William Edmondstoune Aytoun

“ Which thrills through Britain’s universal heart,—
That on this brow, with native honours graced,
The Laureate’s chaplet should at length be placed!
Fear not, ye maids, who love to hear me speak;
Let no desponding tears bedim your cheek!
No gust of envy, no malicious scorn,
Hath this poor heart of mine with frenzy torn.
There are who move so far above the great,
Their very look disarms the glance of hate ”

“ It is sixty years since most of these verses were written with the light heart and fluent pen of youth, and with no thought of their surviving beyond the natural life of ephemeral magazine pieces of humour. After a long and very crowded life, of which literature has occupied the smallest part, it is difficult for me to live back into the circumstances and conditions under which they were written, or to mark, except to a very limited extent, how far to Aytoun, and how far to myself, separately, the contents of the volume are to be assigned. ”

“ Though they have not beat the drum,
It would seem!
“Go tell it to my Lord, lest he wish to man the ford
With partisan and sword, just beneath;
Ho, Gilkison and Nares! Ho, Provan of Cowlairs!
We’ll back the bonny bears
To the death!”
To the tower above the moat, like one who heedeth not,
Came the bold Sir Launcelot, half undressed;
On the outer rim he stood, and peered into the wood,
With his arms across him glued
On his breast.
And he muttered, “Foe accurst! hast thou dared to seek me first? ”

“ What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive?
Pale grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was parched and dry,
As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye;
What wonder if he shrank in fear, for who could meet the glance
Of him who rear’d, ’mid Russian snows, the gonfalon of France?
From the side-pocket of his vest a pinch the despot took,
Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look:
“Thou thoughtst the lion was afar, but he hath burst the chain—
The watchword for to-night is France—the answer St Heléne. ”

“ Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than the wind!
Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase behind!
Speed thee up the sloping spring-board; o’er the bridge that spans the seas;
Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of canvas trees.
p. 23Close before thee Pampeluna spreads her painted pasteboard gate!
Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy knightly freight!
Victory! The town receives them!—Gentle ladies, this the tale is,
Which I learned in Astley’s Circus, of Fernando Gomersalez. ”

“ Nor is our gratification less to discern, after the subsiding of the showers of sawdust so gracefully scattered by that groom in the doeskin integuments, the stately form of Widdicomb, cased in martial apparel, advancing towards the centre of the ring, and commanding—with imperious gesture, and some slight flagellation in return for dubious compliment—the double-jointed clown to assist the Signora Cavalcanti to her seat upon the celebrated Arabian. How lovely looks the lady, as she vaults to her feet upon the breadth of the yielding saddle! ”

“ In writing thus for our own amusement we never dreamed that these “nugæ literariæ” would live beyond the hour. It was, therefore, a pleasant surprise when we found to what an extent they became popular, not only in England, but also in America, which had come in for no small share of severe though well-meant ridicule. In those days who could say what fate might have awaited us had we visited the States, and Aytoun been known to be the author of “The Lay of Mr Colt” and “The Fight with the Snapping Turtle,” or myself as the chronicler of “The Death of Jabez Dollar” and “The Alabama Duel”? ”

“ Cried the knight.
In the cumbered yard without, there was shriek, and yell, and shout,
As the warriors wheeled about, all in mail.
On the miserable kerne fell the death-strokes stiff and stern,
As the deer treads down the fern,
In the vale!
Saint Mungo be my guide! It was goodly in that tide
To see the Bogle ride in his haste;
He accompanied each blow with a cry of “Ha!” or “Ho!”
And always cleft the foe
To the waist.
“George of Gorbals—craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord ”

“ We have detected it pushing its petals forth from the curls of a barrister’s wig, and scented its fragrance even in the columns of the ‘London Gazette.’
“‘The deep poetic voice that hourly speaks within us’ is never silent. Like Signor Benedick, it ‘will still be talking.’ We can scarcely let our eyes dwell upon an object—nay, not even upon a gridiron or a toothpick—but it seems to be transmuted as by the touch of Midas into gold. Our facts accordingly adopt upon occasions a very singular shape. We are not nice to a shade. ”

“ Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart Moor,—
Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o’er the trembling floor;
p. 18Five Arabians, black as midnight—on their necks the rein he throws,
And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes. [18]
Never wore that chieftain armour; in a knot himself he ties,
With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his thighs,
Till the petrified spectator asks, in paralysed alarm,
Where may be the warrior’s body,—which is leg, and which is arm? ”

