Whole book · 12 sections
THE NEWBERY CLASSICS
REPRINTED FROM THE EARLY EDITIONS
WITH MEMOIR, EXPLANATORY NOTES, ETC.
LONDON
GRIFFITH FARRAN & CO.
NEWBERY HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are Reserved.
| PAGE | |
| Prefatory Memoir | ix |
| The Pleasures of Hope— | |
| Part I. | 1 |
| Part II. | 23 |
| Gertrude of Wyoming— | |
| Part I. | 41 |
| Part II. | 53 |
| Part III. | 61 |
| O’Connor’s Child; or, the “Flower of Love Lies Bleeding” | 73 |
| Theodric; a Domestic Tale | 83 |
| Lochiel’s Warning | 101 |
| Miscellaneous Poems— | |
| Battle of the Baltic | 109 |
| Ye Mariners of England: a Naval Ode | 112 |
| To the Rainbow | 114 |
| The Last Man | 116 |
| Valedictory Stanzas to J. P. Kemble, Esq., composed for a Public Meeting, held June, 1817 | 119 |
| A Dream | 122 |
| Lines Written at the Request of the Highland Society in London, when met to Commemorate the 21st of March, the Day of Victory in Egypt | 125 |
| Stanzas to the Memory of the Spanish Patriots latest Killed in Resisting the Regency and the Duke of Angoulême | 127 |
| Song of the Greeks | 129 |
| Ode to Winter | 131 |
| Lines Spoken by Mr. * * *, at Drury Lane Theatre, on the First Opening of the House after the death of the Princess Charlotte, 1817 | 133 |
| Lines on the Grave of a Suicide | 135 |
| The Turkish Lady | 136 |
| The Wounded Hussar | 138 |
| Lines Inscribed on the Monument lately finished by Mr. Chantrey, which has been Erected by the Widow of Admiral Sir G. Campbell, K.C.B., to the Memory of her Husband | 139 |
| The Brave Roland | 140 |
| The Spectre Boat; a Ballad | 142 |
| The Lover to his Mistress on her Birth-day | 144 |
| Hohenlinden | 145 |
| Glenara | 147 |
| Lines on Receiving a Seal with the Campbell Crest, from K. M—, before her Marriage | 149 |
| Gilderoy | 151 |
| Adelgitha | 153 |
| Absence | 154 |
| The Ritter Bann | 155 |
| The Harper | 161 |
| Song—To the Evening Star | 162 |
| Song—“Men of England” | 163 |
| The Maid’s Remonstrance | 164 |
| Song—“Drink ye to her” | 165 |
| Song—“When Napoleon was flying” | 166 |
| The Beech-Tree’s Petition | 167 |
| Song—“Earl March” | 168 |
| Love and Madness; an Elegy, written in 1795 | 169 |
| Song—“Oh how hard it is to find” | 172 |
| Stanzas on the Threatened Invasion, 1803 | 173 |
| Exile of Erin | 174 |
| Lord Ullin’s Daughter | 176 |
| Ode to the Memory of Burns | 178 |
| The Soldier’s Dream | 181 |
| Lines Written on Visiting a Scene in Argyleshire | 182 |
| Spanish Patriot’s Song | 184 |
| Verses on Marie Antoinette | 186 |
| Dirge of Wallace | 188 |
| Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore; three Celebrated Scottish Beauties | 190 |
| The Death-Boat of Heligoland | 192 |
| Song—“When Love came first to Earth” | 194 |
| Lines on the Departure of Emigrants for New South Wales | 195 |
| Farewell to Love | 199 |
| Lines on a Picture of a Girl in the Attitude of Prayer, by the artist Gruse, in the possession of Lady Stepney | 200 |
| Stanzas on the Battle of Navarino | 202 |
| Lines on Leaving a Scene in Bavaria | 204 |
| Stanzas to Painting | 209 |
| Drinking-Song of Munich | 212 |
| Lines on Revisiting a Scottish River | 213 |
| Lines on Revisiting Cathcart | 215 |
| The “Name Unknown;” in imitation of Klopstock | 216 |
| Song—“Withdraw not yet those lips and fingers” | 217 |
| Hallowed Ground | 218 |
| Caroline—Part I. | 221 |
| Caroline—Part II.—To the Evening Star | 223 |
| Field Flowers | 225 |
| Lines on the View from St Leonard’s | 226 |
| Lines on Poland | 230 |
| Lines on the Camp Hill, near Hastings | 235 |
| Lines written in a Blank Leaf of La Perouse’s Voyages | 236 |
| The Power of Russia | 238 |
| Reullura | 241 |
| Ode to the Germans | 247 |
| Florine | 249 |
| Translations— | |
| Song of Hybrias the Cretan | 253 |
| Fragment from the Greek of Alcman | 254 |
| Martial Elegy from the Greek of Tyrtæus | 255 |
| Specimens of Translation from “Medea” | 257 |
| Speech of the Chorus in the same Tragedy, to dissuade Medea from her Purpose of Putting her Children to Death, and Flying for Protection to Athens | 258 |
| Notes to— | |
| The Pleasures of Hope | 265 |
| Gertrude of Wyoming | 269 |
| O’Connor’s Child | 285 |
| Theodric | 291 |
| Lochiel | 293 |
Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow, July 27, 1777. He was of good family, his father being the youngest son of a Highland laird, Campbell of Kirnan, who could trace his descent from Gilespie le Camile, first Norman lord of Lochawe. As was (and is) usual with the younger sons of Scottish families of rank, Campbell’s father was destined for a commercial career. He commenced it in Virginia, where he entered into partnership with a kinsman, and returning with him to Scotland, carried on the business in Glasgow, till the wars between Great Britain and her American Colonies for a time seriously injured British commerce. After incurring severe losses he at length gave up business altogether, and retired into private life with diminished means and a large family.
Thomas, the poet, was the youngest of eleven children, and was born after his father had retired. At eight years of age he was sent to the Grammar School of Glasgow, and became the pupil of David Alison, who soon detected the infant genius of his pupil. The boy worked hard for his years, but his health was delicate, and, like Walter Scott, he had to be sent away for the benefit of country air. Amidst the fields and green lanes he regained health and strength, and returning to his studies made rapid progress, especially in Greek. At twelve years old, he gained prizes for his translations from the Greek poets.
In 1793 Campbell commenced the study of the law in the office of his relative Mr. Alexander Campbell, a Writer to the Signet, of Glasgow; but he soon abandoned it, and again devoted himself to more congenial pursuits. About this time his Lines on Marie Antoinette appeared in the poet’s corner of a Glasgow paper; he had already won a prize for his poem On Description from the University.
In 1795 the failure of a Chancery suit still further reduced his father’s income, and Campbell, eager to reduce the family expenses, sought and obtained a tutorship in the family of a Mrs. Campbell of Sunipol, in the Hebrides, for the summer months. The romantic beauty of his new home strongly impressed the youthful poet, and it was whilst wandering on the wild lonely shores of Mull, that the subject of his celebrated poem the Pleasures of Hope was suggested to him by his friend Mr. Hamilton Paul. A rock on the isle, on which he often sat and mused, obtained and still keeps the name of the “Poet’s Seat.”
In the autumn Campbell returned to his studies at the University, and finally closed his academic career by winning two prizes—one for the Choephorcæ of Aristophanes, and the other for the Chorus in the Medea of Euripides.
After quitting the University, he again became a tutor—this time in the family of General Napier, who was greatly interested in the gifted young man beneath his roof. It was during this residence in Argyleshire that he wrote Love and Madness, and some other poems.
In 1798 the poet proceeded to Edinburgh, determined to try his fortune in the Scottish metropolis. He had an introduction to Dr. Robert Anderson, who, struck with his ability, recommended him to Mr. Mundell, the publisher. Mr. Mundell at once gave him literary work, his first task being to compile an abridgment of Bryan Edward’s West Indies. He also obtained pupils, and thus managed to secure a comfortable livelihood. But by degrees the love of poetry grew too strong for this routine of industry, and he gradually devoted himself to the composition of the Pleasures of Hope. Campbell’s life at this time must have been a very happy one. He was enraptured with his task, and he had many and kind friends in Edinburgh—amongst them was Francis (afterwards Lord) Jeffrey. To his aunt Mrs. Campbell, and to his beautiful cousin Margaret, who resided in Edinburgh, he used to read his verses, and was cheered and encouraged by their applause.
When the poem was finished, Dr. Anderson took it to Mr. Mundell, who, after some consideration, offered the poet £60 for it, an offer which was accepted.
The poem appeared, and Campbell at once became famous. Everywhere it was read and admired, and it secured to the Author a permanent reputation at the age of twenty-one. The Pleasures of Hope went through four editions in a year. In the second edition several new and remarkably fine passages were introduced.
In 1800 Campbell left Scotland in order to visit Germany. He landed at Hamburg; and proceeded, after a short residence there, to Ratisbon, which he reached only three days before the French took it, and was, consequently, obliged to seek a refuge with the monks of the Benedictine College; from the walls of which he beheld a cavalry charge made by the German horse on the French under Grenier. The scenes of war through which it was now his fate to pass, no doubt suggested his fine lyric of Hohenlinden, though he was not a spectator of the fight (Dr. Beattie tells us)—it occurred after he had left the scene of war.
