"Gothic the pile, and high the solid walls,
With warlike ramparts, and the strong defence
Of jutting battlements: an age's toil!
No more its arches echo to the noise
Of joy and festive mirth. No more the glance
Of blazing taper through its window beams,
And quivers on the undulating wave;
But naked stand the melancholy walls,
Lash'd by the wint'ry tempest, cold and bleak
That whistles mournful through the empty halls
And piecemeal crumble down the towers to dust."
This description is by Michael Bruce, whose early promise and premature death have awakened so much sympathy among all classes in Scotland. He was born in the vicinity of Lochleven, and has written a poem of considerable merit descriptive of the lake and surrounding scenery. His "Ode to Spring," and especially his "Ode to the Cuckoo," now universally acknowledged to be his, are among the most beautiful poems in the English language. He was born at Kinnesswood, parish of Portmoak, on the 27th of March, 1746. By going round to the north-east bank of the lake, we shall find this village, insignificant in itself, but sweetly situated on the south-west declivity of the Lomond hills. Ascending a narrow lane, we reach, near its centre, the house in which Bruce was born. It consists of two stories, with a thatched roof. Michael's parents were very poor, and occupied only the upper part of the house, which served them at once for a workshop and dwelling. "A true nestling place of genius," exclaims his biographer, quoting the words of Washington Irving respecting the birth-place of Shakspeare, "which delights to hatch its offspring in bye corners." Mean as it is, an angelic soul has been here, and a charm lingers upon its homely walls. Dr. Huie of Edinburgh has given the following touching account of a visit which he paid to this place, in company with one of Bruce's old friends. "On returning," says he, "from Portmoak church-yard, where Bruce is buried, I attended my venerable guide to the lowly dwelling where the parents of the poet resided. We first entered the garden: 'This,' said Mr. B. 'was a spot of much interest to Michael. Here he used alternately to work and to meditate. There stood a row of trees which he particularly cherished, but they are now cut down,' added the good old man, and as he said this, he sighed. 'Here again,' said he, 'was a bank of soft grass on which Michael was accustomed to recline after he became too weak to walk; and here his father would sit beside him in the evening, and read to amuse him.' We next entered the house. I experienced an involuntary feeling of awe when I found myself in the humble abode, where neglected worth and talents had pined away and died. The little square windows cast but a feeble light over the apartment, and the sombre shades of evening, for the sun had now set, were strikingly in unison with the scene. 'There,' said my conductor, 'auld Saunders used to sit at his loom. In that corner stood the bed where the auld couple slept, in this the bed which was occupied by Michael, and in which he died,' The good old man's eyes filled as he spoke. I found it necessary to wipe my own. I was not ashamed of my tears. They were a tribute to departed genius, and there was nothing unmanly in their flow."
Saunders Bruce, as he was called, the father of Michael, had eight children, and as the business of weaving has always been a poor one in Scotland, it was with extreme difficulty that he was enabled to give Michael a suitable education, though early perceiving in him the seeds of genius. Saunders was a pious thoughtful man, universally respected, and a sort of village chronicle. He is supposed to be referred to in the poem of Lochleven, in the lines commencing,—
"I knew an aged swain whose hoary head
Was bent with years, the village chronicle," etc.
Of his mother we have no means of forming a judgment, and suspect that her character was not particularly marked. It is his father to whom Michael himself, and the friends that knew him, chiefly refer in connection with his early studies and pursuits. Some indeed have intimated that the stern orthodoxy of the old man was called into requisition to repress the youthful aspirings of his son, particularly in the matter of books, but of this not the slightest evidence can be adduced.
He succeeded in procuring copies of Shakspeare, Pope, Milton, Fontenelle and Young, all of which he devoured with avidity and delight. The Scriptures he read at home and at school, and thus became familiar with the magnificent images and thrilling conceptions of oriental inspiration.
Michael was a great favorite at school, and made rapid progress in his studies. But he was frequently called away from school, partly by sickness, to which he was subject at an early age, and partly by his fathers straitened circumstances. On this latter account he was employed for a time as a shepherd, on the Lomond hills, which rise in verdant beauty behind his native village. This, however, was rather a benefit than an injury to his mind as well as body. His poem of "Lochleven" is made up of reminiscences of the romantic scenes with which at that time he became familiar:—
"Where he could trace the cowslip-covered bank
Of Leven, and the landscape measure round."
"The late proprietor of the upper Kinneston, a small estate upon the south-west declivity of the Lomond hills, used to relate with much feeling, the amusing stories told him, and the strange questions put to him by Michael when herding his father's cattle, and how he would offer his services to carry the boys' meals to the hill, for the sake of having half an hour's conversation with this interesting youth."[158] While his progress in learning was much interrupted in this way, his mind was advancing, nevertheless, by communion with nature and his own individual heart. Besides, his frequent absence from school was compensated by the prosecution of his studies on the hillside, or by his father's ingle, so that when he returned to school, it took him but a few days to reach the top of his class. Though modest, and even shy, he had great influence with his school-fellows. Somehow they regarded him as a sort of superior being, and his word among them was law. This, doubtless, arose from the originality of his character, which developed itself at a very early age.
"Silent when glad, affectionate though shy,
And now his look was most demurely sad,
And now he laughed aloud, and none knew why,
And neighbors stared and sighed, and bless'd the lad;
Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad."