MARMION
There was no title of which Scott was more fond than that of 'Sheriff
of Ettrick Forest.' The 'Shirra,' as he was affectionately called, was
a welcome guest in every farmhouse and there were few in the region
where he had not been entertained. The 'Forest' comprises the great
tract of hilly country lying between the Tweed and Ettrick Water and
extending as far east as Selkirk. Perhaps because we were familiar
with the Adirondacks and the Blue Ridge Mountains, where one may travel
for hours in the shade of the 'forest primeval,' it was to us a
distinct disappointment, and recalled the remark of Washington Irving,
that you could almost see a stout fly walking along the profile of the
hills. Centuries ago these hills, now completely denuded, were clothed
with a dense growth of trees and the entire region was set apart as a
royal hunting-ground. It is recorded that in the sixteenth century
King James V gave a royal hunting-party, in which the nobles and
gentlemen of Scotland to the extent of twelve thousand men
participated. But love of sport at length gave way to royal cupidity.
For the sake of increasing his revenue, the king turned the forest into
a huge sheep pasture, and these hungry animals, still retaining
possession, have literally destroyed the forest and changed the whole
aspect of the land. Scott, nevertheless, loved the bare hills, and
said, 'If I {48} could not see the heather at least once a year, I
think I should die.'
The duties of the Sheriff's office compelled a change from Lasswade to
a place nearer the town of Selkirk, and Scott found a small farm well
suited to his fancy, near the northern limits of the 'Forest,' at
Ashestiel, on high ground overlooking the Tweed. Here he spent some of
the happiest summers of his life. In a letter to Dr. Leyden, he gives
a pleasant picture of his happy family at this time:--
Here we live all the summer like little kings, and only wish that you
could take a scamper with me over the hills in the morning, and return
to a clean tablecloth, a leg of forest mutton, and a blazing hearth in
the afternoon. Walter has acquired the surname of Gilnockie, being
large of limb and bone and dauntless in disposition like that noted
chieftain. Your little friend Sophia is grown a tall girl, and I think
promises to be very clever, as she discovers uncommon acuteness of
apprehension. We have, moreover, a little roundabout girl with large
dark eyes, as brown, as good-humoured, and as lively as the mother that
bore her, and of whom she is the most striking picture. Over and above
all this, there is in _rerum natura_ a certain little Charles, so
called after the Knight of the Crocodile; but of this gentleman I can
say but little, as he is only five months old, and consequently not at
the time of life when I can often enjoy the 'honour of his company.'
[Illustration: ASHESTIEL]
Of the house itself and its surroundings Lockhart has given a charming
description:--
You approached it through an old-fashioned garden, with holly hedges,
and broad, green terrace walks. On one side, close under the windows,
is a deep ravine, clothed with venerable trees, down which a mountain
rivulet is heard, more than seen, in its progress to the Tweed. The
river itself is {49} separated from the high bank on which the house
stands only by a narrow meadow of the richest verdure. Opposite, and
all around, are the green hills. The valley there is narrow and the
aspect in every direction is that of perfect pastoral repose.
They were eight miles from the nearest town and four from the nearest
neighbour. The latter circumstance Scott did not regret, though he
found the former somewhat inconvenient for obtaining needed supplies
and naïvely complains to Lady Abercorn that he had been compelled to go
out and shoot a crow to get a quill with which to write her. Nearly
the whole country roundabout belonged to the Duke of Buccleuch, who
gave the poet full liberty to hunt upon his estates. The Tweed in the
vicinity of Ashestiel and of Elibank, a little above, was unsurpassed
for fishing. A favourite sport was 'leistering kippers,' or spearing
salmon at night by the light of a blazing peat fire. Perhaps the most
exhilarating pastime of all was the horseback riding, in which the poet
was an expert. Accompanied by one or more of his most congenial
friends, he would make excursions into remote regions, never
dismounting in the very worst paths and displaying powers of endurance
and fearlessness that made him the wonder and the envy of his
companions.
Scott was now in the full vigour of his manhood. The weakness of
earlier years had disappeared, and with the exception of the lameness,
which never left him, he was strong and healthy in body as well as
mind. He was in the full flush of his first great fame as a man of
letters, and the trials of his later life had not yet begun.