The times were now so troubled that Campbell hastened homeward, the moment he could obtain his passports. At Hamburg, where he remained for a while, he wrote the Exile of Erin. From Hamburg he proceeded to Altona, and thence to England. During his absence he had sent several small poems to the Morning Chronicle, and on his return he was received and welcomed cordially by its editor, Mr. Perry, who introduced him to the best literary society in London. But from the natural enjoyment of his popularity he was called by the tidings of his father’s death, and he hurried at once to Edinburgh. Here he found that an absurd charge of treason had been made against him, which, however, his own prompt and manly demand of an investigation of his conduct at once quashed. Moreover, his trunk, which had been seized on its way homewards, was examined, and amongst his papers was found the glorious national lyric, Ye Mariners of England, which he had written at Altona. The patriotic feeling displayed in it at once assured the Sheriff of Edinburgh of the poet’s innocence of the crime with which he was charged, and the affair ended in the young poet’s character being entirely cleared.
From the period of his father’s death it became Campbell’s duty to provide in a great measure for his widowed mother and his sister, and he worked bravely and patiently for them at literary task-work.
In 1801 he visited London at Lord Minto’s invitation, and passed a season of great gaiety in the midst of the literary celebrities of England. On his return to Edinburgh he published Lochiel, and Hohenlinden, and brought out the seventh edition of the Pleasures of Hope.
In 1802 Campbell married his cousin, Miss Matilda Sinclair, and went shortly afterwards to reside at Sydenham, then a lovely and rather aristocratic place,—where his memory was long cherished, and his dwelling is even now pointed out to strangers.
Here he supported by his literary labour his mother, his wife, and children; and was occupied and happy. He contributed to the Philosophical Magazine, the Star paper, and planned his Specimens of the British Poets.
In 1805 Campbell received a pension of £200 from the Crown, which must have greatly relieved the anxieties of a husband and father dependent on so precarious a profession as literature. But he retained only half for himself; the remainder he divided between his mother and sister; an act of generosity which afterwards, we are told, led to his receiving a handsome legacy of nearly £5,000 from a Highland cousin.
In 1809 Gertrude of Wyoming, Lord Ullin’s Daughter, and The Battle of the Baltic were published. Several prose works also appeared from Campbell’s pen; in 1807, the Annals of Great Britain from the Accession of George III. to the Peace of Amiens, was published anonymously in Edinburgh. He wrote also a Life of Petrarch in 1841, and edited numerous works. In 1818, the long-planned Specimens of the British Poets was produced in London. After this publication, Campbell delivered lectures at the Surrey Institution on English Poetry, and the public pronounced him to be as elegant a critic as he was a fine poet. In a pecuniary sense, everything he did prospered.
In 1824 Theodric was published, which, however, obtained small favour with the public. In fact a new style of poetry had superseded that of the day when the Pleasures of Hope won golden opinions; Scott had since charmed the ear with his Lay and his Lady of the Lake, and had been in turn supplanted by the fiery muse of Byron, and—though not then fully appreciated—the matchless melody and classic charm of Shelley. After the productions of these great poets, the calm and unimpassioned Theodric fell flat on the public ear; in fact there is no comparison between it and the Pleasures of Hope.
As a lyric poet, Campbell, however, continued unrivalled, and would have held his own place in our literature if he had never written more than the Mariners of England and Hohenlinden. Nor did the Pleasures of Hope lose its hold on public favour; it has retained it to this day, except in a certain clique of critics. There are passages in it which will ever have a strong hold on our sympathies; and which will be remembered when the half intelligible utterances of our more modern times shall only excite wonder and amusement.
In 1827 one of Campbell’s early day-dreams, that of being Lord Rector of his own University, was gratified. He was chosen, though no less a rival than Sir Walter Scott was in the field, and he filled the position so well, and so much to the benefit of the University, that he was re-elected the two following years.
In 1820 Colbourne offered him the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine, which he accepted and retained till 1830, at a salary of £500 per annum. His sub-editor—a very efficient one—was Mr. Cyrus Redding.
In 1831 Campbell brought out the Metropolitan Magazine, editing it himself.
Meantime much domestic affliction had fallen on him. He had lost a child, and his dear wife died in 1828, a loss which greatly affected him. But he made himself other strong interests besides domestic and literary ones. The Poles and the Greeks had enlisted his most ardent sympathies, and had the best aid of his pen. Moreover, he travelled in France and Germany, and in 1834 as far as Algiers, from whence he wrote the Letters from the South, published in the Metropolitan Magazine.
In 1838 he was presented to the Queen by the chief of his clan, the Duke of Argyle, at the first levee held by the fair young Sovereign after her accession to the throne. He had loyally offered her a present of his works; the Queen accepted them, and graciously sent him in return her picture. Campbell had been always a Liberal, but, like Leigh Hunt, he was won by the gentle lady who held the sceptre to sincere loyalty to the Crown.
Campbell moved to No. 8, Victoria Square, Pimlico, in 1840, and adopted, as the sharer of his solitary home, his niece, Mary Campbell, whose gentle ministrations soothed his declining years, and brightened the last hours of his life.
In 1842 The Pilgrim of Glencoe was published, but it was not well received, and the aged poet began to perceive that it was time to lay by his pen; that he spoke to a generation he could not charm. Nevertheless his age was honoured and prosperous. His works produced nearly £700 a year, and his means exceeded altogether £1000 per annum. But he fancied he should prefer a cheaper residence than London, and in compliance with the aged poet’s fancy, his niece accompanied him to Boulogne, where they settled, at 5, Rue Petit St. Jean.
Here he remained in a varying state of health till 1844, when he became seriously ill, and the physician, Dr. Allatt, gave no hopes of his recovery. His faithful and beloved friend, Dr. Beattie—by whom a charming memoir of the poet has been since published—came to him, and did his best to soothe the last moments of the dying poet.
His death-bed was truly Christian. Some of his last words were “Come, let us sing praises to Christ,” “Let us pray for one another.”
On the 15th of June 1844, his spirit passed calmly, without a struggle, to a better world.
The body of the poet was brought to England, and on the 3rd of July buried in Westminster Abbey, near the centre of the Poet’s Corner. His funeral was attended by numerous friends and admirers, amongst whom were his chief, the Duke of Argyle, and Sir Robert Peel, then premier.
Thus closed the life of one of the most popular poets of the beginning of our century. Prosperous in its public phase—very sad and sorely tried in its domestic one. He had refined taste and pleasing manners; and no reproach rests upon his private or public character. In his youth he was singularly beautiful in person. Leigh Hunt tells us (in his autobiography) that Campbell’s face and person were rather on a small scale, “his features regular, his eye lively and penetrating, and when he spoke, dimples played about his mouth, which, nevertheless, had something restrained and close in it. Some gentle Puritan seemed to have crossed the breed, and to have left a stamp on his face, such as we often see in the female Scotch face rather than the male.”
No poet, except Shakespeare, has been so frequently quoted as Campbell. Many of his lines have become proverbs:—“Coming events cast their shadows before,” “’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,” &c., &c., are as familiar to us as household words. “His verses” says a writer in Chambers’s Papers for the People, “cannot be mistaken for those of any other English poet—his odes do not resemble those of Dryden, Collins, or Gray—they stand alone.... Scott said, ‘he could imitate all the modern poets but Tom Campbell,’ he could not imitate him because his peculiarity was more in the matter than the manner.” High praise this! Byron said that he believed Campbell wrote so little poetry because he was afraid of comparison with his early and famous poem: we have not the volume to quote the exact words. We are rather inclined to think that the true reason why he gave us no more poems than we possess at present was, not only that his taste was exceedingly refined and fastidious—he would not admit many charming minor poems into his collected works—but that, like Goldsmith, his time was much occupied by task-work for the publishers; and as he would not suffer hastily written lines to appear, or any which he had not carefully polished, the quantity he produced was necessarily small. We are told in Notes and Queries that he took some pains (returning to the house where he had written it for the purpose) to substitute a single word which he believed would be an improvement on another in his Stanzas to Florine! Consequently, his poems must have occupied time and thought beyond what we may imagine from their length, and his leisure could not have been great. It would have been better, perhaps, if more voluminous poets had imitated his reticence, and given us quality rather than quantity.
Campbell was a pleasant companion, and when he pleased could (we have Byron’s authority for it) talk delightfully; but he was occasionally absent and silent. His poetry is much admired by foreigners. Madame de Staël was enraptured with the Pleasures of Hope, and Goethe was a warm admirer of the Poet.
His domestic character was excellent, and his family sorrows—of which this is no place to speak—were borne by him with patient courage.
His Life, admirably given us by his friend Dr. Beattie,[1] is well worth reading as a record of Genius, aided by patient perseverance, struggling with difficulties, and vanquishing them; and to it, for fuller and far more interesting details, we refer the readers of this brief Prefatory Memoir.
To this collection of his poems we have added his Lines on Marie Antoinette, the Dirge of Wallace, and one or two other poems, published in the New Monthly Magazine.
[1] Life and Letters of Campbell, by Dr. Beattie.
The Poem opens with a comparison between the beauty of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which the imagination delights to contemplate ... the influence of anticipation upon the other passions is next delineated ... an allusion is made to the well-known fiction in Pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian deities of mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind ... the consolations of this passion in situations of distress ... the seaman on his watch ... the soldier marching into battle ... allusion to the interesting adventures of Byron.
The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, whether in the department of science, or of taste ... domestic felicity, how intimately connected with views of future happiness ... picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep ... pictures of the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer.
From the consolations of individual misery, a transition is made to prospects of political improvement in the future state of society ... the wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanising arts among uncivilised nations ... from these views of amelioration of society, and the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by a melancholy contrast of ideas, we are led to reflect upon the hard fate of a brave people recently conspicuous in their struggles for independence[2] ... description of the capture of Warsaw, of the last contest of the oppressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague ... apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human improvement ... the wrongs of Africa ... the barbarous policy of Europeans in India ... prophecy in the Hindoo mythology of the expected descent of the Deity to redress the miseries of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and mercy.
