The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, with memoir of the author.

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS.

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shows the hand of a master, and has truly studied and seized
the essential character of the antique-his attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and varied with demitints, possessing
much of the lustre, freshness, and spirit of Rembrandt. The
airs of his heads have grace, and his distances something of
the lightness and keeping of Salvator Rosa. The want of
harmony and union in the carnations of his females is a slight
objection, and there is likewise a meagre sheetiness in his
contrasts of chiaroscuro; but these are all redeemed by the
felicity, execution, and master traits, distinguishable in his
grouping, as in a Murillo or Carraveggio.
"But the work has another quality, and though its leading
one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is
an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if
viewed as an original production. On the other hand, regarded
solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most successful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that
perhaps ever appeared in any language. Not only is the
general manner of Scott ably maintained throughout, but the
very structure of the language, the associations, and the train
of thinking, appear to be precisely the same. It was once
alleged by some writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr.
Scott's style, but it is now fully proved to the world, that
there is no style more accessible to imitation; for it will be
remarked, (laying parodies aside, which any one may execute,) that Mr. Davidson and Miss Halford, as well as Lord
Byron and Wordsworth, each in one instance, have all, without, we believe, intending it, imitated him with considerable
closeness. The author of the Poetic Mirror has given us one
specimen of his most polished and tender style, and another,
still more close, of his rapid and careless manner; but all of
them fall greatly short of The Bridal of Triermain, and the
poem now before us. We are sure the author will laugh
heartily in his sleeve at our silliness and want of perception,
when we confess to him, that we never could open either of
these works, and peruse his pages for two minutes with attention, and at the same time divest our minds of the idea, that
we were engaged in an early or experimental work of that
great master. That they are generally inferior to the works