It was at this period and under these circumstances {50} that the poem
of 'Marmion' was written. The poet's enthusiasm for the locality in
which he lived, and for the friends who made that life a joy, found
expression in the Introductions to the six cantos, each addressed to
one of his intimate companions. Most readers of 'Marmion,' becoming
absorbed in the story, have regarded these introductions as unnecessary
interruptions. But no one would wish them to be omitted, for they
reveal the author who is telling the tale, and we seem to see him in
his changing environment, through the successive seasons as the poem
advances, beginning with the day at Ashestiel, when
November's sky is chill and drear
November's leaf is red and sear;
and closing with the Christmas-time, a year later at Mertoun House,
where the poet passed the happy days in the house where his great
grandsire came of old, 'the feast and holy tide to share.'
The introductions were originally intended to be published in a
separate volume as 'Six Epistles from Ettrick Forest.' The first, as
of course every one knows, is inscribed to William Stewart Rose, a poet
who is chiefly known for his translation of Ariosto's 'Orlando
Furioso.' It opens with a fine description of the beginning of winter
at Ashestiel, then turns to thoughts of 'My country's wintry state,'
and the loss to Britain brought by the death of the two rival
statesmen, Pitt and Fox, who had passed away in the same year, 1806, in
which the poem was begun.
The second canto, inscribed to the Rev. John Marriott, is reminiscent
of scenes and incidents of the Ettrick Forest. The third canto is the
most important of {51} all because of its autobiographic character. It
is addressed to William Erskine, a warm friend of the poet's youth, in
whose literary judgment Scott reposed the firmest faith. He had been
from the beginning a kind of literary monitor, sympathizing fully with
Scott's feeling for the picturesque side of Scottish life, but strongly
urging him to follow more closely the masters of poetry in some of the
minor graces of arrangement and diction. This the poet declares is
impossible, and exclaims:--
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale!
In this Introduction the poet's mind reverts to the scenes of his
childhood, the old farm at Sandy Knowe, where he lived with his
grandfather, and the ancient tower of Smailholm near by.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.
* * * * *
It was a barren scene and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled,
But ever and anon between
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,
And honeysuckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruined wall.
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all its round surveyed.
The preparation for the writing of 'Marmion' began right here, for the
love of martial tales so early implanted in the poet's breast never
ceased to grow until it reached its full maturity.
While stretched at length upon the floor,
Again I fought each combat o'er,
{52}
Pebbles and shells, in order laid,
The mimic ranks of war displayed;
And onward still the Scottish lion bore,
And still the scattered Southron fled before.
The fourth canto is inscribed to the poet's artist friend, James Skene,
with whom he made many an excursion on horseback through the Border
country. It recalls many memories of summer days and winter nights,
happily spent with mutual friends. The fifth is addressed to George
Ellis, a man of wide knowledge of poetry and extensive literary
attainments, with whom Scott was on terms of almost brotherly intimacy.
It was written from Edinburgh, more than a year after the beginning of
the poem, and is distinguished by a fine outburst of enthusiasm for the
poet's native city, 'Caledonia's Queen.' The sixth canto and the last
is dedicated to Richard Heber, who had rendered able assistance in the
preparation of the 'Border Minstrelsy.' He was a member of Parliament
for Oxford and a man of profound knowledge of the literary monuments of
the Middle Ages. He possessed an extensive library to which he gave
the poet free access, and his oral commentaries were scarcely less
important. The introduction was written at Mertoun House, where Scott
had gone to spend the Christmas season at the home of the head of his
clan.
Heap on more wood!--the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO NORHAM CASTLE]
A brief review of the well-known narrative will serve to point out the
most important of the many interesting and often beautiful scenes which
the poet so graphically {53} describes. The story opens, as everybody
knows, at Norham Castle at close of day, when Lord Marmion, mounted on
his red-roan charger, proudly enters,--
Armed from head to heel
In mail and plate of Milan steel,
with helm richly embossed with burnished gold and surmounted by a
flowing crest, amid which
A falcon hovered on her nest,
With wings outspread and forward breast.
