And then a low sad descant rung, THE CYPRESS WREATH. O lady, twine no wreath for me, Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine Let merry England proudly rear Her blended roses, bought so dear; Let Albin bind her bonnet blue With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew; On favoured Erin's crest be seen The flower she loves of emerald green But, lady, twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the cypress tree. Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare The ivy meet for minstrel's hair; And, while his crown of laurel leaves With bloody hand the victor weaves, Yes! twine for me the cypress bough; Then, lady, weave a wreath for me, And weave it of the cypress tree. We have already mentioned that the character of Edmund is a new character for Scott. We here insert it, and the more willingly, as it gives us an opportunity of introducing Matilda to the reader: The Harper came:-in youth's first prime His garb was fashioned, to express It seem'd some masquer's quaint array, He made obeisance, with a free Yet studied air of courtesy. Each look and accent, framed to please, His was the subtle look and sly, That, spying all, seems nought to spy; Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. Subtle and dangerous and bold Had seemed this self-invited guest; While thus Matilda's lay was heard, But village notes could ne'er supply And ne'er in cottage maid was seen Claiming respect yet waving state, That marks the daughters of the great. Taxing his fancy to combine The face, the air, the voice divine, "Such was my vision!" Edmund thought I would have traced its circle broad, To kiss the ground on which she trod! And now--O! would that earth would rive, And close upon me while alive! Is there no hope? is all then lost? Bertram's already on his post! Even now, beside the hall's arched door, I saw his shadow cross the floor! He was to wait my signal strain A little respite thus we gain." For the memory of our sentimental readers we quote the following passages; for Scott is exceedingly felicitous in making the resemblances between the appearances of nature and the feelings of the heart: The tear down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose; When next the summer breeze comes by, When lovers meet in adverse hour, The darkly closing clouds between. As Redmond on the turf reclined, The past and present filled his mind. We should not be forgiven were we to omit the mention of Mr. Scott's singular power of describing rural scenery. Pure description was always uninteresting, from James Thomson's to Mrs. Radcliffe's; because it is an attempt to accomplish by language what language can never achieve. But Scott abounds in descriptions, and descriptions of the most picturesque beauty, and the highest interest. The secret of this interest in Scott is to be discovered in the reason why we derive exquisite delight from any scene; he animates the picture by some moral reflection-some metaphor drawn from animated life-some view of character-some legend which sanctifies the place: 66 Knitting as with a moral band The native legend with the land." The present work does not afford examples of as finished descriptions as his former works, but the following will illustrate our meaning: A stern and lone, yet lovely road, Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, May hear the headlong torrent rave, That flings the froth from curb and bit, May view her chafe her waves to spray, The cliffs, that rear the haughty head Its tendrils in the middle air. O'er the high feast of baron bold, When revelled loud the feudal rout, And the arched halls returned their shout, Such and more wild is Greta's roar, And such the echoes from her shore, And so the ivied banners gleam, Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. We stop here with our quotations: other passages, equally striking, might easily have been cited; but these are sufficient to |