He found his kingdom in great confusion, the feudal chieftainshaving taken advantage of the troubles and irregularities of a longinterregnum to strengthen themselves in their possessions, and placethemselves above the power of the laws. James sought to found thebasis of his power in the affections of his people. He attached thelower orders to him by the reformation of abuses, the temperate andequable administration of justice, the encouragement of the arts ofpeace, and the promotion of every thing that could diffuse comfort,competency, and innocent enjoyment through the humblest ranks ofsociety. He mingled occasionally among the common people indisguise; visited their firesides; entered into their cares, theirpursuits, and their amusements; informed himself of the mechanicalarts, and how they could best be patronized and improved; and was thusan all-pervading spirit, watching with a benevolent eye over themeanest of his subjects. Having in this generous manner made himselfstrong in the hearts of the common people, he turned himself to curbthe power of the factious nobility; to strip them of those dangerousimmunities which they had usurped; to punish such as had been guiltyof flagrant offences; and to bring the whole into proper obedienceto the crown. For some time they bore this with outward submission,but with secret impatience and brooding resentment. A conspiracy wasat length formed against his life, at the head of which was his ownuncle, Robert Stewart, Earl of Athol, who, being too old himself forthe perpetration of the deed of blood, instigated his grandson SirRobert Stewart, together with Sir Robert Graham, and others of lessnote, to commit the deed. They broke into his bedchamber at theDominican Convent near Perth, where he was residing, and barbarouslymurdered him by oft-repeated wounds. His faithful queen, rushing tothrow her tender body between him and the sword, was twice woundedin the ineffectual attempt to shield him from the assassin; and it wasnot until she had been forcibly torn from his person, that themurder was accomplished.
It was the recollection of this romantic tale of former times, andof the golden little poem which had its birthplace in this Tower, thatmade me visit the old pile with more than common interest. The suit ofarmor hanging up in the hall, richly gilt and embellished, as if tofigure in the tournay, brought the image of the gallant and romanticprince vividly before my imagination. I paced the deserted chamberswhere he had composed his poem; I leaned upon the window, andendeavored to persuade myself it was the very one where he had beenvisited by his vision; I looked out upon the spot where he had firstseen the Lady Jane. It was the same genial and joyous month; the birdswere again vying with each other in strains of liquid melody; everything was bursting into vegetation, and budding forth the tenderpromise of the year. Time, which delights to obliterate the sternermemorials of human pride, seems to have passed lightly over thislittle scene of poetry and love, and to have withheld his desolatinghand. Several centuries have gone by, yet the garden stillflourishes at the foot of the Tower. It occupies what was once themoat of the Keep; and though some parts have been separated bydividing walls, yet others have still their arbors and shaded walks,as in the days of James, and the whole is sheltered, blooming, andretired. There is a charm about a spot that has been printed by thefootsteps of departed beauty, and consecrated by the inspirations ofthe poet, which is heightened, rather than impaired, by the lapse ofages. It is, indeed, the gift of poetry to hallow every place in whichit moves; to breathe around nature an odor more exquisite than theperfume of the rose, and to shed over it a tint more magical thanthe blush of morning.
Others may dwell on the illustrious deeds of James as a warriorand a legislator; but I have delighted to view him merely as thecompanion of his fellow-men, the benefactor of the human heart,stooping from his high estate to sow the sweet flowers of poetry andsong in the paths of common life. He was the first to cultivate thevigorous and hardy plant of Scottish genius, which has since become soprolific of the most wholesome and highly-flavored fruit. He carriedwith him into the sterner regions of the north all the fertilizingarts of southern refinement. He did every thing in his power to winhis countrymen to the gay, the elegant, and gentle arts, whichsoften and refine the character of a people, and wreathe a grace roundthe loftiness of a proud and warlike spirit. He wrote many poems,which, unfortunately for the fulness of his fame, are now lost tothe world; one, which is still preserved, called "Christ's Kirk of theGreen," shows how diligently he had made himself acquainted with therustic sports and pastimes, which constitute such a source of kind andsocial feeling among the Scottish peasantry; and with what simpleand happy humor he could enter into their enjoyments. He contributedgreatly to improve the national music; and traces of his tendersentiment, and elegant taste, are said to exist in those witchingairs, still piped among the wild mountains and lonely glens ofScotland. He has thus connected his image with whatever is mostgracious and endearing in the national character; he has embalmedhis memory in song, and floated his name to after ages in the richstreams of Scottish melody. The recollection of these things waskindling at my heart as I paced the silent scene of hisimprisonment. I have visited Vaucluse with as much enthusiasm as apilgrim would visit the shrine at Loretto; but I have never feltmore poetical devotion than when contemplating the old Tower and thelittle garden at Windsor, and musing over the romantic loves of theLady Jane and the Royal Poet of Scotland.
THE END.
1819-20
