CAMPBELL'S PILGRIM OF GLENCOE.

COMPARED with the author's former productions, this volume is rather an amusement than a work; the occupation of a veteran, in a pursuit which long exercise has rendered easy, rather than the laborious struggles of a soldier in his prime, striving after victory. In the more mechanical parts of poetry, the Pilgrim of Glencoe, and most of the other poems, may vie with the efforts of Tsomes CAMPBELL in his best days, as they surpass some of his middle-aged productions : nor is the publication, in parts and passages, wanting in the higher qualities of art—in nature, truth, and beauty. T he deficiency of the volume is in subject and matter. The elements of the principal poem are too com- mon for the purposes of high art ; and the topics of the others are not of interest enough in themselves to excite much in the reader, or their treatment is not sufficiently happy to supersede their own paucity of matter. " The Pilgrim of Glencoe" is a war-worn veteran, who is be- nighted or rather bemisted on his return to the Highlands. Taking refuge in a cottage, it turns out that Norman, the father of his host, is the Pilgrim's sworn enemy, having vowed vengeance against all who were present at the massacre of Glencoe. Pre- sently, however, it appears that the veteran was the means of saving Norman's wife and child ; and the clannish hatred is turned into friendship. Here the tale might have stopped ; and, though slight, it would have been complete : but it is carried on to the Rebellion of 1745, although little use is made of that event, Nor- man when he is going " out " being struck with paralysis ; and after the triumph of Culloden, the veteran Pilgrim returns to their cottage, where he ends his days.

The story, it will be seen, is deficient in every requisite to con-

gawp : it has scarcely a beginning, still less a middle or -An end. Indeed, short as it is, it consists of two parts ; one ter- minating with the discovery of Norman's obligation to the veteran, the other stopping rather than ending, as it might be continued ad libitum. This critical objection would have been of little con- sequence had there been incident, purpose, or variety ; which there is not. The only moment of suspense is during the walk of Norman and his son Ronald, when the former avows his ruthless purpose : and probably, in an artistical sense, the elements of the tale were tragic. Had Norman murdered his guest, and subse- quently discovered his obligations to him, not only might there have been the agony of remorse, and the distress consequent upon detection, but the tale would have pointed the moral of indiscri- minate vengeance upon classes. Mr. CAMPBELL, in a prefixed note, says indeed, that the poem is a versified tradition ; and if a poet were tied down to follow matters-of-fact, that fact would be an answer to critical objection. But the business of a poet is to select from nature, not servilely to copy her.

But though defective in substance, there is little wanting in form. "The poet faithfully attends us" throughout. The picture of sunset and then of evening, the gathering of the mist in the High- lands, and the character of the old soldier, are all sketched by the hand of a master. The Highland family are also drawn and con- trasted with skill. Old Norman, especially, is painted with tho- rough knowledge of the Highlander, and with what SCOTT wanted, the philosophy to estimate him truly.

AN OLD HIGHLANDER.

All three had that peculiar courteous grace Which marks the meanest of the Highland race; Warm hearts that burn alike in weal and wo, As if the North-wind fanned their bosoms' glow! But wide unlike their souls : old Norman's eye Was proudly savage even in courtesy. His sinewy shoulders—each, though aged and lean, Broad as the curled Herculean head between,— His scornful lip, his eyes of yellow fire, And nostrils that dilated quick with ire, With ever downward-slanting shaggy brows, Marked the old lion you would dread to rouse. Norman, in truth, had led his earlier life In raids of red revenge and feudal strife; Religious duty in revenge he saw,

Proud honour's right and nature's honest law. First in the charge and foremost in pursuit, Long-breathed, deep•chested, and in speed of foot A match for stags—still fleeter when the prey Was man, in persecution's evil day;

Cheered to that chase by brutal bold Dundee, No Highland hound had lapped more blood than he. Oft had he changed the Covenanter's breath From howls of psalmody to howls of death ; And though long bound to peace, it irked him still His dirk had ne'er one hated foe to kill. Yet Norman had fierce virtues, that would mock Cold-blooded Tories of the modern stock, Who starve the breadless poor with fraud and cant : He slew, and saved them from the pangs of want. Nor was his solitary lawless charm Mere dauntlessness of soul and strength of arm : lie had his moods of kindness now and then, And feasted ev'n well-mannered Lowland men Who blew not up his Jacobitish flame, Nor prefaced with " pretender " Charles's name.

