Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 11

This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above.

'Yet in prison was king Davy, And when a lang time was gane bye, Frae prison and perplexitie To Berwick castle brought was he, With the Earl of Northamptoun, For to treat there of his ransoun; Some lords of Scotland come there, And als prelates that wisest were,' &c.

Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a romance, ent.i.tled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's Vision.'

BLIND HARRY.

Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'pa.s.sed like night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the n.o.ble knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears.

In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from

'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, That haill hall he had set into a fire, As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.'

Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he charms the swains by such words as

'The merry day sprang from the orient With beams bright illuminate the Occident, After t.i.tan Phoebus upriseth fair, High in the sphere the signs he made declare.

Zephyrus then began his morning course, The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.--

and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside wanderers--

'The dark region appearing wonder fast, In November, when October was past,

Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; Out of that wood they durst not turn that side For adversours that in their way would hide.'

And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun went down while it was yet day.

'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht To martyr him as they before had wrocht, Of men in arms led him a full great rout, With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.'

There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, a household G.o.d in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime --great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age --the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, after long reverses, n.o.bly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry with the poet,

'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, Was light in his terrible hand.'

We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to ill.u.s.trate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry remains his poet.

It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely established by certain important doc.u.ments brought to light by the Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test the evidence of many of the circ.u.mstances which he narrated; but he seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute circ.u.mstantials, but they rarely invent.'

BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE.

Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3]

In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, 'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.'

Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide.

The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5]

Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread.

Butler for woe of weeping might not stint.

Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6]

They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, Or else himself, though they could not him ken; 'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, This feeble wood may little him avail.'

Forty there pa.s.s'd again to Saint Johnstoun, With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8]

Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode.

To Dalwryeth the Butler pa.s.s'd but let,[10]

At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12]

To keep the wood while it was day they thought.

As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, For his two men in mind he had great pain, He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy.

Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en.

Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15]

So heard they blow rude horns upon height.

Two sent he forth to look what it might be; They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; So other two into the wood forth pa.s.s'd.

None came again, but bousteously can blaw, Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17]

When that alone Wallace was leaved there, The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18]

Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; His sword he drew of n.o.ble metal keen, Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn.

Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, As to his sight, his own head in his hand; A cross he made when he saw him so stand.

At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, Syne out again at him he could it cast, Into his heart he greatly was aghast.

Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began.

He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide.

Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24]

Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn.

Up the water he suddenly could fare, Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; A great rafter he had into his hand.

Wallace as then no longer would he stand.

Of his good men full great marvel had he, How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy.

Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, Suppose that it no point be of the creed.

Power they had with Lucifer that fell, The time when he parted from heaven to h.e.l.l.

By sic mischief if his men might be lost, Drowned or slain among the English host; Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, Which brought his men to sudden confusion; Or if the man ended in ill intent, Some wicked sprite again for him present.

I cannot speak of sic divinity, To clerks I will let all sic matters be: But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell.

When he was won out of that peril fell, Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27]

But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28]

Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove.

He wist not well if that it was G.o.d's will; Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, Had he pleas'd G.o.d, he trow'd it might not bo He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity.

But great courage in his mind ever drave, Of Englishmen thinking amends to have.

As he was thus walking by him alone Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; The mist again to the mountains was gone, To him he rode, where that he made his moan.

On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?'

'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; Errands I pa.s.s from Down unto my lord, Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, In Down is now, newly come from the King.'

Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;'

To him he start the courser wonder wight, Drew out a sword, so made him for to light.

Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33]

Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land.

Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead.

An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, A spear in rest he cast with all his main, On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35]

The spear ho wan withouten more abode, On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel.

He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40]

Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down.

Another soon down from his horse he bare, Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42]

The third he hit in his harness of steel, Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal.

The great power then after him can ride.

He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide.