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第2章

a royal poet-第2章

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schooled in adversity; and reared in the company of his own

thoughts。 Monarchs have seldom time to parley with their hearts; or to

meditate their minds into poetry; and had James been brought up amidst

the adulation and gayety of a court; we should never; in all

probability; have had such a poem as the Quair。

  I have been particularly interested by those parts of the poem which

breathe his immediate thoughts concerning his situation; or which

are connected with the apartment in the tower。 They have thus a

personal and local charm; and are given with such circumstantial

truth; as to make the reader present with the captive in his prison;

and the companion of his meditations。

  Such is the account which he gives of his weariness of spirit; and

of the incident which first suggested the idea of writing the poem。 It

was the still midwatch of a clear moonlight night; the stars; he says;

were twinkling as fire in the high vault of heaven: and 〃Cynthia

rinsing her golden locks in Aquarius。〃 He lay in bed wakeful and

restless; and took a book to beguile the tedious hours。 The book he

chose was Boetius' Consolations of Philosophy; a work popular among

the writers of that day; and which had been translated by his great

prototype Chaucer。 From the high eulogium in which he indulges; it

is evident this was one of his favorite volumes while in prison: and

indeed it is an admirable text…book for meditation under adversity。 It

is the legacy of a noble and enduring spirit; purified by sorrow and

suffering; bequeathing to its successors in calamity the maxims of

sweet morality; and the trains of eloquent but simple reasoning; by

which it was enabled to bear up against the various ills of life。 It

is a talisman; which the unfortunate may treasure up in his bosom; or;

like the good King James; lay upon his nightly pillow。

  After closing the volume; he turns its contents over in his mind;

and gradually falls into a fit of musing on the fickleness of fortune;

the vicissitudes of his own life; and the evils that had overtaken him

even in his tender youth。 Suddenly he hears the bell ringing to

matins; but its sound; chiming in with his melancholy fancies; seems

to him like a voice exhorting him to write his story。 In the spirit of

poetic errantry he determines to comply with this intimation: he

therefore takes pen in hand; makes with it a sign of the cross to

implore a benediction; and sallies forth into the fairy land of

poetry。 There is something extremely fanciful in all this; and it is

interesting as furnishing a striking and beautiful instance of the

simple manner in which whole trains of poetical thought are

sometimes awakened; and literary enterprises suggested to the mind。

  In the course of his poem he more than once bewails the peculiar

hardness of his fate; thus doomed to lonely and inactive life; and

shut up from the freedom and pleasure of the world; in which the

meanest animal indulges unrestrained。 There is a sweetness; however;

in his very complaints; they are the lamentations of an amiable and

social spirit at being denied the indulgence of its kind and

generous propensities; there is nothing in them harsh nor exaggerated;

they flow with a natural and touching pathos; and are perhaps rendered

more touching by their simple brevity。 They contrast finely with those

elaborate and iterated repinings; which we sometimes meet with in

poetry;… the effusions of morbid minds sickening under miseries of

their own creating; and venting their bitterness upon an unoffending

world。 James speaks of his privations with acute sensibility; but

having mentioned them passes on; as if his manly mind disdained to

brood over unavoidable calamities。 When such a spirit breaks forth

into complaint; however brief; we are aware how great must be the

suffering that extorts the murmur。 We sympathize with James; a

romantic; active; and accomplished prince; cut off in the lustihood of

youth from all the enterprise; the noble uses; and vigorous delights

of life; as we do with Milton; alive to all the beauties of nature and

glories of art; when he breathes forth brief; but deep…toned

lamentations over his perpetual blindness。

  Had not James evinced a deficiency of poetic artifice; we might

almost have suspected that these lowerings of gloomy reflection were

meant as preparative to the brightest scene of his story; and to

contrast with that refulgence of light and loveliness; that

exhilarating accompaniment of bird and song; and foliage and flower;

and all the revel of the year; with which he ushers in the lady of his

heart。 It is this scene; in particular; which throws all the magic

of romance about the old Castle Keep。 He had risen; he says; at

daybreak; according to custom; to escape from the dreary meditations

of a sleepless pillow。 〃Bewailing in his chamber thus alone;〃

despairing of all joy and remedy; 〃for; tired of thought and

wobegone;〃 he had wandered to the window; to indulge the captive's

miserable solace of gazing wistfully upon the world from which he is

excluded。 The window looked forth upon a small garden which lay at the

foot of the tower。 It was a quiet; sheltered spot; adorned with arbors

and green alleys; and protected from the passing gaze by trees and

hawthorn hedges。



         Now was there made; fast by the tower's wall;

           A garden faire; and in the corners set

         An arbour green with wandis long and small

           Railed about; and so with leaves beset

         Was all the place and hawthorn hedges knet;

           That lyf* was none; walkyng there forbye

           That might within scarce any wight espye。



         So thick the branches and the leves grene;

           Beshaded all the alleys that there were;

         And midst of every arbour might be sene

           The sharpe; grene; swete juniper;

         Growing so fair; with branches here and there;

           That as it seemed to a lyf without;

           The boughs did spread the arbour all about。



         And on the small grene twistis*(2) set

           The lytel swete nightingales; and sung

         So loud and clear; the hymnis consecrate

           Of lovis use; now soft; now loud among;

         That all the garden and the wallis rung

         Right of their song…



  * Lyf; Person。

  *(2) Twistis; small boughs or twigs。

  Note。… The language of the quotations is generally modernized。



  It was the month of May; when every thing was in bloom; and he

interprets the song of the nightingale into the language of his

enamored feeling:



         Worship; all ye that lovers be; this May;

           For of your bliss the kalends are begun;

         And sing with us; away; winter; away;

           Come; summer; come; the sweet season and sun。



  As he gazes on the scene; and listens to the notes of the birds;

he gradually relapses into one of those tender and undefinable

reveries; which fill the youthful bosom in this delicious season。 He

wonders what this love may be; of which he has so often read; and

which thus seems breathed forth in the quickening breath of May; and

melting all nature into ecstasy and song。 If it really be so great a

felicity; and if it be a boon thus generally dispensed to the most

insignificant beings; why is he alone cut off from its enjoyments?



         Oft would I think; O Lord; what may this be;

           That love is of such noble myght and kynde?

         Loving his folke; and such prosperitee

           Is it of him; as we in books do find:

           May he oure hertes setten* and unbynd:

         Hath he upon our hertes such maistrye?

         Or is all this but feynit fantasye?



         For giff he be of so grete excellence;

           That he of every wight hath care and charge;

         What have I gilt*(2) to him; or done offense;

           That I am thral'd; and birdis go at large?



  * Setten; incline。

  *(2) Gilt; what injury have I done; etc。



In the midst of his musing; as he casts his eye downward; he beholds

〃the fairest and the freshest young flou

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