[2] The Poles. This Poem first appeared in 1799.
END OF THE FIRST PART.
[3] An error of the poet’s: Elijah did not ascend from Carmel, but from the eastern side of Jordan.—(See 2 Kings ii. 7-11.)
[4] See Narrative of Byron’s Shipwreck.—Notes at end of Volume.
[5] A Briton and a friend.—Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of the Spanish settlements, hospitably relieved Byron and his wretched associates, of which the commodore speaks in the warmest terms of gratitude.
[6] The seven strings of Apollo’s harp were the symbolical representation of the seven planets. Herschell, by discovering an eighth, might be said to add another string to the instrument.
[7] Linnæus, the famous Swedish Botanist.
[8] Socrates.
[9] Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow.—Loxias is the name frequently given to Apollo by Greek writers; it is met with more than once in the Chœphoræ of Æschylus.
[10] Exodus xvii. 3, 5, 6.
[11] The superstition of the African savages.—See Notes.
[12] Siberia.—See Notes.
[14] The negroes in the West Indies were summoned to their work by a shell or horn.
[16] See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, translated from Camoens by Mickle.
[18] The oriental Minerva.
[19] The god of Love.
[20] Ganesa answers to Janus.
Apostrophe to the power of Love ... its intimate connection with generous and social Sensibility ... allusion to that beautiful passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which represents the happiness of Paradise itself incomplete, till love was superadded to its other blessings ... the dreams of future felicity which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined attachment ... this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great artist who personified perfect beauty, in the picture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find ... a summer and winter evening described, as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and retirement.
Hope and imagination inseparable agents ... even in those contemplative moments when our imagination wanders beyond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we shall some day have a wider and distinct prospect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy.
The last and most sublime influence of Hope is the concluding topic of the poem ... the predominance of a belief in a future state over the terrors attendant on dissolution ... the baneful influence of that sceptical philosophy which bars us from such comforts ... allusion to the fate of a suicide ... episode of Conrad and Ellenore ... conclusion.
[21] “Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade.”—Dryden.
[22] Falconer, who calls himself Arion in “The Shipwreck” (Canto III.)
[23] See Schiller’s tragedy of “The Robbers,” Scene 5.
[24] The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Cæsar has been usually estimated at two millions of men.
[25] Charles XII., of Sweden.—See Notes.
[27] See “Rambler.”
[28] Columbus.
Most of the popular histories of England, as well as of the American war, give an authentic account of the desolation of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, which took place in 1778, by an incursion of the Indians. The Scenery and Incidents of the following Poem are connected with that event. The testimonies of historians and travellers concur in describing the infant colony as one of the happiest spots of human existence, for the hospitable and innocent manners of the inhabitants, the beauty of the country, and the luxuriant fertility of the soil and climate. In an evil hour, the junction of European with Indian arms, converted this terrestrial paradise into a frightful waste. Mr. Isaac Weld informs us, that the ruins of many of the villages, perforated with balls, and bearing marks of conflagration, were still preserved by the recent inhabitants, when he travelled through America in 1796.
[30] Scotland.
[31] The Gaelic appellation for the porpoise.
[32] A great whirlpool near the island of Jura.—See Notes.
[34] The wampum, offered in token of amity.—See Notes.
[35] The Indian God of War.
[36] Spirit.—See Notes.
[37] A kind of soup.—See Notes.
[38] The Indians are distinguished both personally and by tribes by the name of particular animals, whose qualities they affect to resemble, either for cunning, strength, swiftness, or other qualities:—as the eagle, the serpent, the fox, or bear.—See Notes.
[40] Calumet of peace.—The calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity.—See Notes.
[41] Tree-rocked cradle.—The Indian mothers suspend their children in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be rocked by the wind.—See Notes.
[42] Moccasins are a sort of Indian buskin.
[43] From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriand presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any other water.
[45] It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who have been buried for upwards of a century.
[46] The bridges over narrow streams in many parts of Spanish America are said to be built of cane, which, however strong to support the passenger, are yet waved in the agitation of the storm, and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and picturesque scenery.
[47] Alluding to the miseries that attended the American civil war.
[48] Cougar, the American tiger.
[49] Imaginary leader of those Mohawks, and other savages, who laid waste this part of Pennsylvania.—See Notes.
[51] The ancient name of Ireland.
[52] The plural of kern—an Irish foot soldier.
[53] A rude hut, or cabin.
[54] Yellow, dyed from saffron, was the favourite colour of the ancient Irish.
[55] A drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed with honey.
[57] Eath O’Connor defeated the English.
[59] Fires lighted in honour of the sun on the hill tops by the Irish.—See Notes.
[60] The Irish harp.—See Notes.
[61] Fortification—See Notes.
[62] The Irish wail for the dead.
[64] An important battle was fought here, August 10, 1315, which decided the subjection of Ireland.—See Notes.
WIZARD—LOCHIEL.
[68] The Gaelic appellation of Scotland,—more particularly the Highlands.
[69] Charles Edward Stuart.
[70] Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson when he wrote home his despatches.
[71] The 42nd Regiment.
[72] This ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800, before the conclusion of hostilities.
[73] The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.
[74] Maclean of Duart.
[75] A Norman leader, Gilliespie le Camile, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochaw in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung.
[76] Warwick Castle.
[77] Miss Broderick: she murdered her lover, Errington.—See Campbell’s “Life and Letters,” by Dr. Beattie.
[78] Anthony McCann, exiled for being implicated in the Irish Rebellion of 1798. Campbell met him at Hamburg.
[79] Ireland for ever.
[80] Ireland my darling.
[81] The evil spirit of the waters.
[82] Burns was born in a clay cottage, which his father had built with his own hands.
[83] Major Edward Hodge, of the 7th Hussars, who fell at the head of his squadron in the attack of the Polish Lancers.
[84] Kirnan.
[85] These lines were published in a leading Glasgow newspaper in 1792.
[86] In Catholic countries you often hear the church bells rung to propitiate Heaven during thunder storms.
[87] Alluding to the well-known tradition respecting the origin of painting, that it arose from a young Corinthian female tracing the shadow of her lovers profile on the wall, as he lay asleep.
[88] The fact ought to be universally known, that France was indebted to Poland for not being invaded by Russia. When the Duke Constantine fled from Warsaw, he left papers behind him proving that the Russians, after the Parisian events in July, meant to have marched towards Paris, if the Polish insurrection had not prevented them.
[89] What is called the East Hill at Hastings is crowned with the works of an ancient camp; and it is more than probable it was the spot which William I. occupied between his landing, and the battle which gave him England’s crown. It is a strong position: the works are easily traced.
[90] This venerable man, the most popular and influential of Polish poets, and president of the Academy of Warsaw, was in London when this poem was written; he was seventy-four years old; but his noble spirit was rather mellowed than decayed by age. He was the friend of Fox, Kosciusko, and Washington. Rich in anecdote like Franklin, he bore also a striking resemblance to him in countenance.
[91] Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies “beautiful star.”
[92] The Culdees were the primitive clergy of Scotland, and apparently her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery on the island of Iona, or Icolmkill, was the seminary of Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian writers have wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems to be established that they were not enemies to Episcopacy;—but that they were not slavishly subjected to Rome like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting the Papal ordonnances respecting the celibacy of religious men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish canons.
[93] Ireland.
[94] Denmark.
[95] Striking the shield was an ancient mode of convocation to war among the Gael.
[98] Florine was the beautiful Miss O’Bryen. She married Mr. Huntley Gordon—Scott’s amanuensis for the MS of the Waverley Novels—and died soon after her wedding.
[99] I received the substance of the tradition on which this poem is founded, in the first instance, from a friend in London, who wrote to Matthew N. Macdonald, Esq., of Edinburgh. He had the kindness to send me a circumstantial account of the tradition; and that gentleman’s knowledge of the Highlands, as well as his particular acquaintance with the district of Glencoe, leave me no doubt of the incident having really happened. I have not departed from the main facts of the tradition as reported to me by Mr. Macdonald; only I have endeavoured to colour the personages of the story, and to make them as distinctive as possible.
[100] God and the Devil—a favourite ejaculation of Highland saints.
[101] Snuff-horn.
[102] To hang their vassals, or starve them to death in a dungeon, was a privilege of the Highland chiefs who had hereditary jurisdictions.
[103] Scotch for late and early.
[104] The Duke of Argyle.
[105] When the hospitable Highlanders load a parting guest with provisions, they tell him he will need them, as he has to go over a great deal of hungry grass.
The following picture of his own distress, given by Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies the description in page 7.
After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his child, he proceeds thus:—“A day or two after we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had been at the bottom of when we first hauled away to the westward. The land here was very low and sandy, and something like the mouth of a river which discharged itself into the sea, and which had been taken no notice of by us before, as it was so shallow that the Indians were obliged to take everything out of their canoes, and carry them over land. We rowed up the river four or five leagues, and then took into a branch of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to the northward: here it became much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained but little way, though we wrought very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfortable lodging, it being a perfect swamp, and we had nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. The Indians were little better off than we, as there was no wood here to make their wigwams; so that all they could do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bottom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they could to the leeward of it. Knowing the difficulties they had to encounter here, they had provided themselves with some seal; but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of the day, excepting a sort of root we saw the Indians make use of, which was very disagreeable to the taste. We laboured all next day against the stream, and fared as we had done the day before. The next day brought us to the carrying place. Here was plenty of wood, but nothing to be got for sustenance. We passed this night, as we had frequently done, under a tree; but what we suffered at this time is not easy to be expressed. I had been three days at the oar without any kind of nourishment except the wretched root above mentioned. I had no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. All my clothes consisted of a short grieko (something like a bear-skin), a piece of red cloth which had once been a waistcoat, and a ragged pair of trowsers, without shoes or stockings.”
Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or Obiah, is the name of a magical power, which is believed by them to affect the object of its malignity with dismal calamities. Such a belief must undoubtedly have been deduced from the superstitious mythology of their kinsmen on the coast of Africa. I have, therefore, personified Obi as the evil spirit of the African, although the history of the African tribes mentions the evil spirits of their religious creed by a different appellation.
Mr. Bell, of Antermony, in his “Travels through Siberia,” informs us that the name of the country is universally pronounced “Sibir” by the Russians.
The history of the partition of Poland, of the massacre in the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of Prague, the triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Polish capital, and the insult offered to human nature, by the blasphemous thanks offered up to Heaven, for victories obtained over men fighting in the sacred cause of liberty, by murderers and oppressors, are events generally known.
To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotation from the preface to “Letters from a Hindoo Rajah,” by Eliza Hamilton, a work of elegance and celebrity:—
“The impostor of Mecca had established, as one of the principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending it either by persuasion, or the sword, to all parts of the earth. How steadily this injunction was adhered to by his followers, and with what success it was pursued, is well known to all who are in the least conversant in history.
“The same overwhelming torrent which had inundated the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the very heart of Europe, and covering many kingdoms of Asia, with unbounded desolation, directed its baneful course to the flourishing provinces of Hindostan. Here these fierce and hardy adventurers, whose only improvement had been in the science of destruction, who added the fury of fanaticism to the ravages of war, found the great end of their conquest opposed by objects which neither the ardour of their persevering zeal, nor savage barbarity, could surmount. Multitudes were sacrificed by the cruel hand of religious persecution, and whole countries were deluged in blood, in the vain hope, that by the destruction of a part, the remainder might be persuaded, or terrified, into the profession of Mahomedism. But all these sanguinary efforts were ineffectual; and at length, being fully convinced, that though they might extirpate, they could never hope to convert, any number of the Hindoos, they relinquished the impracticable idea with which they had entered upon their career of conquest, and contented themselves with the acquirement of the civil dominion and almost universal empire of Hindostan.”
The following account of British conduct, and its consequences, in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea of the fact alluded to in this passage.
After describing the monopoly of salt, betel nut, and tobacco, the historian proceeds thus:—“Money in this current came but by drops; it could not quench the thirst of those who waited in India to receive it. An expedient, such as it was, remained to quicken its pace. The natives could live with little salt, but could not want food. Some of the agents saw themselves well situated for collecting the rice into stores; they did so. They knew the Gentoos would rather die than violate the principles of their religion by eating flesh. The alternative would therefore be between giving what they had, or dying. The inhabitants sunk;—they that cultivated the land, and saw the harvest at the disposal of others, planted in doubt—scarcity ensued. Then the monopoly was easier managed—sickness ensued. In some districts the languid living left the bodies of their numerous dead unburied.”—Short History of the English Transactions in the East Indies, page 145.
Among the sublime fictions of the Hindoo mythology, it is one article of belief, that the Deity Brahma has descended nine times upon the world in various forms, and that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure of a warrior upon a white horse, to cut off all incorrigible offenders. “Avatar” is the word used to express his descent.
“In this extremity,” says the biographer of Charles XII. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits before the battle of Pultowa, “the memorable winter of 1709, which was still more remarkable in that part of Europe than in France, destroyed numbers of his troops; for Charles resolved to brave the seasons as he had done his enemies, and ventured to make long marches during this mortal cold. It was in one of these marches that two thousand men fell down dead with cold before his eyes.”
The natives of the island of Iona have an opinion, that on certain evenings every year the tutelary saint Columba is seen on the top of the church spires counting the surrounding islands, to see that they have not been sunk by the power of witchcraft.
“The mocking-bird is of the form, but larger than the thrush; and the colours are a mixture of black, white, and grey. What is said of the nightingale by its greatest admirers, is what may with more propriety apply to this bird, who, in a natural state, sings with very superior taste. Towards evening I have heard one begin softly, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which, by this means, had a most astonishing effect. A gentleman in London had one of these birds for six years. During the space of a minute he was heard to imitate the woodlark, chaffinch, blackbird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country (America) I have frequently known the mocking-birds so engaged in this mimicry, that it was with much difficulty I could ever obtain an opportunity of hearing their own natural note. Some go so far as to say, that they have neither peculiar notes, nor favourite imitations. This may be denied. Their few natural notes resemble those of the (European) nightingale. Their song, however, has a greater compass and volume than the nightingale, and they have the faculty of varying all intermediate notes in a manner which is truly delightful.”—Ashe’s Travels in America, vol. ii. p. 73.
The Corybrechtan, or Corbrechtan, is a whirlpool on the western coast of Scotland, near the island of Jura, which is heard at a prodigious distance. Its name signifies the whirlpool of the Prince of Denmark; and there is a tradition that a Danish prince once undertook, for a wager, to cast anchor in it. He is said to have used woollen instead of hempen ropes, for greater strength, but perished in the attempt. On the shores of Argyleshire, I have often listened with great delight to the sound of this vortex, at the distance of many leagues. When the weather is calm, and the adjacent sea is scarcely heard on these picturesque shores, its sound, which is like the sound of innumerable chariots, creates a magnificent and fine effect.
“In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in their colour, stature, &c. They are all, except the Snake Indians, tall in stature, straight, and robust. It is very seldom they are deformed, which has given rise to the supposition that they put to death their deformed children. Their skin is of a copper colour; their eyes large, bright, black, and sparkling, indicative of a subtile and discerning mind: their hair is of the same colour, and prone to be long, seldom or never curled. Their teeth are large and white; I never observed any decayed among them, which makes their breath as sweet as the air they inhale.”—Travels through America by Capts. Lewis and Clarke, in 1804-5-6.
“The Indians of North America accompany every formal address to strangers, with whom they form or recognise a treaty of amity, with a present of a string, or belt, of wampum. ‘Wampum,’ says Cadwalladar Colden, ‘is made of the large whelk shell, Buccinum, and shaped like long beads: it is the current money of the Indians.’”—History of the five Indian Nations, p. 34. New York edition.
In relating an interview of Mohawk Indians with the Governor of New York, Colden quotes the following passage as a specimen of their metaphorical manner:—“Where shall I seek the chair of peace? where shall I find it but upon our path? and whither doth our path lead us but unto this house?”
“When they solicit the alliance, offensive or defensive, of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a large belt of wampum and a bloody hatchet, inviting them to come and drink the blood of their enemies. The wampum made use of on these and other occasions, before their acquaintance with the Europeans, was nothing but small shells which they picked up by the seacoasts, and on the banks of the lakes; and now it is nothing but a kind of cylindrical beads, made of shells, white and black, which are esteemed among them as silver and gold are among us. The black they call the most valuable, and both together are their greatest riches and ornaments; these among them answering all the end that money does amongst us. They have the art of stringing, twisting, and interweaving them into their belts, collars, blankets, and mocassins, &c., in ten thousand different sizes, forms, and figures, so as to be ornaments for every part of dress, and expressive to them of all their important transactions. They dye the wampum of various colours and shades, and mix and dispose them with great ingenuity and order, and so as to be significant among themselves of almost every thing they please; so that by these their words are kept, and their thoughts communicated to one another, as ours are by writing. The belts that pass from one nation to another in all treaties, declarations, and important transactions, are very carefully preserved in the cabins of their chiefs, and serve not only as a kind of record or history, but as a public treasure.”—Major Rogers’ Account of North America.
“It is certain the Indians acknowledge one Supreme Being, or Giver of Life, who presides over all things; that is, the Great Spirit; and they look up to him as the source of good, from whence no evil can proceed. They also believe in a bad Spirit, to whom they ascribe great power; and suppose that through his power all the evils which befall mankind are inflicted. To him, therefore, they pray in their distresses, begging that he would either avert their troubles, or moderate them when they are no longer avoidable.
“They hold also that there are good Spirits of a lower degree, who have their particular departments, in which they are constantly contributing to the happiness of mortals. These they suppose to preside over all the extraordinary productions of Nature, such as those lakes, rivers, and mountains that are of an uncommon magnitude; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and even vegetables or stones, that exceed the rest of their species in size or singularity.”—Clarke’s Travels among the Indians.
The Supreme Spirit of good is called by the Indians “Kitchi Manitou”; and the Spirit of evil, “Matchi Manitou.”
The fever-balm is a medicine used by these tribes; it is a decoction of a bush called the Fever Tree. Sagamité is a kind of soup administered to their sick.
The testimony of all travellers among the American Indians who mention their hieroglyphics, authorises me in putting this figurative language in the mouth of Outalissi. The dove is among them, as elsewhere, an emblem of meekness; and the eagle, that of a bold, noble, and liberal mind. When the Indians speak of a warrior who soars above the multitude in person and endowments, they say, “he is like the eagle, who destroys his enemies, and gives protection and abundance to the weak of his own tribe.”