He was followed by two gallant and ambitious squires; then came four
men-at-arms 'with halbert, bill, and battle-axe,' bearing their
chieftain's lance and pennon; and finally twenty yeomen, each a chosen
archer who could bend a six-foot bow, and all with falcons embroidered
on their breasts. They were welcomed with blare of trumpets and the
martial salute of cannon, making a clangor, such as the old turrets of
Norham had seldom heard. Marmion responded to the noisy welcome of
soldiers and minstrels by a lavish distribution of gold and was ushered
into the presence of Sir Hugh the Heron, with whom he spent the hours
till midnight in sumptuous feasting.
Norham Castle, the ruins of which we reached at the close of day, after
a long tour by motor from Berwick, was once a magnificent mansion and
fortress, standing on high ground overlooking the Tweed. For a
thousand years it was the scene of alternating peace and turmoil.
Founded in the seventh century, it passed from English to Scottish
hands and back again for many years. By the beginning of the
thirteenth century it had become one of the strongest of English
fortresses. James IV captured it just before the battle of Flodden
Field, but {54} after that event the English recovered it. For the
past three hundred years it has been crumbling to ruins, and now there
is little left except a single wall and a remnant of the
sable palisade,
That closed the castle barricade
before which Marmion's bugle-horn was sounded.
Like so many of Scott's characters, Marmion, though a fictitious
personage, moved among the real people of history and could boast a
genuine ancestry. There was a distinguished family of Marmion, Lords
of Fontenoy in Normandy, one of whom became a follower of William the
Conqueror and received a grant of the castle and tower of Tamworth and
the manor of Scrivelby, in Lincolnshire. The family became extinct in
the latter part of the thirteenth century.
In the second canto the scene changes to St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle,
where Constance de Beverley is a prisoner. She had broken her vows as
a nun and deserted the convent to follow Marmion, in the guise of a
page, as his paramour--
And forfeited to be his slave
All here, and all beyond the grave.
The island, so called, is on the English coast of the North Sea, about
ten miles southeast of Berwick. We reached it by crossing the sands in
a two-wheeled vehicle, something like an Irish jaunting-car, in which
springless instrument of torture we were compelled to travel about
three miles. At intervals along the route there are little groups of
poles standing in the water, with miniature platforms near the top.
These are havens of refuge. If {55} you get caught by the rising tides
you have only to make for one of these, and, after watching your horse
drown, wait for five or six hours until, with the turn of the tide,
somebody comes along to rescue you. Our enterprising Jehu assured us
that the tide would be running out, and that there was no danger. But
when about halfway over we began to notice that the ride was rising,
and the water was soon nearly up to the bed of the wagon. We had made
the entire journey in the face of a rising tide and reached the island
none too soon, for it was nearly high tide.
Cuthbert, the patron saint of the Holy Island, flourished in the
seventh century. He was a prior of the original Melrose Abbey--not the
one which is now a ruin in the town of that name, but its predecessor
which occupied a site farther down the Tweed. Later he became Prior of
Lindisfarne and afterward Bishop. The ruins of the abbey show that it
must have been a very extensive establishment of great antiquity.
Besides the foundation stones, little now remains except part of the
walls of the church which are best described in the poet's words:--
In Saxon strength that abbey frowned,
With massive arches broad and round,
That rose alternate, row and row,
On ponderous columns, short and low,
Built ere the art was known
By pointed aisle and shafted stalk
The arcades of an alleyed walk
To emulate in stone.
We searched in vain for the dreadful 'Vault of Penitence,' the awful
dungeon below the abbey, its position known only by the abbot, to which
both victim and {56} executioner were led blindfold. There is no trace
of any underground vaults nor of anything resembling the niche where
poor Constance was immured, to die a slow death from starvation. As a
matter of fact, Lindisfarne was never a convent at all. But at
Coldingham Abbey, on the coast of Scotland not many miles away, there
was discovered, in Scott's time, a female skeleton which, from the
shape of the niche and the position of the figure, seemed to be that of
a nun immured very much as Constance was supposed to have been.
