Source of book: I own this.
Sir Walter Scott is best known these days for his historical novels, particularly those about the era of the Crusades: Ivanhoe and The Talisman. Likewise, his books about the era of Queen Elizabeth I, such as Kenilworth and Heart of Midlothian, and his books of famous heroes, like Rob Roy, remain at least known, although it is disappointing how few people read his books these days. His Scotish books are even less read, as the combination of challenging dialect and the plots centering on historical figures those outside Scotland know little of and care little about tend to turn readers off. This is sad to me, because Scott’s books are, despite the archaic historical settings, well written and thoughtful - and indeed relevant to our discussions of political and religious freedom today. (See my post about Old Mortality for an example.)
But even less appreciated is Scott’s poetry. Alas, poetry itself seems to be an afterthought these days, with even English teachers mostly ignoring it in favor of prose. As a poetry lover, this makes me sad. And I am also sad that the old ballad forms are neglected and mocked more than they are enjoyed. The sound and music of the lay of the minstrels is every bit as thrilling as a well written free verse poem. Scott wrote shorter poems too, but it is his longer ballads of the old days that are most remembered today. I previously read and enjoyed The Lady of the Lake, which, in addition to a good story, had marvelous language, and made references to traditions that still show up in our own time, for better or worse.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel also tells of the era of the border wars between Scotland and England. In this case, the border dispute occurred in the middle of the 16th Century, and involved a number of historical figures central to Scotish legend. Scott uses an interesting framing story in the poem: the “last minstrel” is literally that - an old man who, in the late 1600s, is the last of his kind, the minstrel singing the old ballads to the applause of royalty. Alas, his art has fallen out of style, particularly since the unification of England and Scotland under the Stuarts, the Puritan Commonwealth, and the Glorious Revolution. He takes refuge at Newark Castle, and is convinced to sing of the ancestors of the lady of the castle.
The story is one of forbidden love, deadly feuds, and a noble sacrifice. The poem also explores the relationship of art to tradition and country - indeed, the political nature of music and poetry.
Young Lady Margaret of the Scott clan, has fallen in love with Henry, a member of the rival Cranstoun clan. Her mother forbids the match, because, well, another member of the rival clan just killed her husband, so she is a bit sore.
Lady Scott sends William of Deloraine, a “moss-trooper” (a brigand of the border wars…), to fetch a magic book from the grave of her husband’s ancestor - she, after all, has a reputation as a witch. On the way back with the book, Deloraine comes upon Henry and Margaret out necking, he and Henry fight, and Deloraine is gravely wounded. He is taken by Henry’s “goblin page” (in disguise) back to Lady Scott, who saves his life with her magic. The goblin page can’t resist causing more trouble, so he entices Lady Scott’s young son out into the woods, where he is discovered by Lord Dacre’s men. Dacre is an English lord, and so is essentially the enemy of both Scot clans. He marches on the Scott castle, looking for Deloraine - and now he has a hostage.
At this point, Scotland is aware of the impending invasion, and lights the beacon fires. Hey, that sounds familiar! J.R.R. Tolkien did indeed steal the signal beacons from Scotish history and folklore. Come to think of it, a lot of our present legends and tropes are stolen from the border wars between England and Scotland. Every time I read Scott, I see something new that is in our cultural heritage. This makes for fun stories, but unfortunately also feeds the xenophobia and tribalism in our American culture all too often. Anyway, here is the passage:
The ready page, with hurried hand,
Awaked the need-fire's slumbering brand,
And ruddy blush'd the heaven:
For a sheet of flame from the turret high
Wav'd like a blood-flag on the sky,
All flaring and uneven;
And soon a score of fires, I ween,
From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen;
Each with warlike tidings fraught,
Each from each the signal caught;
Each after each they glanc'd to sight
As stars arise upon the night.
They gleam d on many a dusky tarn,
Haunted by the lonely earn;
On many a cairn's grey pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw
From Soltra and Dumpender Law,
And Lothian heard the Regent's order
That all should bowne them for the Border.
At the beginning and end of each of the six Cantos, the framing story returns. The minstrel pauses, receives his applause, and in one case, indicates that he needs some wine to fortify his voice before continuing. The poem then resumes, often with a passage about art and country and so on, before the main narrative returns. Here is one of those passages, at the beginning of the fourth Canto, that I particularly liked.
Unlike the tide of human time,
Which, though it change in ceaseless flow
Retains each grief, retains each crime
Its earliest course was doom'd to know;
And, darker as it downward bears,
Is stain'd with past and present tears
Low as that tide has ebb'd with me...
The opposing armies are ready to fight, but first propose a solution. Dacre wants Deloraine, but agrees to decide the issue - and the fate of the young boy - by single combat. On Dacre’s side is the formidable Richard Musgrave, who holds personal as well as political hatred toward Deloraine. The Scotts debate who should represent them, when, behold, Deloraine himself, seemingly magically cured, comes out and agrees to fight.
In the ensuing combat, Musgrave is killed, and the Scotts have won the issue. But then, the real Deloraine staggers out, still half dead from his earlier wound. Who has fought for the Scotts, then? None other than Henry, disguised by his goblin page (with the aid of the magic book) to look like Deloraine. Lady Scott relents, and lets Henry and Margaret marry. But at the feast, after the songs of three minstrels are heard, the goblin page can’t help causing a bunch of additional havoc - he is reclaimed, and the somewhat subdued partygoers turn to prayers for those lost in the wars.
A few other things bear mentioning. First is the fact that the English hired German mercenaries long before they used them in the Revolutionary War. They get a bit of press in this poem too.
Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries, firm and slow,
Moved on to fight, in dark array,
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,
Who brought the band from distant Rhine,
And sold their blood for foreign pay.
The camp their home, their law the sword,
They knew no country, own'd no lord :
They were not arm'd like England's sons,
But bore the levin-darting guns;
Buff coats, all frounc'd and 'broider'd o'er,
And morsing-horns and scarfs they wore;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade;
All as they march'd, in rugged tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.
Another of the musings on art is this hauntingly lovely stanza at the opening of the fifth Canto:
Call it not vain;--they do not err,
Who say, that when the Poet dies,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obsequies:
Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone
For the departed Bard make moan;
That mountains weep in crystal rill;
That flowers in tears of balm distill;
Through his lov'd groves that breezes sigh,
And oaks, in deeper groan, reply;
And rivers teach their rushing wave
To murmur dirges round his grave
The opening of the sixth Canto is fairly famous, in part because it was used by Edward Everett Hale, in his story, The Man Without a Country. I had to read that one twice during my school years - it was popular in a certain era, and to be fair, it is a memorable story. Here is the original stanza from Scott’s poem:
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.
I found the songs of the minstrels fascinating too. While most of the poem is (more or less) in rhymed couplets of iambic tetrameter, the poems within the poems were of different forms, which reflect the nationalities of the authors. Graeme goes first - he is from the borderlands. His poem is in a simple ABAB form, likely to appeal to the English and Scotish alike. Here is a bit of it:
It was an English ladye bright,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)
And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.
The last line becomes the refrain of the poem.
Fitztraver is English, and his poem is much more sophisticated, with its iambic pentameter and ABABBCBCDC stanza.
'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high;
He heard the midnight bell with anxious start,
Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh,
When wise Cornelius promis'd, by his art,
To show to him the ladye of his heart
Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part
That he should see her form in life and limb
And mark, if still she lov'd,
And still she thought of him.
Finally, Harold, of the Orkney islands, returns to the simplicity of the ABAB stanza, but without the refrain, and a more sorrowful tale.
O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay,
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
The poem ends with the disappearance of the last minstrel, seemingly into thin air.
Hush'd is the harp: the Minstrel gone.
And did he wander forth alone?
Alone, in indigence and age,
To linger out his pilgrimage?
No; close beneath proud Newark's tower,
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower;
A simple hut; but there was seen
The little garden hedged with green,
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.
There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze,
Oft heard the tale of other days;
For much he lov'd to ope his door,
And give the aid he begg'd before.
So pass'd the winter's day; but still,
When summer smil'd on sweet Bowhill,
And July's eve, with balmy breath,
Wav'd the blue-bells on Newark heath;
When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw,
And corn was green on Carterhaugh,
And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oak,
The aged Harper's soul awoke!
Then would he sing achievements high,
And circumstance of chivalry,
Till the rapt traveller would stay,
Forgetful of the closing day;
And noble youths, the strain to hear,
Forsook the hunting of the deer;
And Yarrow, as he roll'd along,
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.
That’s a beautiful and haunting ending to the poem.
As I mentioned, I think Scott is underrated, and really should be more widely read. His language and style are old fashioned, but his sensibilities are progressive even today. He stands for freedom, for kindness, for reconciliation of warring factions, for a more enlightened age, even as he tells of tribalistic wars, intrigues, and religious infighting. He evokes a bygone era with gentle fondness, but looks forward to a time when the swords can be laid down, and men (and women) can embrace as brothers.
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