University of Virginia Library

HAWTHORNDEN.

Cum possit Latiis Buchananum vincere Musis
Drummondus, patrio maluit ore loqui.
Major uter? Primas huic defert Scotia, vates
Vix inter Latios ille secundus crat.
Arthur Johnston.

I.

Stranger! gaze round thee on a woodland scene
Of fairy loveliness, all unsurpassed.
In gulfy amphitheatre, the boughs
Of many-foliaged stems engird thy path
With emerald gloom; the shelving, steepy banks,
With eglantine and hawthorn blossomed o'er,

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And a flush undergrowth of primroses,
Lychnes, and daffodils, and harebells blue,
Of Summer's liberal bounty mutely tell.
From frowning rocks piled up precipitous,
With scanty footing topples the huge oak,
Tossing his arms abroad; and, fixed in clefts,
Where gleams at intervals a patch of sward,
The hazel throws his silvery branches down,
Fringing with grace the dark-brown battlements.
Look up, and lo! o'er all, yon castled cliff—
Its roof is lichened o'er, purple and green,
And blends its grey walls with coeval trees:
There “Jonson sate in Drummond's classic shade:”
The mazy stream beneath is Roslin's Esk—
And what thou lookest on is Hawthornden!

The present house of Hawthornden is a mansion apparently of the seventeenth century, engrafted on the ancient baronial castle, in which Ben Jonson visited the Scottish poet, and from whose remains it is apparent that it had been constructed in times when comfort was less studied than security. It is still in the possession of the Drummonds through the maternal line; but, although yet partly furnished, Sir Francis Walker Drummond, the father of the present proprietor, removed the family residence to a more commodious mansion in the vicinity. Among its relics are a number of Jacobite portraits, and a dress worn by the Chevalier in 1745.

The Scottish founder of the Drummonds is said to have come from Hungary with Margaret, queen of Malcolm Canmore, seven hundred years ago. In the days of Robert the Bruce, Walter de Drummond was, according to Stowe's Annals, clerk-register to that illustrious monarch, and one of his commissioners in concluding a treaty of peace between England and Scotland at Newcastle in 1323. In David the First's reign, the Drummonds rendered themselves prominent by implacable and sanguinary feuds with the Monteiths — the betrayers of Wallace — which were only terminated by royal command, by a charter of agreement, dated on the banks of the Forth, over against Stirling, 17th May 1360, in the presence of Sir Hugh Eglinton and Sir Robert Erskine of Alloa, the King's two justiciaries, and which is still preserved in the family charter-chest.

Through Queen Annabella, the family became connected with the royal line of Scotland; and that lady's brother, Sir Malcolm Drummond, having married Douglas, heiress of Mar, succeeded to that ancient earldom. For his distinguished service at the battle of Otterburn, in having taken prisoner Sir Ralph Percy, the brother of Hotspur, he was rewarded with a pension of five hundred pounds per annum from the customs of Inverness, and was in great reputation with David Bruce, and with the second and third Roberts. The principal line of the Drummonds afterwards became Earls and Dukes of Perth— which titles they forfeited for their adherence to the cause of the Stuarts. They are now represented.


II.

Firm is the mansion's basement on the rock:
Beneath there yawns a many-chambered cave,
With dormitory, and hollow well, and rooms
Scooped by the hands of men.

Beneath the foundations of the ancient building there is a remarkable souterrain, supposed to have been a retreat of the aboriginal Britons, and which consists of several apartments, lighted by apertures in the face of the precipice, and furnished with a draw-well. In later times it served as a place of concealment to Sir Alexander Ramsay and other patriots, who had endeavoured to rescue Scotland from the tyranny of Edward III. Hawthornden, from its exquisite scenery, its ruins, its caves, and its classical associations, is still a great source of attraction to multitudes of summer ramblers. In 1843 it was visited by Queen Victoria and her suite.

From its slant mouth,

Bramble-o'ergrown, facing the river bed,
Thro' Scotland's troublous times, in days of Eld,
When Tyranny held rule, oft have the brave,
Who dared not show themselves in open day,
Seen the red sunset on yon high tree-tops,
As twilight with blue darkness filled the glen;
Or with lone taper, in its pitchy womb,
Biding their time, around Dalwolsey sate,
And mourned the rust that dimm'd each patriot sword.

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III.

Nor pass unmarked that bough-embosomed nook
Beside thee—in the rock a cool recess,
Christened immortally The Cypress Grove,

In this favourite haunt of his meditations, it is said that Drummond composed his curious discourse on Life, Death, and Immortality, which he has not very appositely termed The Cypress Grove. It is throughout indicative of his peculiar genius and turn of mind, and in style bears more than a remote analogy to Burton and Sir Thomas Browne. It is said to have been written after the author's recovery from a dangerous illness.


By him who pondered there. 'Twas to that spot,
So sad, yet lovely in its solitude,
That Drummond, the historian and the bard,
The noble and enlightened, from the world
Withdrew to wisdom, and the holy lore,
At night, at noon, in tempest or in calm,
Which Nature teaches—for, a wounded deer,
Early he left the herd, and strayed alone:
While dreaming lovely dreams, in buoyant youth,
Even 'mid the splendours of unclouded noon,
Had fallen the sudden shadow on his heart,
That lived but in another—whom Death took,
Blighting his fond affections in their spring.

“Notwithstanding his close retirement and serious application to his studies,” says the biography attached to the first uniform edition of the works of Drummond, (Edinburgh, folio 1711,) “love stole in upon him, and did entirely captivate his heart; for he was on a sudden highly enamoured of a fine, beautiful young lady, daughter to Cunningham of Barns, an ancient and honourable family. He met with suitable returns of chaste love from her, and fully gained her affections. But when the day for the marriage was appointed, and all things ready for the solemnisation of it, she took a fever, and was suddenly snatched away by it, to his great grief and sorrow. He expressed his grief for her in several letters and poems; and with more passion and sincerity celebrated his dead mistress than others use to praise their living ones.”

After his bereavement Drummond went abroad, and travelled through Germany, France, and Italy, his chief places of residence being Paris and Rome. While on the Continent, he visited the most famous universities, formed friendships with the most learned men, and made an excellent collection of books in the ancient and modern languages—part of which he bequeathed to his Alma Mater, the College of Edinburgh, and part of which may yet be seen at Hawthornden. While in his forty-fifth year, and after having spent many seasons in literary retirement, he accidentally saw Elizabeth Logan, grand-daughter to Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig, and was so struck with her likeness to his first love—whose memory he had ever fondly cherished—that he paid his addresses to, and married her.

Drummond was a devoted Cavalier, and his end is said to have been hastened by the fate of Charles I. He died on the 6th December of the same year, at the age of sixty-four. To me he has always seemed to hold nearly the same place in reference to Scottish, that the Earl of Surrey does to English literature. Both are remarkable for taste, elaboration, and fine touches of nature, and were possessed of the same chivalry of character. In this they differed—the one died by, and the other for, his master.


IV.

Through years of calm and bright philosophy,
Making this Earth a type of Paradise,
He sojourned 'mid these lone and lovely scenes—
Lone, listening from afar the murmurous din
Of Life's loud bustle; as an eremite,
In sylvan haunt remote, when housed the bees,
And silent all except the nightingale,
Whom fitful song awakes, at eve may hear,
Dream-like, the boom of the far-distant sea:
And in that cave he strung and struck his lyre,

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Waking such passionate tones to love and Heaven,
That from her favourite haunt, the sunny South,
From Arno and Vaucluse, the Muse took wing,
And fixed her dwelling-place on Celtic shores.