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Not many writers, either in prose or poetry, give the impression of never having done what was in them more than William Edmonstoune Aytoun, who was born in 1813 and died in 1865. He was a son-in-law of "Christopher North," and like him a pillar of Blackwood's Magazine, in which some of his best things in prose and verse appeared.
Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, Thomas Woolner, William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah Wells. On the other hand, I have had no hesitation about omitting David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin Arnold, and Sir Lewis Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much enlightened opinion, but against my inclination.
But even the dictionary is not large enough for him, and he extends it this way and that, his daring neology creating consternation among the critic flies and other ephemera. He wrote as he thought, hence his style could not be other than natural. That of Aytoun was formed in the schools, principally modeled by masters made to fit a procrustean bed and was, therefore, eminently artificial.
Then came for me the fatal day when I heard you tell the Duchess of Aytoun that you had never seen the woman you would care to make your wife. I heard your confession, but would not give in; I clung to the idea of winning your love, even after I had hoped against hope, and tried to make you care for me.
"Toi qui as veu l'excellence de celle Qui rend le ciel de l'Escosse envieux, Dy hardiment, contentez vous mes yeux, Vous ne verrez jamais chose plus belle."* * Quoted in Mignet's "Life of Mary." "Vous ne verrez jamais chose plus belle." Here is an Alexandrine written three hundred years ago, as simple as bon jour. Professor Aytoun is more ornate.
He has loved, and loves, the silent Agathe. He was the son of a Crusader, "And Julio had fain Have been a warrior, but his very brain Grew fevered at the sickly thought of death, And to be stricken with a want of breath." On the whole he did well not to enter the service. Mr. Aytoun has here written "A rum Cove for a hussar." "And he would say A curse be on their laurels.
Stoddart's other passion for angling, in which he used a Scottish latitude concerning bait, impelled him to search for "worms and maggots": "Fire and faggots, Worms and maggots," as Aytoun writes on the other fly-leaf, are indeed the matter of "The Death Wake." Then, why, some one may ask, write about "The Death Wake" at all? Why rouse again the nightmare of a boy of twenty?
Whose muse, whose cornemuse, sounds with such plaintive sweetness from Arthur's Seat, while Edinburgh and Musselburgh lie rapt in delight, and the mermaids come flapping up to Leith shore to hear the exquisite music? Sweeter piper Edina knows not than Aytoun, the Bard of the Cavaliers, who has given in his frank adhesion to the reigning dynasty.
"A dead flower from your hand, Miss L'Estrange," he observed "is worth a whole gardenful of living ones from any one else." She laughed again that sweet musical laugh which seemed to come only from a happy heart; and then she looked round. The Duchess of Aytoun and Lord Arleigh were still in deep converse. Miss L'Estrange turned to Captain Gresham.
Some one else remarked, with a slightly impertinent drawl, that he did not believe Miss L'Estrange would consider it a liberty. A flash from Lord Arleigh's dark eyes silenced him. A few minutes afterward Lord Arleigh found the Duchess of Aytoun and Philippa seated underneath a large acacia-tree. Captain Gresham, a great favorite in the London world, was by Philippa's side.