The Genius of Scotland Part 26

From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said 'my _winsome Marrow_,'

"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the braes o' Yarrow."

"Let Yarrow folk _frae_ Selkirk Town, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own; Each maiden to her dwelling!

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch and rabbits burrow!

But we will downward with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us; And Dryborough where with chiming Tweed The Lintwhites sing in chorus; There's pleasant Tivoitdale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow, Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow?

"What's Yarrow but a river bare, That glides the dark hills under?

There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder."

--Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; My true love sigh'd for sorrow; And looked me in the face to think I thus could speak of Yarrow!

"Oh green, said I, are Yarrow Holms And sweet is 'Yarrow flowing!'

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing.

O'er hilly path and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But though so near we will not turn Into the Dale of Yarrow.

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burnmill meadow; The swan, on still St. Mary's Lake, Float double, swan and shadow!

We will not see them; will not go, To-day, nor yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow.

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!

It must, or we shall rue it; We have a vision of our own; Ah! why should we undo it?

The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them 'winsome Marrow!'

For when we're there, although tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow!

"If care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly,-- Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy; Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, That earth has something yet to show, The bonny Holms of Yarrow."

This is beautiful, but the following is more so. Indeed it is the very perfection of descriptive poetry.

YARROW VISITED.

And is this--Yarrow?--This the stream Of which my fancy cherished So faithfully a waking dream?

An image that has perished!

O that some minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why?--a silvery current flows With uncontrolled meanderings; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed in all my wanderings.

And, through her depths, St. Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted.

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness; Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless dejection; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection.

Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding?

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding: And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, The Water Wraith ascended thrice, And gave his doleful warning.

Delicious is the lay that sings The haunts of happy lovers, The path that leads them to the grove, The leafy grove that covers; And Pity sanctifies the verse That points, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness rueful Yarrow!

But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy; The grace of forest charms decayed And pastoral melancholy.

That region left, the Vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And rising from those lofty groves, Behold a ruin h.o.a.ry!

The shattered front of Newark's towers Renowned in Border story.

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in, For manhood to enjoy his strength; And age to wear away in!

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts that nestle there, The brood of chaste affection.

How sweet on this autumnal day, The wild wood fruits to gather, And on my True-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather!

And what if I enwreathed my own!

'Twere no offence to reason; The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season.

I see, but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; A ray of Fancy still survives-- Her suns.h.i.+ne plays upon thee!

Thy ever youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, Accordant to the measure.

The vapors linger round the Heights, They melt,--and soon must vanish; One hour is their's, nor more is mine-- Sad thought, which I would banish, But that I know, where'er I go, Thy genuine image, Yarrow!

Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow.

CHAPTER XX.

Hamlet and Church-yard of Ettrick--Monument to Thomas Boston--Birth-place of the Ettrick Shepherd--Altrieve Cottage--Biographical Sketch of the Ettrick Shepherd--The Town of Selkirk--Monument to Sir Walter Scott--Battle-field of Philiphaugh.

Proceeding westward from St. Mary's Lake about half a mile, we come to the hill of Merecleughhead, where King James the Fifth entered the district to inflict summary vengeance upon the outlaws who frequented the Ettrick Forest in the days of old, a circ.u.mstance which gave rise to many of the old Scottish ballads. At the centre of the parish lie the hamlet and church-yard of Ettrick, on the stream of that name. Entering the burying-ground we behold the recently erected tomb of Thomas Boston, author of the well known work called "The Fourfold State," one of the best and holiest men that ever "hallowed" the "bushy dells" of Ettrick.

With apostolic fervor did he preach the Gospel among these hills and vales, and his work, for more than three generations, has instructed the Scottish peasantry in the high doctrines of the Christian faith. His memory will ever be fragrant among the churches of Scotland. Not far from the burying-ground a house is pointed out in which the celebrated "Ettrick Shepherd" was born. Pa.s.sing to the east end of the lake we see before us Altrieve Cottage, "bosomed low mid tufted trees," and nearly encircled by the "sweet burnie," in whose limpid waters the green foliage is mirrored. Here the poet lived, in the latter period of his life, and here also he died. The scenes around, moor, mountain and glen, lake, river and ruin, are hallowed by the genius of the "shepherd bard,"

who, to quote his own words,

"Found in youth a harp among the hills, Dropt by the Elfin people; and whilst the moon Entranced, hung o'er still Saint Mary's loch, Harped by that charmed water, so that the swan Came floating onwards through the water blue,-- A dream-like creature, listening to a dream; And the queen of the fairies rising silently Through the pure mist, stood at the shepherd's feet, And half forgot her own green paradise, Far in the bosom of the hill--so wild!