[Illustration: LINDISFARNE ABBEY]
Returning to Norham Castle, and continuing the narrative, we find
Marmion and his men preparing to depart at an early hour of the morning
following their arrival. Guided by the supposed Holy Palmer, they
travelled all day, following the mountain paths straight across the
Lammermuir Hills, in a northwesterly direction, until at close of day
they came to the village of Gifford, four or five miles south of the
town of Haddington. A night at the village inn, a weird ghost story by
the landlord, and a strange, uncanny adventure of Marmion resulting
from it, complete the experiences of the first twenty-four hours. The
next day the travellers meet a messenger from the King, Sir David
Lindsay, by whom they are escorted to Crichton Castle and entertained
in royal magnificence. We found the ruins of this picturesque old
castle on the banks of the Tyne, a dozen miles southeast from
Edinburgh. From his boyhood they had exercised a fascinating influence
upon the poet.
Crichtoun! though now thy miry court
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,
Thy turrets rude and tottered keep
Have been the minstrel's loved resort.
{57} During his school days, Scott took many a vacation tramp to visit
the scenes in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh which appealed to his
fancy, and nothing ever made a stronger appeal than some old ruin to
which was attached a bit of history or legend. Referring to the time
when he was about thirteen years old, he says, in the brief fragment of
his 'Autobiography':--
To this period I can trace distinctly the awaking of that delightful
feeling for the beauties of natural objects which has never since
deserted me.... The romantic feelings which I have described as
predominating in my mind, naturally rested upon and associated
themselves with these grand features of the landscape around me; and
the historical incidents, or traditional legends connected with many of
them, gave to my admiration a sort of intense impression of reverence,
which at times made my heart feel too big for its bosom. From this
time the love of natural beauty, more especially when combined with
ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety or splendour, became
with me an insatiable passion, which, if circumstances had permitted, I
would willingly have gratified by travelling over half the globe.
It was with something of this same feeling that the poet caused Marmion
to travel from Norham to Edinburgh by a circuitous route, in order that
he might visit Crichton and afterward view Edinburgh from the Blackford
Hills. Mr. Guthrie Wright, a friend and relative of Scott's friend,
Erskine, once asked the poet: 'Why did ever mortal coming from England
to Edinburgh go by Gifford, Crichton Castle, Borthwick Castle, and over
the top of Blackford Hill? Not only is it a circuitous detour, but
there never was a road that way since the world was created!' 'That is
a most irrelevant objection,' said Sir Walter; 'it was my good pleasure
to bring Marmion {58} by that route, for the purpose of describing the
places you have mentioned, and the view from Blackford Hill--it was his
business to find the road and pick his steps the best way he could.'
At Crichton, Marmion heard from Sir David Lindsay a legend of King
James and the Palace of Linlithgow.
Of all the palaces so fair
Built for the royal dwelling
In Scotland, far beyond compare
Linlithgow is excelling.
This famous palace, now a ruin, lies about midway between Edinburgh and
Glasgow. It is beautifully situated on a small loch, from the opposite
shores of which it makes an imposing appearance. The walls are in a
good state of preservation and still give some intimations of the early
magnificence of the royal residence. Three of the Stuart kings, James
III, IV, and V, occupied it in succession. Mary, Queen of Scots, was
born here in what was once a large and beautiful room. On the opposite
side of the building is a room ninety-eight feet long and thirty feet
wide, formerly used by the Scottish Parliaments, and the scene of many
a state banquet. At one end is an immense fireplace which still
remains in almost perfect condition. In the large court are the
remains of a fine fountain, with elaborate carvings, erected by James V
in anticipation of his marriage with the Princess Madeleine of France.
The most striking feature of the palace is Queen Margaret's Bower, a
lofty turret, where it is said the Queen watched all day for her
husband's return from Flodden Field, only to learn of his disastrous
defeat and death. As I stood on the parapet opposite the bower,
preparing to make its photograph, {59} the custodian reminded me that I
was standing where many famous people used to promenade.
