When such a spirit breaks forth
into complaint, however brief, we are aware how great must be the
suffering that extorts the murmur. We sympathize with James, a
romantic, active, and accomplished prince, cut off in the lustihood of
youth from all the enterprise, the noble uses, and vigorous delights
of life; as we do with Milton, alive to all the beauties of nature and
glories of art, when he breathes forth brief, but deep-toned
lamentations over his perpetual blindness.
Had not James evinced a deficiency of poetic artifice, we might
almost have suspected that these lowerings of gloomy reflection were
meant as preparative to the brightest scene of his story; and to
contrast with that refulgence of light and loveliness, that
exhilarating accompaniment of bird and song, and foliage and flower,
and all the revel of the year, with which he ushers in the lady of his
heart. It is this scene, in particular, which throws all the magic
of romance about the old Castle Keep. He had risen, he says, at
daybreak, according to custom, to escape from the dreary meditations
of a sleepless pillow.
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