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 tale of blood, describing the procession from which he had singled out his prey:-- "'Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, Murder's foul minion, led the van; And clash'd their broadswords in the rear The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan.
"'Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, Obsequious at their Regent's rein, And haggard Lindsay's iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain.
"''Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, Proud Murray's plumage floated high; Scarce could his trampling charger move, So close the minions crowded nigh.
"'From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, Dark rolling, glanced the ranks along, And his steel truncheon waved on high, Seem'd marshalling the iron throng.
"'But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd A passing shade of doubt and awe; Some fiend was whispering in his breast, "Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!" "'The death-shot parts,--the charger springs,-- Wild rises tumult's startling roar! And Murray's plumy helmet rings-- Rings on the ground to rise no more.'" This was the ballad which made so strong an impression on Thomas Campbell, the poet.