“ For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the plain;
But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in steel,
So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville. [12]
“Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the dungeon dark and drear,
Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement for a year?
Dost thou lead me forth to torture?—Rack and pincers I defy!
Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero die?”
p. 13“Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff, and attend to what I say! ”

“ He will understand thee, won’t he?—pay thee with a lover’s glances?
Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,
Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.
Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge,
Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge. [119a]
Better thou wert dead before me,—better, better that I stood,
Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good! [119b]
p. 120Better thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and dead,
With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed! ”

“ Thou wouldst roam the world with me,
Only as a belted warrior,
Stranger, will I wed with thee!”
p. 108At the feast of good Saint Stitchem,
In the middle of the spring,
There was some superior jousting,
By the order of the King.
“Valiant knyghtes!” proclaimed the monarch,
“You will please to understand,
He who bears himself most bravely
Shall obtain my daughter’s hand.”
Well and bravely did they bear them,
Bravely battled, one and all;
But the bravest in the tourney
Was a warrior stout and tall. ”

“ Philosophy’s as good as any other flam.
p. 180Novels three-volumed I shall write no more—
Somehow or other now they will not sell;
And to invent new passions is a bore—
I find the Magazines pay quite as well.
Translating’s simple, too, as I can tell,
Who’ve hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne,
And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own.
Moore, Campbell, Wordsworth, their best days are grassed:
Battered and broken are their early lyres,
Rogers, a pleasant memory of the past,
Warmed his young hands at Smithfield’s martyr fires,
And, worth a plum, nor bays nor butt desires. ”

“ And thou took’st them in so kindly, little was there then to blame,
To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother’s milk they came.
Did the hams of old Virginny find no favour in thine eyes?
Came no soft compunction o’er thee at the thought of pumpkin pies?
Could not all our chicken fixings into silence fix thy scorn?
Did not all our cakes rebuke thee,—Johnny, waffle, dander, corn?
Could not all our care and coddling teach thee how to draw it mild?
Well, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right! We spoilt the child! ”

“ Thou mayst yet achieve thy freedom,—yet regain thy native shore.
“Courses three within this circus ’gainst my warriors shalt thou run,
Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon muslin sun;
Victor—thou shalt have thy freedom; but if stretched upon the plain,
To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall hale thee back again.”
“Give me but the armour, monarch, I have worn in many a field,
Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted shield;
p. 14And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the ring,
And I rather should imagine that I’ll do the business, King!” ”

“ In 1845 I left Edinburgh for London, and only met Aytoun at intervals there or at Homburg in the future years; but our friendship was kept alive by active correspondence. Literature was naturally his vocation, and he wrote much and well, with exemplary industry, enlivening his papers in p. xxvii‘Blackwood,’ till his death in August 1865, with the same manly sense, the same playfulness of fancy and flow of spontaneous humour, which made his society and his letters always delightful to his friends. ”

“ Love for love, truth for truth ever giving,
My days shall be manfully sped;
I shall know that I’m loved while I’m living,
And be wept by fond eyes when I’m dead!
p. 279The Death of Space.
[Why has Satan’s own Laureate never given to the world his marvellous threnody on the “Death of Space”? Who knows where the bays might have fallen, had he forwarded that mystic manuscript to the Home Office? If unwonted modesty withholds it from the public eye, the public will pardon the boldness that tears from blushing obscurity the following fragments of this unique poem.] ”

“ Books should speak for themselves. Prefaces can scarcely be otherwise than egotistic, and one would not willingly add to the too numerous illustrations of this tendency with which the literature of the day abounds. I would much rather leave the volume with the simple “Envoy” which I wrote for it when the Bon Gaultier Ballads were first gathered into a volume. There the products of the dual authorship of Aytoun and myself were ascribed to the Bon Gaultier under whose editorial auspices they had for the most part seen the light. ”

“ I’d rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were here!—
p. 158‘What is’t ye seek, ye rebel knaves—what make you there beneath?’
‘The bays, the bays! we want the bays! we seek the laureate wreath!
We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the sons of song;
Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight—we may not tarry long!’
Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn—‘Rare jest it were, I think,
But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogues to drink!
An’ if it flowed with wine or beer, ’tis easy to be seen,
That dry within the hour would be the well of Hippocrene. ”

“ Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew chime;
Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou may’st be wondrous glad,
That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day, my lad!
“Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no avail is!”
Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomersalez:—
p. 21Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the ring,
Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at the King.
“Oh, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me false again?
Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the captive’s chain! ”

“ It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo—
Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
p. 4“Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden, why sit’st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?”
“I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way ”