Take this description, for instance, of the Scotch tents near Edinburgh:-- "A thousand did I say?
I ween Thousands on thousands there were seen, That chequer'd all the heath between The streamlet and the town; In crossing ranks extending far, Forming a camp irregular; Oft giving way where still there stood Some relics of the old oak wood, That darkly huge did intervene, _And tamed the glaring white with green_; In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom's vast array." The line I have italicized seems to me to have more of the poet's special magic of expression than is at all usual with Scott.

The conception of the peaceful green oak wood _taming_ the glaring white of the tented field, is as fine in idea as it is in relation to the effect of the mere colour on the eye.

Judge Scott's poetry by whatever test you will--whether it be a test of that which is peculiar to it, its glow of national feeling, its martial ardour, its swift and rugged simplicity, or whether it be a test of that which is common to it with most other poetry, its attraction for all romantic excitements, its special feeling for the pomp and circumstance of war, its love of light and colour--and tested either way, _Marmion_ will remain his finest poem.

The battle of Flodden Field touches his highest point in its expression of stern patriotic feeling, in its passionate love of daring, and in the force and swiftness of its movement, no less than in the brilliancy of its romantic interests, the charm of its picturesque detail, and the glow of its scenic colouring.

No poet ever equalled Scott in the description of wild and simple scenes and the expression of wild and simple feelings.