Adjoining the palace is the ancient church of St. Michael's, where,
according to Lindsay's story, King James received the ghostly visitor
in the semblance of the Apostle John, bearing the prophetic warning:--
'My mother sent me from afar,
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,--
Woe waits on thine array;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware:
God keep thee as he may!'
From Crichton the journey to the Scottish camp was resumed, and the
party now traverses ground even more familiar to the poet:--
Early they took Dun-Edin's road,
And I could trace each step they trode;
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,
Lies on the path to me unknown.
Over this well-worn road they reached the top of Blackford Hill, and
the view that met their eyes aroused an enthusiasm that even Marmion,
sullen warrior that he was, could scarcely suppress. The Scottish
camp, lying on the plain below, is painted in all the colours of the
rainbow:--
A thousand streamers flaunted fair;
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue.
The city, too, is pictured in colours no less vivid and glows 'with
gloomy splendour, red.' The Ochil Mountains, reflecting the morning
rays are like a 'purple {60} amethyst'; the islands in the Firth are
like 'emeralds chased in gold'; and a 'dusky grandeur clothed the
height, where the huge castle holds its state.'
The scene which Marmion saw, the poet admits, was far different in his
own time; and it has changed, perhaps, even more since Sir Walter's
day, for the plain where King James's army lay is now filled with
well-built cottages. But the dominating features of the view, the huge
castle on the left, Arthur's Seat and the Salisbury Crags on the right,
Calton Hill, and the crown-shaped steeple of St. Giles still remain to
command our admiration and delight.
[Illustration: TANTALLON CASTLE]
Passing through the Scottish camp, Marmion and his train soon came to
Holyrood Palace. The tower on the left was built by James IV as a
royal palace in 1498-1503. In the latter year it was the scene of the
marriage of the King to Princess Margaret, the daughter of Henry VII of
England. The wedding was celebrated with great magnificence. Here
Marmion is received by the King, who, on the night before marching to
the south, is making Holyrood ring with 'wassail, mirth, and glee.' He
is devoting much attention to the wife of Sir Hugh the Heron, who sings
for him the song of the young Lochinvar. A glance, thrown by 'the
witching dame' to Marmion, arouses the jealous displeasure of the King,
and Marmion is hurried off to Tantallon Castle, under conduct of the
owner of that stronghold, Douglas, Earl of Angus, known as Archibald
Bell-the-Cat. Tantallon is on the north coast of Haddingtonshire, near
the town of North Berwick. The ruins still remain,
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far.
{61} They stand on a high, projecting rock, guarded on three sides by
the ocean, while on the land side the remnant of the 'double mound and
fosse' may still be seen. The castle was a favourite residence of the
Douglas family, though its fame owes less to history than to the genius
of Sir Walter. It was here that Marmion dared
To beard the lion in his den
The Douglas in his hall,--
and in defiance of Lord Angus gave utterance to one of those dramatic
passages which have made the poem linger so long in the memory of all
its readers. This is one of the chief characteristics of Scott's
poetry, that certain lines will insist upon 'running in one's head.'
George Ellis pointed out the significant fact that 'everybody reads
Marmion more than once' and that it improves on second reading.
Perhaps this is why so many people can quote freely from the poem,
particularly such passages as the quarrel of Marmion and Douglas.
From Tantallon, Marmion and his men, with the Lady Clare, proceed to
Flodden Field, reaching at eve the convent of Lennel where 'now is left
but one frail arch.' This resting place is on the river Tweed just
below the town of Coldstream and not far from the famous ford at the
mouth of the river Leet, used by Edward I in the invasion of Scotland
near the close of the thirteenth century and by the contending armies
of England and Scotland for nearly four hundred years afterward. Over
this ford Marmion rushes impetuously to throw himself into the thick of
the battle.
Then on that dangerous ford and deep
Where to the Tweed Leet's eddies creep
He ventured desperately:
{62}
And not a moment will he bide
Till squire or groom before him ride;
Headmost of all he stems the tide,
And stems it gallantly.