Mr. CAMPBELL, in the note alluded to, also tells that he "has endeavoured to colour the personages of the tradition, and to make

them as distinctive as possible." This he accomplishes, in the case

of the Highlanders, by making the father of one age and the son of another, giving the latter some knowledge of letters, which eventu- ally leads him to doubt "the right divine of kings to govern wrong." The conduct of the old man when he learns Ronald's apostacy is described with general truth and quiet satire.

AN OLD TORT IN AN ARGUMENT.

Whilst doubts assailed him, o'er and o'er again, If men were made for kings or kings for men.

At last, to Norman's horror and dismay, Ile flat denied the Stuarts' right to sway. No blowpipe ever whitened furnace-fire Quick as these words lit up his father's ire Who envied even old Abraham for his faith, Ordained to put his only son to death. He started up—in such a mood of soul The white bear bites his showman's stirring pole; He danced too, and brought out, with snarl and howl,

"0 Dia! Dia and Dioul ! Dioul!"*

But sense foils fury—as the blowing whale

Spouts, bleeds, and dyes the waves without avail—

Wears out the cable's length that makes him fast,

But, worn himself, comes up harpooned at last—

E'en so, devoid of sense, succumbs at length Mere strength of zeal to intellectual strength. His son's close logic so perplexed his pate, Th' old hero rather shunned than sought debate : Exhausting his vocabulary's store

Of oaths and nicknames, he could say no more,

But tapped his mull, rolled mutely in his chair, Or only whistled Killicranky's '

Several of the miscellaneous poems have appeared before, and are only republished. None of them rise to that excellence which is requisite to give high attraction to common occasional sub- jects. Scarcely any are positively bad, and some are good. Of these last, "The Hind of 'Wiesbaden ' is pretty : "The Jilted Nymph" piquant and animated ; but it would have seemed better had JOANNA Beilaas not written its suggester, " Woo'd an' married an' a'." "My new Child-Sweetheart, a street incident, is pleasant and genial, though the poet has not pointed the moral the subject con- tains: the "Epistle from Algiers to Horace Smith" is a lively de- scription of the writer's small distresses through sea-sickness and foreign cookery : but it is well that the fragmentary Oratorio of Job proceeded no further. " Cora Linn," like the "Hind of Wies- baden," is pretty ; the descriptive stanzas in the following quota- tion something more.

"The time I saw thee, Cora last,

'Twas with congenial friends; And calmer hours of pleasure past—

My memory seldom sends.

"It was as sweet an Autumn day

As ever shone on Clyde'

And Lanark's orchards all the way Put forth their golden pride; "Even hedges, busked in bravery, Looked rich that sunny morn; The scarlet hip and blackberry So pranked September's thorn.

"In Coca's glen the calm how deep! That trees on loftiest hill Like statues stood, or things asleep, All motionless and still."

Some notes descriptive of Highland superstitions and customs are added to the Pilgrim of Glencoe : they are not essentially new, but they arc neatly written and agreeable. Here is one.

TOM CiMPEELL'S WRAITH.

It happened to me, early in life, to meet with an amusing instance of High- land superstition with regard to myself. 'Jived in a family of the island of Mull; and a mile or two from their house there was a burial-ground without any church attached to it, on the lonely moor. The cemetery was enclosed and guarded by an iron railing, so high that it was unscaleable. I way', however, commencing the study of botany at the time; and thinking there might be some nice flowers and curious epitaphs among the gravestones, I contrived, by help of my handkerchief, to scale the railing, and was soon scampering over the tombs. Some of the natives chanced to perceive me, not in the act of climbing over to, but skipping over, the burial-ground. In a day or two I ob- served the family looking on me with unaccountable though not angry serious- ness: at last, the good old grandmother told me, with tears in her eyes, "that I could not live long, for that my wraith had been seen." "And, pray, where ? " "Leaping over the stones of the burial-ground." The old lady was much relieved to hear that it was not my wraith, but myself • God and the Devil—a favourite ejaculation of Highland saints.