Scott had advised him to abandon poetry, as "a bootless task," a circ.u.mstance to which he thus refers:

"Blest be his generous heart for aye!

He told me where the relic lay; Pointed my way with ready will, Afar on Ettrick's wildest hill; Watched my first notes with curious eye; And wondered at my minstrelsy: He little weened a parent's tongue Such strains had o'er my cradle sung.

"But when to native feelings true I struck upon a chord was new; When by myself I 'gan to play, He tried to wile my harp away.

Just when her notes began with skill To sound beneath the southern hill, And twine around my bosom's core, How could we part forevermore?

'Twas kindness all--I cannot blame-- For bootless is the minstrel's flame: But sure a bard might well have known Another's feelings by his own!"

Scott, it is said, was grieved at this reference to his friendly counsel, given at a time when he knew not the powers of Hogg. This, however, ill.u.s.trates a fact often occurring in the history of genius, which often struggles hard to develop itself, alone conscious of its native powers. When Sheridan first spoke in the house of commons he made an utter failure. But instead of being discouraged, he remarked with energy, "I know that it is in me, and I _must_ have it out!" Campbell offered his "Pleasures of Hope" to nearly all the book publishers in Scotland, who refused it. Not one of them could be prevailed upon even to risk paper and ink upon the chance of its success; and at last, it was only with considerable reluctance that Mundell & Son, printers to the University, undertook its publication, with the _liberal_ condition that the author should be allowed fifty copies at the _trade price_, and in the event of its reaching a second edition, a thing hardly antic.i.p.ated, that he should receive the _immense_ sum of fifty dollars!

The Ettrick Shepherd continued for a number of years to publish sketches, stories, and so forth, in prose and verse. He describes well, and in his prose compositions often breaks out into flashes of keen broad humor, but he is not particularly successful in the construction of plots, or in the arrangement of incidents. He is most at home in the regions of pure fancy. The moment he sets foot in fairyland he becomes inspired, and pours out "in delightful profusion" his beautiful imaginings. Inferior to Burns in depth of pa.s.sion, in keen perception of the beautiful, and in the description of actual scenes, he is perhaps superior to him in the wild delicacy of his inventions and in the rich coloring of his imaginative pictures. Burns was the poet of nature, and went far beyond his Scottish contemporaries and successors, in strength of conception, beauty of imagery, intensity of feeling, and melody of verse. But Hogg excelled in imaginative musing, and became, by natural right, the acknowledged "bard of fairyland." His legend of "Bonny Kilmeny" has been universally admired.

Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen, But it was na to meet Duneira's men; Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress flower round the spring; The scarlet hypp and the hind berrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree; But Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

But lang may her minny[167] look o'er the wa', And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; Lang the laird of Duneira blame, And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!

When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, When ma.s.s for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the beads-man had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, When the fringe was red on the western hill, The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;[168]

When the ingle lowed[169] with an eiry[170] leme, Late, late in the gloamin, Kilmeny came hame!

Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?

Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean,[171]

By linn, by ford and greenwood tree, Yet you are halesome and fair to see.

Where gat you that joup[172] o' the lily scheen?

That bonny snook[173] o' the birk sae green?

And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen?

Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?

Kilmeny looked up wi' a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; As still was her look, and as still was her ee, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.

For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; Kilmeny had been where the c.o.c.k never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew, But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And a land where sin had never been, A land of love and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; Where the river swa'd[174] a living stream, And the light a pure celestial beam: The land of vision it would seem, A still, an everlasting dream.

In yon greenwood there is a waik, And in that waik there is a wene, And in that wene there is a maike,[175]

That neither hath flesh, blood nor bane, And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane!

In that grene wene Kilmeny lay Her bosom happed wi' the flowrets gay; And the air was soft, and the silence deep, And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep; She kenn'd nae mair, nor opened her ee, Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye, She wakened on couch of the silk sae slim, All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; And lovely beings around her were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life.

They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, They kissed her cheek, and they kamed her hair, And round came many a blooming fere, Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here."

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, And she walked in the light of a sunless day, The sky was a dome of crystal bright, The fountain of vision, and fountain of light; The emerant fields were of dazzling glow, And the flowers of everlasting blow.

Then deep in the stream her body they laid, That her youth and beauty might never fade; And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie In the stream of life that wandered by; And she heard a song, she heard it sung, She kenn'd not where, but so sweetly it rung, It fell on her ears like a dream of the morn: "O, blest be the day Kilmeny was born!