So sweet! so sad! flowed forth that shepherd's lay."

James Hogg, born in 1772, was descended from a family of shepherds, and spent his boyhood and youth herding his flocks among the hills. Far from the bustle of the world, in the deep solitudes of nature, his young and vigorous imagination became familiar with all wild and beautiful sights, all sweet and solemn sounds. Alone with nature during the day, he spent his evening hours in listening to ancient ballads and legends, of which his mother was a great reciter. This fed his imagination, and supplied it with an infinite variety of strange and beautiful imagery. To this fact he has himself thus strikingly referred.

"O list the mystic lore sublime, Of fairy tales of ancient time!

I learned them in the lonely glen, The last abodes of living men; Where never stranger came our way, By summer night or winter day; Where neighboring hind or cot was none-- Our converse was with heaven alone-- With voices through the cloud that sung And brooding storms that round us hung.

O lady judge, if judge ye may, How stern and ample was the sway Of themes like these, when darkness fell And gray-haired sires the tales would tell!

When doors were barred and elder dame Plied at her task beside the flame, That through the smoke and gloom alone On dim and c.u.mbered faces shone-- The bleat of mountain goat on high, That from the cliff came quavering by; The echoing rock, the rus.h.i.+ng flood, The cataract's swell, the moaning wood; The undefined and mingled hum-- Voice of the desert never dumb!

All these have left within this heart A feeling tongue can ne'er impart A wildered and unearthly flame, A something that's without a name."

Another circ.u.mstance in the early life of Hogg tended to nurse his fancy. He had, in all, something like six months' schooling, and having entered the service of Mr. Laidlaw, another great lover of legends, songs and stories of the olden time, he subscribed to a circulating library at Peebles, whose diversified contents he devoured within a short time. He read poetry, romances and tales with avidity, and stored his mind with traditionary ballads, songs and stories. This circ.u.mstance will account for his wayward, changeable life, as well as for the wildness and strength of his imagination. In the field of reality he was nothing, in that of fancy everything.

He is said to have been a remarkably fine-looking young man, having a florid complexion, and a profusion of light brown hair, which he wore, coiled up, beneath his "blithe blue bonnet." An attack of illness induced by over-exertion, on a hot summer's day, so completely altered his appearance, that his friends scarcely recognized him as the same person. Of a jovial and merry disposition, he was a great favorite in all companies, and at times partook too freely of "the mountain dew."

Being introduced by the son of his employer to Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd a.s.sisted him in the collection of old ballads for the "Border Minstrelsy." He soon began to try his own hand in imitation of these traditionary poems, and published a volume of ballads, which attracted some attention, but never became very popular. Having embarked in sheep farming, and attempted one or two speculations in which he failed utterly, he resolved to repair to the city of Edinburgh, and support himself by his pen. "The Forest Minstrel," a collection of songs, was his first publication here; his second, "The Spy," a light periodical, which enjoyed a brief and precarious existence. It was not till the publication, in 1813, of his princ.i.p.al poetical production, "The Queen's Wake," that his reputation as a poet was firmly established. The plan was so simple and striking, and the execution so vigorous and delightful, that it "took" at once, and became universally popular. The old "Wake" or festival in Scotland was ordinarily celebrated with various kinds of diversions, among which music and song held the princ.i.p.al place. The "Queen's Wake" consists of a collection of tales and ballads supposed to be sung by different bards to the young Queen of Scotland,--

"When royal Mary, blithe of mood, Kept holyday at Holyrood."

The various productions of the minstrels are strung together by a thread of light and graceful narrative. The "Wake" lasts three successive nights, and a richly ornamented harp is the victor's reward. Rizzio is among the number of the compet.i.tors; but Gardyne, a native bard, obtains the prize. The plan supplies the Ettrick Shepherd with an opportunity of displaying the extreme facility with which he could adapt himself to all kinds of style, a facility so great that he subsequently published, under the t.i.tle of "The Mirror of the Poets," a collection of poems ascribed by him to Byron, Campbell, Scott, Southey, Crabbe, Wordsworth and others, in which the deception is so admirable, that mult.i.tudes actually supposed them genuine productions. Conscious of his strength, he breaks forth in the "Queen's Wake," in the following exulting strains.

"The land was charmed to list his lays; It knew the harp of ancient days.

The border chiefs that long had been In sepulchres unhea.r.s.ed and green, Pa.s.sed from their mouldy vaults away In armor red, and stern array, And by their moonlight halls were seen In visor, helm, and habergeon.

Even fairies sought our land again, So powerful was the magic strain."