1828.] 



Domestic and Foreign. 



189 



capricios, and exposing his fair readers to 

 more imminent peril, and in their falls to 

 more fatal effects. But Miss S. has no 

 malicious criticism to dread ; for if Spite 

 herself, in bodily form, turned reviewer, 

 she would be puzzled to pick out any thing 

 here ridiculous, or obscure, or overdone, 

 or in any earthly respect objectionable ; 

 while, we could, if the demon would not, 

 point out several pieces that indicate gene- 

 rous, refined, subdued, tender, and reli- 

 gious feelings, clothed in the simplest 

 dress. There are a few translations of 

 sonnets ; we will give one from Bernardo 

 Tasso to the MOON. 

 Ah ! scatter with thy radiance cold and bright, 

 Tlie dusky clouds that veil the earth and main ; 

 Now night on her accustomed rounds again, ' 

 In sable stole and starry mantle dight, 

 Returns to shut the landscape from our sight. 

 Already each green hill and flowery plain 

 Demand thy lovely beams, and sigh in vain 

 For dews descending from thy locks of light. 

 Look forth in all thy beauty, and array 

 The earth in trembling glory rise, and chase 

 Each envious vapour, and unveil thy face, 

 In rival splendour, to the orb of day. 

 Hear, then, oh Moon, shine forth revealed and 



fair, 

 In thy bright wanderings through the fields of air. 



Sir Michael Scot, by Allan Cunningham, 

 3 vols ; 1827. Mr. Thomas Hood, afraid 

 lest Fairyism should go quite out of re- 

 membrance, very lately built a volume of 

 Spencerean verse, for the especial redemp- 

 tion of the Elfin race. Mr. Allan Cun- 

 ningham, being we suppose under a similar 

 causeless alarm for Sir Michael Scot, and 

 his necromancies, presents us with a three- 

 volumed romance of close print, to rescue 

 from oblivion the superstitions of his na- 

 tive land. The tale begins with the battle 

 of Flodden-field, long after the date usually 

 assigned for Sir Michael's demise but 

 that's nothing. James IV., the monarch 

 of love and chivalry, over whose brilliant 

 reign the muse of Sir Walter hung so long 

 bewitched, risked and lost all at a single 

 cast in his rash war against Henry life, 

 treasure, and the flower of his nobility. 

 His body was carried in triumph to West- 

 minster, where after some delay James 

 having been under an interdict -and some 

 difficulties made by the Pope, but removed 

 by Henry's intercession it was actually 

 buried ; but a belief long prevailed in Scot- 

 land, that their youthful and beloved mo- 

 narch was not really dead ; and that some 

 one of his faithful adherents, who in the 

 hour of danger was known to have worn 

 a similar dress, had been mistaken for 

 him, whom they could not endure to con- 

 sider as irrecoverably lost. Enthusiasm and 

 the love of mystery still induced a fond 

 persuasion that he was wandering in the 

 holy land, in penance for the past, and in 

 preparation for the future and that he 

 would appear again at some distant day in 

 augmented splendour, strength, and wis- 



dom, to raise the importance of Scotland 

 among the nations. 



Upon this popular belief, Mr. Cunning- 

 ham builds his story. Sir Michael Scot is 

 introduced as a rude peasant, with his 

 raven locks overshadowing his stern fea- 

 tures ; he stands on the Cheviot hills to 

 overlook the fatal conflict, and as day de- 

 clines, and the contest approaches to its 

 close, he descends towards the spot, evo- 

 king, as a preliminary measure, an imper- 

 vious fog, which throws both victors and 

 vanquished into confusion, and fairly puts 

 a stop to all further action. He then pro- 

 ceeds straightway to the prostrate and 

 wounded monarch, passing in his route 

 whole ranks of slaughtered bodies of the 

 vulgar sort, and dead and dying innume- 

 rable, of loftier extraction. A charmed 

 balsam speedily sets Sir James (that is, the 

 king) upon his legs again, and by stilling 

 his bodily agony, left his mind at liberty 

 to contemplate the sum of disaster and dis- 

 grace, which his fool-hardiness had brought 

 upon the realm. Tribulation, and hot- 

 headed despair follow he will rush for- 

 ward to seek immediate death, carrying a 

 catacomb of enemies away with him to 

 eternal night. " This may not be," says 

 the peasant. " And who are you," replies 

 the king, that shall stay me ?' The quiet 

 consciousness of irresistible power, we sup- 

 pose, tempts Sir Michael's vanity to play a 

 little with the frantic wilfulness of his pro- 

 te'ge'. He lets him chafe and vaunt a while 

 in the imagination of his independence ; 

 but when under this belief, he peremptorily 

 insists upon engaging with a party of 

 English riding near; the battle wounds, 

 which had healed not genuinely, in the 

 natural way, but only by enchantment, 

 break forth again, and bleed afresh till he 

 faints with exhaustion. In addition to 

 this impediment, he finds himself, most 

 unaccountably, presenting to his foes a 

 continually changing shape alluring them 

 hither and thither, he knew not how- 

 nearest to them when they fancied him 

 most remote, and behind them when they 

 were gallopping in pursuit ; something 

 unseen, but not unfelt, was exercising do- 

 minion over his movements, and at once 

 protecting him and illuding him a laugh- 

 ing elf was this invisible agent, who finally 

 brings him back, reduced and humbled, to 

 his peasant-friend. 



At the wizard's command, the elf pre- 

 sents a visible shape, and Sir James be- 

 holds a comely, good-humoured, nut-brown 

 youth, standing in an attitude of subser- 

 viency, before Sir Michael, ready to obey 

 " Go," cries Sir M. ; " at yonder abbey a 

 goodly feast is spread ; bring us the best 

 of the wine, and a barn-door capon from the 

 table we stand in need of refreshment." 

 With the promptitude of Arabian magic, 

 the dainties are provided, and elegantly 

 served up ; Sir James is consoled, and half 

 reconciled to his new condition ; and upon 