“They are extremely circumspect and deliberate in every word and action; nothing hurries them into any intemperate wrath, but that inveteracy to their enemies which is rooted in every Indian’s breast. In all other instances they are cool and deliberate, taking care to suppress the emotions of the heart. If an Indian has discovered that a friend of his is in danger of being cut off by a lurking enemy, he does not tell him of his danger in direct terms as though he were in fear, but he first coolly asks him which way he is going that day, and having his answer, with the same indifference tells him that he has been informed that a noxious beast lies on the route he is going. This hint proves sufficient, and his friend avoids the danger with as much caution as though every design and motion of his enemy had been pointed out to him.
“If an Indian has been engaged for several days in the chase, and by accident continued long without food, when he arrives at the hut of a friend, where he knows that his wants will be immediately supplied, he takes care not to show the least symptoms of impatience, or betray the extreme hunger that he is tortured with; but on being invited in, sits contentedly down and smokes his pipe with as much composure as if his appetite was cloyed and he was perfectly at ease. He does the same if among strangers. This custom is strictly adhered to by every tribe, as they esteem it a proof of fortitude, and think the reverse would entitle them to the appellation of old women.
“If you tell an Indian that his children have greatly signalised themselves against an enemy, have taken many scalps, and brought home many prisoners, he does not appear to feel any strong emotions of pleasure on the occasion; his answer generally is,—they have ‘done well,’ and he makes but very little enquiry about the matter; on the contrary, if you inform him that his children are slain or taken prisoners, he makes no complaints: he only replies, ‘It is unfortunate:’—and for some time asks no questions about how it happened.”—Lewis and Clarke’s Travels.
“Nor is the calumet of less importance or less revered than the wampum in many transactions relative both to peace and war. The bowl of this pipe is made of a kind of soft red stone, which is easily wrought and hollowed out; the stem is of cane, alder, or some kind of light wood, painted with different colours, and decorated with the heads, tails, and feathers of the most beautiful birds. The use of the calumet is to smoke either tobacco or some bark, leaf, or herb, which they often use instead of it, when they enter into an alliance or any serious occasion or solemn engagements; this being among them the most sacred oath that can be taken, the violation of which is esteemed most infamous, and deserving of severe punishment from Heaven. When they treat of war, the whole pipe and all its ornaments are red: sometimes it is red only on one side, and by the disposition of the feathers, &c., one acquainted with their customs will know at first sight what the nation who presents it intends or desires. Smoking the calumet is also a religious ceremony on some occasions, and in all treaties is considered as a witness between the parties, or rather as an instrument by which they invoke the sun and moon to witness their sincerity, and to be as it were a guarantee of the treaty between them. This custom of the Indians, though to appearance somewhat ridiculous, is not without its reasons; for as they find that smoking tends to disperse the vapours of the brain, to raise the spirits, and to qualify them for thinking and judging properly, they introduced it into their councils, where, after their resolves, the pipe was considered as a seal of their decrees, and as a pledge of their performance thereof, it was sent to those they were consulting, in alliance or treaty with;—so that smoking among them at the same pipe, is equivalent to our drinking together and out of the same cup.”—Major Rogers’ Account of North America, 1766.
“The lighted calumet is also used among them for a purpose still more interesting than the expression of social friendship. The austere manners of the Indians forbid any appearance of gallantry between the sexes in day-time; but at night the young lover goes a calumetting, as his courtship is called. As these people live in a state of equality, and without fear of internal violence or theft in their own tribes, they leave their doors open by night as well as by day. The lover takes advantage of this liberty, lights his calumet, enters the cabin of his mistress, and gently presents it to her. If she extinguishes it, she admits his addresses; but if she suffer it to burn unnoticed, he retires with a disappointed and throbbing heart.”—Ashe’s Travels.
“An Indian child, as soon as he is born, is swathed with clothes, or skins; and being laid on his back, is bound down on a piece of thick board, spread over with soft moss. The board is somewhat larger and broader than the child, and bent pieces of wood, like pieces of hoops, are placed over its face to protect it, so that if the machine were suffered to fall, the child probably would not be injured. When the women have any business to transact at home, they hang the board on a tree, if there be one at hand, and set them a swinging from side to side, like a pendulum, in order to exercise the children.”—Weld, vol. ii. p. 246.
Of the active as well as passive fortitude of the Indian character, the following is an instance related by Adair in his “Travels”:—
“A party of the Senekah Indians came to war against the Katahba, bitter enemies to each other.—In the woods the former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter, hunting in their usual light dress: on his perceiving them, he sprang off for a hollow rock four or five miles distance, as they intercepted him from running homeward. He was so extremely swift and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them in the running fight before they were able to surround and take him. They carried him to their country in sad triumph, but though he had filled them with uncommon grief and shame for the loss of so many of their kindred, yet the love of martial virtue induced them to treat him, during their long journey, with a great deal more civility than if he had acted the part of a coward. The women and children, when they met him at their several towns, beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner as the occasion required, according to their law of justice, and at last he was formally condemned to die by the fiery torture.—It might reasonably be imagined that what he had for some time gone through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended in a pair of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on his entering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharp torments for which he was destined, would have so impaired his health and affected his imagination, as to have sent him to his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings.—Probably this would have been the case with the major part of white people under similar circumstances; but I never knew this with any of the Indians: and this cool-headed, brave warrior, did not deviate from their rough lessons of martial virtue, but acted his part so well as to surprise and sorely vex his numerous enemies:—for when they were taking him, unpinioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to a river, he suddenly dashed down those who stood in his way, sprang off, and plunged into the water, swimming underneath like an otter, only rising to take breath, till he reached the opposite shore. He now ascended the steep bank, but though he had good reason to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the water, and others running, very like bloodhounds, in pursuit of him, and the bullets flying around him from the time he took to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them abruptly, without taking leave in a formal manner, in return for the extraordinary favours they had done, and intended to do him. After slapping a part of his body, in defiance to them,” continues the author, “he put up the shrill war-whoop, as his last salute, till some more convenient opportunity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast broke loose from its torturing enemies. He continued his speed, so as to run by about midnight of the same day as far as his eager pursuers were two days in reaching. There he rested till he happily discovered five of those Indians who had pursued him:—he lay hid a little way off their camp, till they were sound asleep. Every circumstance of his situation occurred to him, and inspired him with heroism. He was naked, torn, and hungry, and his enraged enemies were come up with him;—but there was now every thing to relieve his wants, and a fair opportunity to save his life, and get great honour and sweet revenge by cutting them off. Resolution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise, would effect the main object of all his wishes and hopes. He accordingly creeped, took one of their tomahawks, and killed them all on the spot,—clothed himself, took a choice gun, and as much ammunition and provisions as he could well carry in a running march. He set off afresh with a light heart, and did not sleep for several successive nights, only when he reclined, as usual, a little before day, with his back to a tree. As it were by instinct, when he found he was free from the pursuing enemy, he made directly to the very place where he had killed seven of his enemies and was taken by them for the fiery torture. He digged them up, burnt their bodies to ashes, and went home in safety with singular triumph. Other pursuing enemies came, on the evening of the second day, to the camp of their dead people, when the sight gave them a greater shock than they had ever known before. In their chilled war-council they concluded, that as he had done such surprising things in his defence before he was captivated, and since that in his naked condition, and now was well-armed, if they continued the pursuit he would spoil them all, for he surely was an enemy wizard,—and therefore they returned home.”—Adair’s General Observations on the American Indians, p. 394.
“It is surprising,” says the same author, “to see the long continued speed of the Indians. Though some of us have often run the swiftest of them out of sight for about the distance of twelve miles, yet afterwards, without any seeming toil, they would stretch on, leave us out of sight, and outwind any horse.”—Ibid. p. 318.
“If an Indian were driven out into the extensive woods, with only a knife and a tomahawk, or a small hatchet, it is not to be doubted but he would fatten even where a wolf would starve. He would soon collect fire by rubbing two dry pieces of wood together, make a bark hut, earthen vessels, and a bow and arrows; then kill wild game, fish, fresh-water tortoises, gather a plentiful variety of vegetables, and live in affluence.”—Ibid. p. 410.
“There is nothing,” says Charlevoix, “in which these barbarians carry their superstitions farther, than in what regards dreams; but they vary greatly in their manner of explaining themselves on this point. Sometimes it is the reasonable soul which ranges abroad, while the sensitive continues to animate the body. Sometimes it is the familiar genius who gives salutary counsel with respect to what is going to happen. Sometimes it is a visit made by the soul of the object of which he dreams. But in whatever manner the dream is conceived, it is always looked upon as a thing sacred, and as the most ordinary way in which the gods make known their will to men. Filled with this idea, they cannot conceive how we should pay no regard to them. For the most part they look upon them either as a desire of the soul, inspired by some genius, or an order from him, and in consequence of this principle they hold it a religious duty to obey them. An Indian having dreamt of having a finger cut off, had it really cut off as soon as he awoke, having first prepared himself for this important action by a feast. Another having dreamt of being a prisoner, and in the hands of his enemies, was much at a loss what to do. He consulted the jugglers, and by their advice caused himself to be tied to a post, and burnt in several parts of the body.”—Charlevoix’s Journal of a Voyage to North America.
