III RHEIN-WEIN LIED What makes the troopers' frozen courage muster? The grapes of juice divine. Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster : Oh, blessed be the Rhine! Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit skin, sirs, Bedeck your Saracen ; He'll freeze without what warms our heart within, sirs, When the night-frost crusts the fen. But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine they cluster, The grapes of juice divine, That makes our troopers' frozen courage muster: Oh, blessed be the Rhine! GLENFINLAS; OR LORD RONALD'S CORONACH This ballad, written in the summer of 1799, and first published in Monk Lewis's Tales of Wonder, was provided by Scott with a preface which is here reproduced because of the suggestion that Scott, in making thus his first use of native, Scottish material, was affected by his German studies and translations. The prose preface, it has been held, where he speaks in his natural voice, 'is more affecting than the lofty and sonorous stanzas themselves; that the vague tenor of the original dream loses, instead of gaining, by the expanded elaboration of the detail. Be that as it may, here is Scott's preface: 'The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy, (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whiskey, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the siren who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hnt: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women. 'Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. River Teith passes Callender and the Castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery.' The Now in their hut in social guise Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 'What lack we here to crown our bliss, While thus the pulse of joy beats high? What but fair woman's yielding kiss, Her panting breath and melting eye? 'To chase the deer of yonder shades, This morning left their father's pile The fairest of our mountain maids, The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 'Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, And dropped the tear and heaved the sigh: But vain the lover's wily art Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 'But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, While far with Mary I am flown, Of other hearts to cease her care, 74 And find it hard to guard her own. Sa Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me, Hang on thy notes 'twixt tear and smile. 'Or false or sooth thy words of woe, 129 Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear; His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, Though doomed to stain the Saxon spear. 'E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, My Mary's buskins brush the dew.' He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell, But called his dogs and gay withdrew. Within an hour returned each hound, In rushed the rousers of the deer; They howled in melancholy sound, Then closely couched beside the Seer. 140 No Ronald yet, though midnight came, And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, As, bending o'er the dying flame, He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. Sudden the hounds erect their ears, And sudden cease their moaning howl, He muttered thrice Saint Oran's rhyme, And thrice Saint Fillan's powerful prayer; Then turned him to the eastern clime, And, bending o'er his harp, he flung His wildest witch-notes on the wind; And loud and high and strange they rung, As many a magic change they find. Tall waxed the Spirit's altering form, Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 230 Next dropped from high a mangled arm; The fingers strained an half-drawn blade: And last, the life-blood streaming warm, Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. Oft o'er that head in battling field Streamed the proud crest of high Benmore; That arm the broad claymore could wield Woe to Moneira's sullen rills! E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 250 And we behind the chieftain's shield THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN This ballad was written in the autumn of 1799 at Mertoun House, and was first published in Monk Lewis's Tales of Wonder, Lockhart points out that it is the first of Scott's original pieces in which he uses the measure of his own favorite minstrels. The ballad was written at the playful request of Scott of Harden, who was the owner of the tower of Smailholm, when Walter Scott begged him not to destroy it. THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, He spurred his courser on, |