry. The scenes sketched in his Minstrel were plainly those in which he had grown up, and the feelings and aspirations therein expressed were those of his own boyhood and youth. In 1758 he was elected a master of the grammar-school of Aberdeen, and in 1760 Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in Marischal College. In 1761 he published a collection of poems and translations contributed from time to time to the Scots Magazine, the piece called Retirement being most noticeable. In 1765 appeared The Judgment of Paris, and some ungenerous verses on the death of Churchill. His ardour for what he held to be the truth led him at times into intolerance, and he was too fond of courting the notice and approbation of the great. In 1770 the poet appeared as a metaphysician in his Essay on Truth, where orthodox principles were defended in no very philosophical temper, and in a style which suffered by comparison with that of his illustrious opponent, David Hume. Next year the first part of The Minstrel was published, and was received with universal approbation. Honours flowed in on the fortunate author. He visited London, and was admitted to all its brilliant and distinguished circles; Goldsmith, Johnson, Garrick, and Reynolds were numbered among his friends. On a second visit in 1773 he had an interview with the king and queen, which resulted in a pension of £200 per annum. Oxford made him LL.D., and Reynolds painted his portrait in an allegorical picture, in which he was seen by the side of the angel of Truth, thrusting down Prejudice, Scepticism, and Folly (two of them meant for Hume and Voltaire). He was even promised preferment in the Church of England. The second part of the Minstrel was published in 1774; the projected third part never appeared. Domestic sorrows marred Beattie's otherwise happy lot. His wife became insane, and had to be confined in an asylum ; and he lost both of his accomplished sons. In his last years he was overcome by despondency, and sank into mental and physical decay. To a new edition of the Essay on Truth in 1776, Beattie added essays on poetry and music, on laughter, and on the utility of classical learning; and in 1783 he published a series of moral and critical Dissertations, of which Cowper said that Beattie was the only author whose philosophical works were diversified and embellished by a poetical imagination that makes even the driest subject and the leanest a feast for epicures.' The Elements of Moral Science, largely a digest of his college lectures, appeared in 1790-93. The Minstrel, on which Beattie's fame now rests, is a didactic poem, in the Spenserian stanza, designed to 'trace the progress of a poetical genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a minstrel.' The idea was suggested by Percy's preliminary Dissertation to his Reliques. The character of Edwin, the minstrel-in which Beattie embodied his own early feelings and poetical aspirations-is the most essential part of a rather planless poem, the digressions and disquisitions being more tedious than the descriptive passages. Beattie was by nature a man of quick and tender sensibilities, and was well read in Gray, Collins, and other poets of the period. He had no original poetic power; but here and there he shows a keener love for the romantic and grand in nature than is found in his predecessors (thus ranking amongst the promoters of Romanticism), and some of his really picturesque descriptions, in melodious verse, may yet be read with pleasure. His verses to Alexander Ross, the author of The Fortunate Shepherdess, give him a minor place among Scottish vernacular poets. The two first selections which follow are from the Minstrel; the third from the ballad entitled The Hermit. Beginning of 'The Minstrel.' Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; In life's low vale remote has pined alone, And yet the languor of inglorious days Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of praise, Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. The rolls of fame I will not now explore; Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will. Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent Muse Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?.. Edwin. There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell, But he, I ween, was of the north countrie; The shepherd swain of whom I mention made, The sickle, scythe, or plough he never swayed ; And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent, Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy. Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye. And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why. The neighbours stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad; Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad. But why should I his childish feats display? His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed By trap or net, by arrow or by sling; These he detested; those he scorned to wield: And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves Ah, no! he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. And oft he traced the uplands to survey, But, lo! the sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean smile. And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lostWhat dreadful pleasure there to stand sublime, Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, And view the enormous waste of vapour, tost In billows, lengthening to the horizon round, Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed! And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound! In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. In darkness and in storm he found delight; Nor less than when on ocean-wave serene, The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen. Even sad vicissitude amused his soul; And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wished not to control. The Hermit. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 'Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe, 'Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky, "Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; "Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, 'And darkness and doubt are now flying away, The standard edition of Beattie's poems is that by Dyce in the Aldine Series. Sir W. Forbes published a Life of him in 1806, and there is much about him in W. R. Fraser's History of Laurencekirk (1880). |