“The alligator, or American crocodile, when full grown,” says Bertram, “is a very large and terrible creature, and of prodigious strength, activity, and swiftness in the water. I have seen them twenty feet in length, and some are supposed to be twenty-two or twenty-three feet in length. Their body is as large as that of a horse, their shape usually resembles that of a lizard, which is flat, or cuneiform, being compressed on each side, and gradually diminishing from the abdomen to the extremity, which, with the whole body, is covered with horny plates, of squamæ, impenetrable when on the body of the live animal, even to a rifle-ball, except about their head, and just behind their forelegs or arms, where, it is said, they are only vulnerable. The head of a full-grown one is about three feet, and the mouth opens nearly the same length. Their eyes are small in proportion, and seem sunk in the head, by means of the prominency of the brows; the nostrils are large, inflated, and prominent on the top, so that the head on the water resembles, at a distance, a great chunk of wood floating about: only the upper jaw moves, which they raise almost perpendicular, so as to form a right angle with the lower one. In the fore-part of the upper jaw, on each side, just under the nostrils, are two very large, thick, strong teeth, or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape of a cone: these are as white as the finest polished ivory, and are not covered by any skin or lips, but always in sight, which gives the creature a frightful appearance; in the lower jaw are holes opposite to these teeth to receive them; when they clap their jaws together, it causes a surprising noise, like that which is made by forcing a heavy plank with violence upon the ground, and may be heard at a great distance.—But what is yet more surprising to a stranger, is the incredibly loud and terrifying roar which they are capable of making, especially in breeding-time. It most resembles very heavy distant thunder, not only shaking the air and waters, but causing the earth to tremble; and when hundreds are roaring at the same time, you can scarcely be persuaded but that the whole globe is violently and dangerously agitated. An old champion, who is, perhaps, absolute sovereign of a little lake or lagoon (when fifty less than himself are obliged to content themselves with swelling and roaring in little coves round about), darts forth from the reedy coverts, all at once, on the surface of the waters in a right line, at first seemingly as rapid as lightning, but gradually more slowly, until he arrives at the centre of the lake, where he stops. He now swells himself by drawing in wind and water through his mouth, which causes a loud sonorous rattling in the throat for near a minute; but it is immediately forced out again through his mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, brandishing his tail in the air, and the vapour running from his nostrils like smoke. At other times, when swoln to an extent ready to burst, his head and tail lifted up, he spins or twirls round on the surface of the water. He acts his part like an Indian chief, when rehearsing his feats of war.”—Bertram’s Travels in North America.
“They discover an amazing sagacity, and acquire, with the greatest readiness, any thing that depends upon the attention of the mind. By experience, and an acute observation, they attain many perfections to which Americans are strangers. For instance, they will cross a forest or a plain, which is two hundred miles in breadth, so as to reach, with great exactness, the point at which they intend to arrive, keeping, during the whole of that space, in a direct line, without any material deviations; and this they will do with the same ease, let the weather be fair or cloudy. With equal acuteness they will point to that part of the heavens the sun is in, though it be intercepted by clouds or fogs. Besides this, they are able to pursue, with incredible facility, the traces of man or beast, either on leaves or grass; and on this account it is with great difficulty they escape discovery. They are indebted for these talents not only to nature, but to an extraordinary command of the intellectual qualities, which can only be acquired by an unremitted attention, and by long experience. They are, in general, very happy in a retentive memory. They can recapitulate every particular that has been treated of in council, and remember the exact time when they were held. Their belts of wampum preserve the substance of the treaties they have concluded with the neighbouring tribes for ages back, to which they will appeal and refer with as much perspicuity and readiness as Europeans can to their written records.
“The Indians are totally unskilled in geography, as well as all the other sciences, and yet they draw on their birch-bark very exact charts or maps of the countries they are acquainted with. The latitude and longitude only are wanting to make them tolerably complete.
“Their sole knowledge in astronomy consists in being able to point out the polar star, by which they regulate their course when they travel in the night.
“They reckon the distance of places not by miles or leagues, but by a day’s journey, which, according to the best calculation I could make, appears to be about twenty English miles. These they also divide into halves and quarters, and will demonstrate them in their maps with great exactness by the hieroglyphics just mentioned, when they regulate in council their war-parties, or their most distant hunting excursions.”—Lewis and Clarke’s Travels.
“Some of the French missionaries have supposed that the Indians are guided by instinct, and have pretended that Indian children can find their way through a forest as easily as a person of maturer years; but this is a most absurd notion. It is unquestionably by a close attention to the growth of the trees, and position of the sun, that they find their way. On the northern side of a tree there is generally the most moss; and the bark on that side, in general, differs from that on the opposite one. The branches towards the south are, for the most part, more luxuriant than those on the other sides of trees, and several other distinctions also subsist between the northern and southern sides, conspicuous to Indians, being taught from their infancy to attend to them, which a common observer would, perhaps, never notice. Being accustomed from their infancy likewise to pay great attention to the position of the sun, they learn to make the most accurate allowance for its apparent motion from one part of the heavens to another; and in every part of the day they will point to the part of the heavens where it is, although the sky be obscured by clouds or mists.
“An instance of their dexterity in finding their way through an unknown country came under my observation when I was at Staunton, situated behind the Blue Mountains, Virginia. A number of the Creek nation had arrived at that town on their way to Philadelphia, whither they were going upon some affairs of importance, and had stopped there for the night. In the morning, some circumstance or other, which could not be learned, induced one half of the Indians to set off without their companions, who did not follow until some hours afterwards. When these last were ready to pursue their journey, several of the towns-people mounted their horses to escort them part of the way. They proceeded along the high road for some miles, but, all at once, hastily turning aside into the woods, though there was no path, the Indians advanced confidently forward. The people who accompanied them, surprised at this movement, informed them that they were quitting the road to Philadelphia, and expressed their fear lest they should miss their companions who had gone on before. They answered that they knew better, that the way through the woods was the shortest to Philadelphia, and that they knew very well that their companions had entered the wood at the very place where they did. Curiosity led some of the horsemen to go on; and to their astonishment, for there was apparently no track, they overtook the other Indians in the thickest part of the wood. But what appeared most singular was, that the route which they took was found, on examining a map, to be as direct for Philadelphia as if they had taken the bearings by a mariner’s compass. From others of their nation, who had been at Philadelphia at a former period, they had probably learned the exact direction of that city from their villages, and had never lost sight of it, although they had already travelled three hundred miles through the woods, and had upwards of four hundred miles more to go before they could reach the place of their destination.—Of the exactness with which they can find out a strange place to which they have been once directed by their own people, a striking example is furnished, I think, by Mr. Jefferson, in his account of the Indian graves in Virginia. These graves are nothing more than large mounds of earth in the woods, which, on being opened, are found to contain skeletons in an erect posture: the Indian mode of sepulture has been too often described to remain unknown to you. But to come to my story. A party of Indians that were passing on to some of the sea-ports on the Atlantic, just as the Creeks, above mentioned, were going to Philadelphia, were observed, all on a sudden, to quit the straight road by which they were proceeding, and without asking any questions, to strike through the woods, in a direct line, to one of these graves, which lay at the distance of some miles from the road. Now very near a century must have passed over since the part of Virginia, in which this grave was situated, had been inhabited by Indians, and these Indian travellers, who were to visit it by themselves, had unquestionably never been in that part of the country before: they must have found their way to it simply from the description of its situation, that had been handed down to them by tradition.”—Weld’s Travels in North America, vol. ii.
That I am justified in making the Indian chief allude to the mammoth as an emblem of terror and destruction, will be seen by the authority quoted below. Speaking of the mammoth, or big buffalo, Mr. Jefferson states, that a tradition is preserved among the Indians of that animal still existing in the northern parts of America:—
“A delegation of warriors from the Delaware tribe having visited the governor of Virginia during the revolution, on matters of business, the governor asked them some questions relative to their country, and, among others, what they knew or had heard of the animal whose bones were found at the Salt-licks, on the Ohio. Their chief speaker immediately put himself into an attitude of oratory, and with a pomp suited to what he conceived the elevation of his subject, informed him, that it was a tradition handed down from their fathers, that in ancient times a herd of these tremendous animals came to the Bick-bone-licks, and began a universal destruction of the bear, deer, elk, buffalo, and other animals which had been created for the use of the Indians. That the Great Man above looking down and seeing this, was so enraged, that he seized his lightning, descended on the earth, seated himself on a neighbouring mountain, on a rock, of which his seat and the prints of his feet are still to be seen, and hurled his bolts among them, till the whole were slaughtered, except the big bull, who, presenting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off as they fell, but missing one, at length it wounded him in the side, whereon, springing round, he bounded over the Ohio, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and finally over the great lakes, where he is living at this day.”—Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia.
I took the character of Brandt in the poem of “Gertrude” from the common Histories of England, all of which represented him as a bloody and bad man (even among savages), and chief agent in the horrible desolation of Wyoming. Some years after this poem appeared, the son of Brandt, a most interesting and intelligent youth, came over to England, and I formed an acquaintance with him, on which I still look back with pleasure. He appealed to my sense of honour and justice, on his own part and on that of his sister, to retract the unfair aspersions which, unconscious of its unfairness, I had cast on his father’s memory.
He then referred me to documents which completely satisfied me that the common accounts of Brandt’s cruelties at Wyoming, which I had found in books of Travels and in Adolphus’s and similar Histories of England, were gross errors, and that, in point of fact, Brandt was not even present at that scene of desolation.
It is, unhappily, to Britons and Anglo-Americans that we must refer the chief blame in this horrible business. I published a letter expressing this belief in the New Monthly Magazine, in the year 1822, to which I must refer the reader—if he has any curiosity on the subject—for an antidote to my fanciful description of Brandt. Among other expressions to young Brandt, I made use of the following words:—“Had I learnt all this of your father when I was writing my poem, he should not have figured in it as the hero of mischief.” It was but bare justice to say thus much of a Mohawk Indian, who spoke English eloquently, and was thought capable of having written a history of the Six Nations. I ascertained also that he often strove to mitigate the cruelty of Indian warfare. The name of Brandt, therefore, remains in my poem a pure and declared character of fiction.
