|
Published in 1809.
To paint the portrait of
one of the most complete heroes that ever filled the page of history,
may be a bold, though I hope not a vain, design. The contemplation of
virtue is an improving, as well as a delightful employment; and however
inadequate this picture may be to represent its original—William
Wallace of Scotland,—yet, that it is a copy of such excellence, will
be merit in the eyes of those who so love virtue, as to venerate
its shade.
I have spared no pains in
consulting almost every writing extant, which treats of the sister
kingdoms during the period of my narrative. It would be tedious to swell
this page with a list of these authorities; but all who are intimate
with our old British historians, must perceive, on reading the Scottish
Chiefs, that in the sketch which history would have laid down for
the biography of my principal hero, I have made no addition, excepting
where, time having made some erasure, a stroke was necessary to fill the
space, and unite the outline. Tradition has been a great assistance to
me in this respect. And for much valuable information on the subject, I
am indebted to the bard of Hope, my friend Mr. Thomas Campbell;
he who has so nobly mingled the poet’s bays, with the laurels of his
clan.
While tracing the
characters of my personages in the Scottish annals, it was with infinite
pleasure I recognised those virtues in the fathers, which had
attached me to their posterity. Delighted with this most dear proof of
kindred, I have fondly lingered over my work; re-enjoying, in its
visionary scenes, hours fled to heaven. I have again discoursed, and
mingled my soul, with friends whose nobility of spirit honoured the
illustrious stems from which they sprung: but, like the blossomed bough
torn from its branch, they are gone, and spread fragrance in my path no
more.
It is now too common to
contemn as nonsense, even an honest pride in ancestry. But where is the
Englishman who is not proud of being the countryman of Nelson? Where the
British sailor that does not thirst to emulate his fame? Where the
worthy citizen who does not respect himself in the honourable memories
of William Walworth and Sir Thomas Gresham?
If this sentiment be
right, respect for noble progenitors cannot be wrong; for it proceeds
from the same source,—the principle of kindred, of inheritance, and of
virtue. Let the race of Douglas, or the brave line of the Percy, bear
witness whether the name they hold be not as a mirror to show them what
they ought to be, and to kindle in their hearts the flame which burnt in
their fathers. Happy is it for this realm that the destiny which now
unites the once contending arms of those brave families, has also
consolidated their rival nations into one, and by planting the heir of
Plantagenet and of Bruce upon one throne, hath redeemed the peace of
Britain, and fixed it on lasting foundations.
From the nature of my
story, more agents have been used in its conduct than I should have
adopted had it been a work of mere imagination. But very few persons
wholly imaginary have been introduced; and, wishing to keep as near
historical truth as could be consistent with my plan, no intentional
injustice has been committed against the characters of the individuals
who were real actors with the chief hero of the tale. The melancholy
circumstance which first excited him to draw his sword for Scotland,
though it may be thought too much like the creation of modern romance,
is recorded as a fact in the old poem of Blind Harrie. Other private
events have been interwoven with the public subjects of these volumes,
that the monotony of a continued series of warlike achievements might in
some measure be lessened. Some notes are added, to confirm the
historical incidents; but finding that were they all marked, such a plan
would, swell each volume beyond its proper size, in one word I assure
the reader, that I seldom lead him to any spot in Scotland whither some
written or oral testimony respecting my hero had not previously
conducted myself. In the same spirit, being careful to keep to the line
of chronology, I have not strayed from it in any instance, until my
chief personages return from France; and then, my history being intended
to be within the bounds of modern romance, rather than measured by the
folios of Scudery, I found myself obliged to take some liberties with
time and circumstance: for both of which offences, and particularly for
the management of my catastrophe, I hope the historical, if he be also a
qentle reader, will find no difficulty in forgiving me. |
