f
a check to her policy, and vented her spleen on the King of Scotland.

So much as to the breadth of the literary area which this first book
of Scott's covered. As regards the poetic power which his own new
ballads, in imitation of the old ones, evinced, I cannot say that
those of the first issue of the _Border Minstrelsy_ indicated anything
like the force which might have been expected from one who was so soon
to be the author of _Marmion_, though many of Scott's warmest
admirers, including Sir Francis Doyle, seem to place _Glenfinlas_
among his finest productions. But in the third volume of the _Border
Minstrelsy_, which did not appear till 1803, is contained a ballad on
the assassination of the Regent Murray, the story being told by his
assassin, which seems to me a specimen of his very highest poetical
powers. In _Cadyow Castle_ you have not only that rousing trumpet-note
which you hear in _Marmion,_ but the pomp and glitter of a grand
martial scene is painted with all Scott's peculiar terseness and
vigour. The opening is singularly happy in preparing the reader for
the description of a violent deed. The Earl of Arran, chief of the
clan of Hamiltons, is chasing among the old oaks of Cadyow
Castle,--oaks which belonged to the ancient Caledonian forest,--the
fierce, wild bulls, milk-white, with black muzzles, which were not
extirpated till shortly before Scott's own birth:--

"Through the huge oaks of Evandale,
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,
What sullen roar comes down the gale,
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn?

"Mightiest of all the beasts of chase
That roam in woody Caledon,
Crashing the forest in his race,
The mountain bull comes thundering on.

"Fierce on the hunter's quiver'd band
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,
Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow.

"Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown;
Struggling in blood the savage lies;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan,--
Sound, merry huntsman! sound the pryse!"

It is while the hunters are resting after this feat, that
Bothwellhaugh dashes among them headlong, spurring his jaded steed
with poniard instead of spur:--

"From gory selle and reeling steed,
Sprang the fierce horseman with a bound,
And reeking from the recent deed,
He dash'd his carbine on the ground."

And then Bothwellhaugh tells his