Every one who recollects the specimen of Indian eloquence given in the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, to the Governor of Virginia, will perceive that I have attempted to paraphrase its concluding and most striking expression:—“There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.” The similar salutation of the fictitious personage in my story, and the real Indian orator, makes it surely allowable to borrow such an expression; and if it appears, as it cannot but appear, to less advantage than in the original, I beg the reader to reflect how difficult it is to transpose such exquisitely simple words without sacrificing a portion of their effect.
In the spring of 1774, a robbery and murder were committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia, by two Indians of the Shawanee tribe. The neighbouring whites, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage in a summary manner. Colonel Cresap, a man infamous for the many murders he had committed on those much injured people, collected a party and proceeded down the Kanaway in quest of vengeance; unfortunately a canoe with women and children, with one man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore unarmed, and unsuspecting an attack from the whites. Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the bank of the river, and the moment the canoe reached the shore, singled out their objects, and at one fire killed every person in it. This happened to be the family of Logan, who had long been distinguished as a friend to the whites. This unworthy return provoked his vengeance; he accordingly signalised himself in the war which ensued. In the autumn of the same year a decisive battle was fought at the mouth of the great Kanaway, in which the collected forces of the Shawanees, Mingoes, and Delawares, were defeated by a detachment of the Virginian militia. The Indians sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants; but lest the sincerity of a treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguished a chief abstracted himself, he sent, by a messenger, the following speech to be delivered to Lord Dunmore:—
“I appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat; if ever he came cold and hungry, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ I have even thought to have lived with you but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, murdered all the relations of Logan, even my women and children.
“There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature:—this called on me for revenge. I have fought for it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance.—For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace;—but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life.—Who is there to mourn for Logan? not one!”—Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia.
The pride of the Irish in ancestry was so great, that one of the O’Neals being told that Barrett of Castlemone had been there only 400 years, he replied,—that he hated the clown as if he had come there but yesterday.
Tara was the place of assemblage and feasting of the petty princes of Ireland. Very splendid and fabulous descriptions are given by the Irish historians of the pomp and luxury of those meetings. The psaltery of Tara was the grand national register of Ireland. The grand epoch of political eminence in the early history of the Irish is the reign of their great and favourite monarch Ollam Fodlah, who reigned, according to Keating, about 950 years before the Christian era. Under him was instituted the great Fes at Tara, which it is pretended was a triennial convention of the states, or a parliament; the members of which were the Druids, and other learned men who represented the people in that assembly. Very minute accounts are given by Irish annalists of the magnificence and order of these entertainments; from which, if credible, we might collect the earliest traces of heraldry that occur in history. To preserve order and regularity in the great number and variety of the members who met on such occasions, the Irish historians inform us that when the banquet was ready to be served up, the shield-bearers of the princes, and other members of the convention, delivered in their shields and targets, which were readily distinguished by the coats of arms emblazoned upon them. These were arranged by the grand marshal and principal herald, and hung upon the walls on the right side of the table; and upon entering the apartments, each member took his seat under his respective shield or target, without the slightest disturbance. The concluding days of the meeting, it is allowed by the Irish antiquaries, were spent in very free excess of conviviality; but the first six, they say, were devoted to the examination and settlement of the annals of the kingdom. These were publicly rehearsed. When they had passed the approbation of the assembly, they were transcribed into the authentic chronicles of the nation, which was called the Register, or Psalter of Tara.
Colonel Vallancy gives a translation of an old Irish fragment, found in Trinity College, Dublin, in which the palace of the above assembly is thus described as it existed in the reign of Cormac:—
“In the reign of Cormac, the palace of Tara was nine hundred feet square; the diameter of the surrounding rath, seven dice or casts of a dart; it contained one hundred and fifty apartments; one hundred and fifty dormitories, or sleeping-rooms for guards, and sixty men in each: the height was twenty-seven cubits; there were one hundred and fifty common drinking-horns, twelve doors, and one thousand guests daily, besides princes, orators, and men of science, engravers of gold and silver, carvers, modelers, and nobles.” The Irish description of the banqueting-hall is thus translated: “Twelve stalls or divisions in each wing; sixteen attendants on each side, and two to each table; one hundred guests in all.”
The house of O’Connor had a right to boast of their victories over the English. It was a chief of the O’Connor race who gave a check to the English champion De Courcy, so famous for his personal strength, and for cleaving a helmet at one blow of his sword, in the presence of the kings of France and England, when the French champion declined the combat with him. Though ultimately conquered by the English under De Bourgo, the O’Connors had also humbled the pride of that name on a memorable occasion: viz., when Walter De Bourgo, an ancestor of that De Bourgo who won the battle of Athunree, had become so insolent as to make excessive demands upon the territories of Connaught, and to bid defiance to all the rights and properties reserved by the Irish chiefs, Aeth O’Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, surnamed of the bloody hand, rose against the usurper, and defeated the English so severely, that their general died of chagrin after the battle.
The month of May is to this day called “Mi Beal tiennie,” i.e., the month of Beal’s fire, in the original language of Ireland, and hence I believe the name of the Beltan festival in the Highlands. These fires were lighted on the summits of mountains (the Irish antiquaries say) in honour of the sun; and are supposed, by those conjecturing gentlemen, to prove the origin of the Irish from some nation who worshipped Baal or Belus. Many hills in Ireland still retain the name of “Cnoc Greine,” i.e., the hill of the sun; and on all are to be seen the ruins of druidical altars.
The clarshech, or harp, the principal musical instrument of the Hibernian bards, does not appear to be of Irish origin, nor indigenous to any of the British islands.—The Britons undoubtedly were not acquainted with it during the residence of the Romans in their country, as in all their coins, on which musical instruments are represented, we see only the Roman lyre, and not the British Teylin, or harp.
“Bawn,” from the Teutonic “Bawen”—to construct and secure with branches of trees, was so called because the primitive Celtic fortification was made by digging a ditch, throwing up a rampart, and on the latter fixing stakes, which were interlaced with boughs of trees. This word is used by Spenser; but it is inaccurately called by Mr. Todd, his annotator, an eminence.
If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine of this little piece should seem to exhibit her character as too unnaturally stript of patriotic and domestic affections, I must beg leave to plead the authority of Corneille in the representation of a similar passion: I allude to the denunciation of Camilla, in the tragedy of Horace. When Horace, accompanied by a soldier bearing the three swords of the Curiatii meets his sister, and invites her to congratulate him on his victory, she expresses only her grief, which he attributes at first only to her feelings for the loss of her two brothers; but when she bursts forth into reproaches against him as the murderer of her lover, the last of the Curiatii, he exclaims:—
At the mention of Rome, Camille breaks out into this apostrophe:—
In the reign of Edward the Second, the Irish presented to Pope John the Twenty-second a memorial of their sufferings under the English, of which the language exhibits all the strength of despair:—“Ever since the English,” say they, “first appeared upon our coasts, they entered our territories under a certain specious pretence of charity, and external hypocritical show of religion, endeavouring at the same time, by every artifice malice could suggest, to extirpate us root and branch, and without any other right than that of the strongest; they have so far succeeded by base fraudulence, and cunning, that they have forced us to quit our fair and ample habitations and inheritances, and to take refuge like wild beasts in the mountains, the woods, and the morasses of the country;—nor even can the caverns and dens protect us against their insatiable avarice. They pursue us even into these frightful abodes; endeavouring to dispossess us of the wild uncultivated rocks, and arrogate to themselves the property of every place on which we can stamp the figure of our feet.”
The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish to regain their native independence, was made at the time when they called over the brother of Robert Bruce from Scotland. William de Bourgo, brother to the Earl of Ulster, and Richard de Bermingham, were sent against the main body of the native insurgents, who were headed rather than commanded by Felim O’Connor. The important battle, which decided the subjection of Ireland, took place on the 10th of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest that ever was fought between the two nations, and continued throughout the whole day, from the rising to the setting sun. The Irish fought with inferior discipline, but with great enthusiasm. They lost ten thousand men, among whom were twenty-nine chiefs of Connaught. Tradition states that after this terrible day, the O’Connor family, like the Fabian, were so nearly exterminated, that throughout all Connaught not one of the name remained, except Felim’s brother, who was capable of bearing arms.
The sight of the glaciers of Switzerland, I am told, has often disappointed travellers who had perused the accounts of their splendour and sublimity given by Bourrit and other describers of Swiss scenery. Possibly Bourrit, who had spent his life in an enamoured familiarity with the beauties of Nature in Switzerland, may have leaned to the romantic side of description. One can pardon a man for a sort of idolatry of those imposing objects of Nature which heighten our ideas of the bounty of Nature or Providence, when we reflect that the glaciers—those seas of ice—are not only sublime, but useful: they are the inexhaustible reservoirs which supply the principal rivers of Europe; and their annual melting is in proportion to the summer heat which dries up those rivers and makes them need that supply.