Sir Walter wrote this passage, and many more like it, from experience,
for it was one of his chief delights to ford a stream. James Skene
said he believed there was not a single ford in the whole course of the
Tweed that he and Scott had not traversed together. 'He had an amazing
fondness for fords, and was not a little adventurous in plunging
through, whatever might be the state of the flood, and this even though
there happened to be a bridge in view. If it seemed possible to
scramble through, he scorned to go ten yards about, and in fact
preferred the ford.' There was a ford at Ashestiel that was never a
good one. At one time, after a severe storm, it became quite perilous.
Scott was the first to attempt the passage, which he accomplished in
safety, thanks to his steady nerve and good horsemanship, for his
favourite black horse, Captain, was obliged to swim nearly the whole
distance across.
Many of the landmarks of Flodden Field may still be seen. The Twisel
Bridge over which the English crossed the Till; Ford Castle, the
residence of Sir William Heron, whom Scott transfers to Norham,
changing his name to Hugh; Etal Castle, which with Ford, Norham, and
Wark was captured by King James; a remnant of the old cross in the
field where Marmion died; the well of Sybil Grey, a spring running into
a small stone basin, upon which has been cut an inscription something
like that referred to in the poem; and 'Marmion's well' at the edge of
the village of Branxton, which the local {63} inhabitants are certain
is the real spring where Clare filled Marmion's helm with the cooling
water,--all these are easily visited in a day's drive. On the summit
of Piper's Hill a monument has been erected, marking the spot where
King James fell.
The King failed to heed the warning given in Linlithgow. He insisted
upon going to war and wasted too much precious time with the Lady
Heron. As a result he seemed to do everything that a good general
would not have done and he failed to do all that a competent leader
would have done. The poet gives full vent to his righteous
indignation:--
And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the while,
And struggles through the deep defile?
What checks the fiery soul of James?
Why sits that champion of the dames
Inactive on his steed?
* * * * *
O Douglas, for thy leading wand!
Fierce Randolph for thy speed!
Oh! for one hour of Wallace wight,
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight
And cry, 'Saint Andrew and our right!'
Another sight had seen that morn,
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
And Flodden had been Bannockbourne.
The King fell, bravely fighting, it is said, within a lance's length of
the Earl of Surrey. The noblest of the Scottish army lay dead and
dying about the field. Never before in Scottish history had there been
so great a disaster as that
Of Flodden's fatal field
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear
And broken was her shield!
{64} Richard H. Hutton thinks that Scott's description of war in this
account is perhaps the most perfect which the English language
contains, and that 'Marmion' is Scott's finest poem. 'The Battle of
Flodden Field,' he says, '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.'
Lockhart, whose judgment must always be regarded, also believed
'Marmion' to be the greatest of Scott's poems, because of its 'superior
strength and breadth and boldness both of conception and execution.' It
has been severely criticized. That Marmion, a knight of many noble
qualities, should have been guilty of the contemptible crime of
forgery, is a blot which Scott himself acknowledged. Mr. Andrew Lang
thinks that 'our age could easily dispense with Clara and her lover.'
George Ellis, on the contrary, thought it too short, that 'the masterly
character of Constance would not have been less bewitching had it been
much more minutely painted--and that De Wilton might have been dilated
with great ease and even to considerable advantage.' Lord Jeffrey
denounced it in characteristic fashion as an 'imitation of obsolete
extravagance.' Such a thing, he thought, might be excused for once as
a 'pretty caprice of genius,' but a second production imposed 'a sort
of duty to drive the author from so idle a task.'
But Jeffrey's crabbed remarks were universally condemned as unjust and
the public responded to 'Marmion' with enthusiasm. Scott had painted a
picture full of lofty patriotism and glowing with life and colour.
{65} He had glorified his native city with a fervour that went straight
to the hearts of its people. The bravery of the Scottish troops as
they rallied around their king and fought to the bitter end seemed to
turn the worst disaster in their history into a scene of which every
Scotchman might well be proud. The great chieftains of Scotland had
been exalted. The hills and mountains, the rivers and brooks, and all
the delightful scenes of the southern border had been painted in
charming colours. And so the poet had touched the pride of his
countrymen and if there were faults of composition or of diction they
saw them not.
{66}