Now shall the land of spirits see, Now shall it ken what a woman may be!

The sun that shines on the world so bright, A borrowed gleam from the fountain of light: And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, Like a gowden bow, or a beamless sun, Shall skulk away, and be seen nae mair, And the angels shall miss them travelling the air.

But lang, lang after both night and day, When the sun and the world have 'eelged[176] away, When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!"

They sooft[177] her away to a mountain green, To see what mortal had never seen; And they seated her high on a purple sward, And bade her heed what she saw and heard; And note the changes the spirits wrought, For now she lived in the land of thought.

She looked and she saw no sun nor skies, But a crystal dome of a thousand dyes.

She looked and she saw no lang aright, But an endless whirl of glory and light.

And radiant beings went and came, Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame; She hid her een from the dazzling view, She looked again, and the scene was new.

She saw a sun on a simmer sky, And clouds of amber sailing by; A lovely land aneath her lay, And that land had lakes and mountains gray; And that land had valleys and h.o.a.ry piles, And merlit seas, and a thousand isles; She saw the corn wave on the vale; She saw the deer run down the dale; And many a mortal toiling sore, And she thought she had seen the land afore.

To sing of the sights Kilmeny saw, So far surpa.s.sing nature's law, The singer's voice would sink away, And the string of his harp would cease to play, But she saw while the sorrows of man were by, And all was love and harmony; While the sterns of heaven fell lonely away, Like the flakes of snow on a winter's day.

Then Kilmeny begged again to see The friends she had left in her ain countrye, To tell of the place where she had been, And the glories that lay in the land unseen.

With distant music soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane, All happed with flowers in the greenwood wene When seven lang years had come and fled, When grief was calm and hope was dead, When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name.

Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame!

And oh! her beauty was fair to see, But still and steadfast was her ee; Such beauty bard may never declare, For there was no pride nor pa.s.sion there; And the soft desire of maiden's een, In that mild face could never be seen.

Her seyman was the lily flower, And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; And her voice like the distant melodye, That floats along the twilight sea.

But she loved to range the lanely glen, And keeped afar frae the haunts of men, Her holy hymns unheard to sing, To suck the flowers and drink the spring; But wherever her peaceful form appeared, The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; The wolf played blithely round the field, The lordly bison lowed and kneeled, The dun deer wooed with manner bland, And cowered aneath her lily hand.

And when at eve the woodlands rung, When hymns of other worlds she sung, In ecstacy of sweet devotion, Oh, then the glen was all in motion; The wild beasts of the forest came, Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, And gooed around, charmed and amazed; Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, And murmured and looked with anxious pain For something the mystery to explain.

The buzzard came with the throstle c.o.c.k; The corby left her houf in the rock; The blackbird along with the eagle flew; The hind came tripping o'er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; The hawk and the hern attour them hung, And the merl and the mavis forhooyed[178] their young; And all in a peaceful ring were hurled: It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane, Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene, There laid her down on the leaves so green, And Kilmeny, on earth was never mair seen!

[Footnote 167: Mother]

[Footnote 168: Alone.]

[Footnote 169: Blazed.]

[Footnote 170: Lonesome flame.]

[Footnote 171: Hollow and den.]

[Footnote 172: Ornament.]

[Footnote 173: Snood or headband.]

[Footnote 174: Swelled or swept.]

[Footnote 175: Briefly the meaning is, that in the greenwood there is a sweet lonely place where a spiritual being wanders alone.]

[Footnote 176: Vanished.]

[Footnote 177: Swept or spirited away, with a rapid motion.]

[Footnote 178: Forsook.]

The close of "The Queen's Wake" is graceful and touching.

Now my loved harp a while farewell; I leave thee on the old gray thorn; The evening dews will mar thy swell That waked to joy the cheerful morn.

Farewell, sweet soother of my woe, Chill blows the blast around my head; And louder yet that blast may blow, When down this weary vale I've sped.

The wreath lies on St. Mary's sh.o.r.e; The mountain sounds are harsh and loud; The lofty brows of stern Clokmore Are visored with the moving cloud.

But winter's deadly hues shall fade On moorland bald and mountain shaw, And soon the rainbow's lovely shade Sleep on the breast of Bowerhope Law;