p>The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction / Volume 10, No. 280, October 27, 1827
Illustrations of Shakspeare
NO. XIII. ELSINEUR, FROM HAMLET'S GARDEN
We augur that the above will prove one of the most interesting of our Shakspearian Illustrations, inasmuch as the garden where Hamlet was wont to revel in the fitful dreams of his philosophic melancholy, is holy ground. "The lapse of ages and the fables of the poet," says a delighted visiter, "were all lost in the reality of Shakspeare's painting: the moment of his scene seemed present with me; and eager to traverse every part of this consecrated ground, I had already followed Hamlet every where; I had measured the deep shadows of the platform, encountered the grey ghost of the Royal Dane, had killed Polonius in the queen's closet, and drowned poor Ophelia in the willowed stream. The modern aspect of Elsineur is, however, far from inviting, and not a single vestige presents itself that bears the smallest trace of this town ever having been hallowed by the mausoleum of an Ophelia, or proudly decorated with the stately walls of a royal palace."
About a mile from the town is a place that bears the name of Hamlet's garden. Here is no relic of ancient interest, excepting the tradition, which affirms that to be the spot where once stood the Danish palace, and where was enacted that tragedy, which has been so gloriously immortalized by the genius of our great dramatic bard.
The present edifice is erected on the brow of a gently rising hill, the summit of which is gained by means of a winding walk cut through a small shrubbery. In the surrounding prospect, the town of Elsineur, on the plain beneath, presents itself ill-built, red, and without any public building, or spire, to vary its sameness. Far to the left of the city stands the castle of Kronenberg, a bold and fine feature; the waves of the Cattegut roll at its feet; and are bounded on the opposite side by the Swedish coast. When the annexed sketch was made, 400 sail of merchants' ships were lying there at anchor, which added greatly to the interest of the picture. The small village on the distant shore is Elsenberg. The forest of Kronenberg is indeed proudly situated; the form of the building, with its spires and minarets, is nobly picturesque; the fabric is of grey stone; and its innumerable windows, varied towers, and other architectural ornaments, make it a striking and beautiful contrast to the dull uniformity of the town.
Sir Robert Ker Porter, in his visit to this sacred spot, collected a few interesting circumstances at the fountain-head, relating to Shakspeare's northern hero, from the very source whence our poet must have drawn the incidents of his tragedy, viz. the "Annals of Denmark," written by Saxo Grammaticus in the twelfth century. The work is in Latin, and in our next number we intend inserting a short abstract of Hamlet's story. It will be curious to compare the dialogues of the original with their counterpart in the play.
ON THE APPEARANCE OF AN AURORA BOREALIS, ON THE NIGHT OF THE 25TH OF SEPTEMBER
(For the Mirror.)
What may this mean? this ruddy blaze of light,
Breaking effulgent through the stilly night;
Darting its blood-red form along the sky,
Glowing with heaven's glorious majesty.
How with its phalaxy of rays unfurl'd,
It comes: its radiance circling all our mother world.
The pharos of the night; where gods might dance.
Heedless of mortals dull, unmeaning trance;
Where spirits in their mysteries might find,
A sail to float upon the yielding wind;
But see, it flies, its shadow; form outspread,
In fainting radiance o'er earth's startled bed,
Yet rests, like the death gleam of beauty's eye,
Or last rich tint of an autumnal sky.
And now in fleecy clouds the heav'ns appear.
Again it darts, dreamer, there's naught to fear;
Again, like a proud spirit of the sky,
Though conquer'd, breaking forth in majesty.
Britain, for thee this fearful warning sent,
Oh! mock not foolishly its dire portent;
For now that vice on all her malice wreaks,
Charms on the stage, and in the assembly speaks;
Now that with cheating fires she shameless dares,
Fortunate where virtue once defied her snares;
Again I say, for thee this warning sent,
Oh! mark it well, mock not its dire portent.
F.J.H.
THE SELECTOR, AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS
CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE
[We have the pleasure of submitting to our readers, (almost entire,) one of the stories of the forthcoming Chronicles of the Canongate, it being the second narrative, and the last in the first volume, and as well as the others, founded on true incidents. The Chronicles are domestic tales; but the Two Drovers should not be taken as a specimen of the work. Slender as are its incidents, it proves that "Richard (or Walter) is himself again," for in no vein of writing is the author of Waverley more felicitous than in delineating scenes of actual life, splendid as are his narratives of the fairy scenes and halls of romance: and in the prevailing taste for this description of writing, we think the Chronicles of the Canongate bid fair to enjoy popularity equal to any of Sir Walter's previous productions.]
The Two Drovers
It was the day after the Doune Fair when my story commences. It had been a brisk market, several dealers had attended from the northern and midland counties in England, and the English money had flown so merrily about as to gladden the hearts of the Highland farmers. Many large droves were about to set off for England, under the protection of their owners, or of the topsmen whom they employed in the tedious, laborious and responsible office of driving the cattle for many hundred miles, from the market where they had been purchased, to the fields or farm-yards where they were to be fattened for the shambles.
Of the number who left Doune in the morning, and with the purpose we have described, not a Glunamie of them all cocked his bonnet more briskly, or gartered his tartan hose under knee over a pair of more promising spiogs (legs), than did Robin Oig M'Combich, called familiarly Robin Oig, that is Young, or the Lesser, Robin. Though small of stature, as the epithet Oig implies, and not very strongly limbed, he was as light and alert as one of the deer of his mountains. He had an elasticity of step, which, in the course of a long march, made many a stout fellow envy him; and the manner in which he busked his plaid and adjusted his bonnet, argued a consciousness that so smart a John Highlandman as himself would not pass unnoticed among the Lowland lasses. The ruddy cheek, red lips, and white teeth, set off a countenance which had gained by exposure to the weather, a healthful and hardy rather than a rugged hue. If Robin Oig did not laugh, or even smile frequently, as indeed is not the practice among his countrymen, his bright eyes usually gleamed from under his bonnet with an expression of cheerfulness ready to be turned into mirth.
The departure of Robin Oig was an incident in the little town, in and near which he had many friends male and female. He was a topping person in his way, transacted considerable business on his own behalf, and was intrusted by the best farmers in the Highlands, in preference to any other drover in that district. He might have increased his business to any extent had he condescended to manage it by deputy; but except a lad or two, sister's sons of his own,
