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

CANTO vi.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 255
On the same bloody morning, trode,
To that dark inn, the Grave!1
XXVII.
The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins.2
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,8
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust.
z [,, All these, life's rambling journey done,
Have found their home, the grave."- CowPEn.j
2 [,, The dramatic, and even Shakspearian spirit of much
of this battle must, we think, strike and delight the reader.
We pass over much alternate, and much stubborn and' unflinching' contest:-' The tug of strife to flag begins,
Though neither loses yet nor wins;'
but the description of it, as we have ventured to prophesy,
will last forever.
" It will be as unnecessary for the sake of our readers, as it
would be useless for the sake of the author, to point out
tnany of the obvious defects of these splendid passages, or of
others in the poem. Such a line as'The tug of strife to flag begins'
must wound every ear that has the least pretension to judge
of poetry; and no one, we should think, can miss the ridiculous point of such a couplet as the subjoined:-'Each heart had caught the patriot spark,
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk.' "
Monthly Review.]
[3 The adventures of the day are versified rather too literally from the contemporary chronicles. The following passage, however, is emphatic; and exemplifies what this author
has so often exemplified, the power of well-chosen and wellarranged names, to excite lofty emotions, with little aid either
from sentiment or description."-JEFFREY.]