815; and _Harold the Dauntless_ in 1817. With the
decline of his poetic power, manifest to himself, he retired from the
field of poetry, but only to appear upon another and a grander field with
astonishing brilliancy: it was the domain of the historical romance. Such,
however, was the popular estimate of his poetry, that in 1813 the Prince
Regent offered him the position of poet-laureate, which was gratefully and
wisely declined.

Just at this time the new poets came forth, in his own style, and actuated
by his example and success. He recognized in Byron, Moore, Crabbe, and
others, genius and talent; and, with his generous spirit, exaggerated
their merits by depreciating his own, which he compared to cairngorms
beside the real jewels of his competitors. The mystics, following the lead
of the Lake poets, were ready to increase the depreciation. It soon became
fashionable to speak of _The Lay_, and _Marmion_, and _The Lady of the
Lake_ as spirited little stories, not equal to Byron's, and not to be
mentioned beside the occult philosophy of _Thalaba_ and gentle egotism of
_The Prelude_. That day is passed: even the critical world returns to its
first fancies. In the words of Carlyle, a great balance-striker of
literary fame, speaking in 1838: "It were late in the day to write
criticisms on those metrical romances; at the same time, the great
popularity they had seems natural enough. In the first place, there was
the indisputable impress of worth, of genuine human force in them ...
Pictures were actually painted and presented; human emotions conceived and
sympathized with. Considering that wretched Dellacruscan and other
vamping up of wornout tattlers was the staple article then, it may be
granted that Scott's excellence was superior and supreme." Without
preferring any claim to epic grandeur, or to a rank among the few great
poets of the first class, Scott is entitled to the highest eminence in
minstrelic power. He is the great modern troubadour. His descriptions of
nature are simple and exquisite. There is nothing in this respect more
beautiful than the opening of _The Lady of the Lake_. His battle-pieces
live and resound again: what can be finer than Flodden field in _Marmion_,
and The Battle of Beal and Duine in _The Lady of the Lake_?

His love scenes are at once chaste, impassioned, and tender; and his harp
songs and battle lyrics are unrivalled in harmony. And, besides these
merits, he gives us everywhere glimpses of