That the picturesque grandeur of the glaciers should sometimes disappoint the traveller, will not seem surprising to any one who has been much in a mountainous country, and recollects that the beauty of Nature in such countries is not only variable, but capriciously dependent on the weather and sunshine. There are about four hundred different glaciers,[106] according to the computation of M. Bourrit, between Mont Blanc and the frontiers of the Tyrol. The full effect of the most lofty and picturesque of them can, of course, only be produced by the richest and warmest light of the atmosphere; and the very heat which illuminates them must have a changing influence on many of their appearances. I imagine it is owing to this circumstance, namely, the casualty and changeableness of the appearance of some of the glaciers, that the impressions made by them on the minds of other and more transient travellers have been less enchanting than those described by M. Bourrit. On one occasion M. Bourrit seems even to speak of a past phenomenon, and certainly one which no other spectator attests in the same terms, when he says that there once existed between the Kandel Steig and Lauterbrun, “a passage amidst singular glaciers, sometimes resembling magical towns of ice, with pilasters, pyramids, columns, and obelisks, reflecting to the sun the most brilliant hues of the finest gems.”
M. Bourrit’s description of the Glacier of the Rhone is quite enchanting:—“To form an idea,” he says, “of this superb spectacle, figure in your mind a scaffolding of transparent ice, filling a space of two miles, rising to the clouds, and darting flashes of light like the sun. Nor were the several parts less magnificent and surprising. One might see, as it were, the streets and buildings of a city, erected in the form of an amphitheatre, and embellished with pieces of water, cascades, and torrents. The effects were as prodigious as the immensity and the height;—the most beautiful azure—the most splendid white—the regular appearance of a thousand pyramids of ice, are more easy to be imagined than described.”—Bourrit, iii. 163.
[106] Occupying, if taken together, a surface of 130 square leagues.
Laborde, in his “Tableau de la Suisse,” gives a curious account of this animal, the wild sharp cry and elastic movements of which must heighten the picturesque appearance of its haunts:—“Nature,” says Laborde, “has destined it to mountains covered with snow: if it is not exposed to keen cold, it becomes blind. Its agility in leaping much surpasses that of the chamois, and would appear incredible to those who have not seen it. There is not a mountain so high or steep to which it will not trust itself, provided it has room to place its feet; it can scramble along the highest wall, if its surface be rugged.”
The moss of Switzerland, as well as that of the Tyrol, is remarkable for a bright smoothness approaching to the appearance of enamel.
The “Schreckhorn” means in German, the Peak of Terror.
I have here availed myself of a striking expression of the Emperor Napoleon respecting his recollections of Corsica, which is recorded in Las Cases’s “History of the Emperor’s Abode at St. Helena.”
Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, and descended from ancestors distinguished in their narrow sphere for great personal prowess, was a man worthy of a better cause and fate than that in which he embarked,—the enterprise of the Stuarts in 1745. His memory is still fondly cherished among the Highlanders, by the appellation of the “gentle Lochiel;” for he was famed for his social virtues as much as his martial and magnanimous (though mistaken) loyalty. His influence was so important among the Highland chiefs that it depended on his joining with his clan whether the standard of Charles should be raised or not in 1745. Lochiel was himself too wise a man to be blind to the consequences of so hopeless an enterprise, but his sensibility to the point of honour overruled his wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty, and he could not brook the reproaches of his Prince. When Charles landed at Borrodale, Lochiel went to meet him, but on his way, called at his brother’s house (Cameron of Fassafern), and told him on what errand he was going; adding, however, that he meant to dissuade the Prince from his enterprise. Fassafern advised him in that case to communicate his mind by letter to Charles. “No,” said Lochiel, “I think it due to my Prince to give him my reasons in person for refusing to join his standard.”—“Brother,” replied Fassafern, “I know you better than you know yourself: if the Prince once sets his eyes on you, he will make you do what he pleases.” The interview accordingly took place; and Lochiel, with many arguments, but in vain, pressed the Pretender to return to France, and reserve himself and his friends for a more favourable occasion, as he had come, by his own acknowledgment, without arms, or money, or adherents: or, at all events, to remain concealed till his friends should meet and deliberate what was best to be done. Charles, whose mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no regard to this proposal, but answered, “that he was determined to put all to the hazard.” “In a few days,” said he, “I will erect the royal standard, and proclaim to the people of Great Britain that Charles Stuart is come over to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to win it, or perish in the attempt. Lochiel, who my father has often told me was our firmest friend, may stay at home, and learn from the newspapers the fate of his Prince.”—“No,” said Lochiel, “I will share the fate of my Prince, and so shall every man over whom nature or fortune hath given me any power.”
The other chieftains who followed Charles embraced his cause with no better hopes. It engages our sympathy most strongly in their behalf, that no motive, but their fear to be reproached with cowardice or disloyalty, impelled them to the hopeless adventure. Of this we have an example in the interview of Prince Charles with Clanronald, another leading chieftain in the rebel army.
“Charles,” says Home, “almost reduced to despair, in his discourse with Boisdale, addressed the two Highlanders with great emotion, and, summing up his arguments for taking arms, conjured them to assist their Prince, their countryman, in his utmost need. Clanronald and his friend, though well inclined to the cause, positively refused, and told him that to take up arms without concert or support was to pull down certain ruin on their own heads. Charles persisted, argued, and implored. During this conversation (they were on shipboard) the parties walked backward and forward on the deck; a Highlander stood near them, armed at all points, as was then the fashion of his country. He was a younger brother of Kinloch Moidart, and had come off to the ship to enquire for news, not knowing who was aboard. When he gathered from their discourse that the stranger was the Prince of Wales; when he heard his chief and his brother refuse to take arms with their Prince; his colour went and came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, and grasped his sword. Charles observed his demeanour, and turning briskly to him, called out, ‘Will you assist me?’—‘I will, I will,’ said Ronald: ‘though no other man in the Highlands should draw a sword, I am ready to die for you!’ Charles, with a profusion of thanks to his champion, said, he wished all the Highlanders were like him. Without farther deliberation, the two Macdonalds declared that they would also join, and use their utmost endeavours to engage their countrymen to take arms.”—Home’s History of the Rebellion of 1745.
An account of the second sight, in Irish called “Taish,” is thus given in Martin’s “Description of the Western Isles of Scotland,” p. 3-11:—
“The second sight is a singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible object, without any previous means used by the person who sees it for that end. The vision makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they neither see nor think of anything else except the vision as long as it continues; and then they appear pensive or jovial according to the object which was represented to them.
“At the sight of a vision the eyelids of the person are erected, and the eyes continue staring until the object vanish. This is obvious to others who are standing by when the persons happen to see a vision; and occurred more than once to my own observation, and to others that were with me.
“There is one in Skye, of whom his acquaintance observed, that when he sees a vision the inner parts of his eyelids turn so far upwards, that, after the object disappears, he must draw them down with his fingers, and sometimes employs others to draw them down, which he finds to be much the easier way.
“This faculty of the second sight does not lineally descend in a family, as some have imagined; for I know several parents who are endowed with it, and their children are not; and vice versa. Neither is it acquired by any previous compact. And after strict enquiry, I could never learn from any among them, that this faculty was communicable to any whatsoever. The seer knows neither the object, time, nor place of a vision before it appears; and the same object is often seen by different persons living at a considerable distance from one another. The true way of judging as to the time and circumstances is by observation; for several persons of judgment who are without this faculty are more capable to judge of the design of a vision than a novice that is a seer. If an object appears in the day or night, it will come to pass sooner or later accordingly.
“If an object is seen early in a morning, which is not frequent, it will be accomplished in a few hours afterwards; if at noon it will probably be accomplished that very day; if in the evening perhaps that night; if after candles be lighted, it will be accomplished that night; the latter always an accomplishment by weeks, months, and sometimes years, according to the time of the night the vision is seen.
“When a shroud is seen about one, it is a sure prognostic of death. The time is judged according to the height of it about the person; for if it is not seen above the middle, death is not to be expected for the space of a year, and perhaps some months longer: and as it is frequently seen to ascend higher towards the head, death is concluded to be at hand within a few days, if not hours, as daily experience confirms. Examples of this kind were shown me, when the person of whom the observations were then made was in perfect health.
“It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and trees in places void of all these, and this in process of time is wont to be accomplished; as at Mogslot, in the Isle of Skye, where there were but a few sorry low houses thatched with straw; yet in a few years the vision, which appeared often, was accomplished by the building of several good houses in the very spot represented to the seers, and by the planting of orchards there.
“To see a spark of fire is a forerunner of a dead child, to be seen in the arms of those persons; of which there are several instances. To see a seat empty at the time of sitting in it, is a presage of that person’s death quickly after it.
“When a novice, or one that has lately obtained the second sight, sees a vision in the night-time without doors, and comes near a fire he presently falls into a swoon.
“Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people, having a corpse, which they carry along with them; and after such visions the seers come in sweating, and describe the vision that appeared. If there be any of their acquaintance among them, they give an account of their names, as also of the bearers; but they know nothing concerning the corpse.”
Horses and cows (according to the same credulous author) have certainly sometimes the same faculty; and he endeavours to prove it by the signs of fear which the animals exhibit when second-sighted persons see visions in the same place.
“The seers,” he continues, “are generally illiterate and well-meaning people and altogether void of design: nor could I ever learn that any of them ever made the least gain by it; neither is it reputable among them to have that faculty. Besides, the people of the Isles are not so credulous as to believe implicitly before the thing predicted is accomplished; but when it is actually accomplished afterwards, it is not in their power to deny it, without offering violence to their own sense and reason. Besides, if the seers were deceivers, can it be reasonable to imagine that all the islanders who have not the second sight should combine together, and offer violence to their understandings and senses, to enforce themselves to believe a lie from age to age? There are several persons among them whose title and education raise them above the suspicion of concurring with an impostor, merely to gratify an illiterate, contemptible set of persons; nor can reasonable persons believe that children, horses, and cows, should be pre-engaged in a combination in favour of second sight.”
THE END.
MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.