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The Lady of the Lake

Marilla asks Anne to relate her history and education to her in Chapter 5. Anne mentions

“I can read pretty well and I know ever so many pieces of poetry off by heart–`The Battle of Hohenlinden’ and `Edinburgh after Flodden,’ and `Bingen of the Rhine,’ and lots of the `Lady of the Lake’ and most of `The Seasons’ by James Thompson. “

In Chapter 30 of Anne of Green Gables, the rivalry between Anne and Gilberts is described as followed:

There was open rivalry between Gilbert and Anne now. Previously the rivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt that Gilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was. He was a foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the class tacitly acknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete with them.

The phrase “foeman worthy of her steel” comes from Sir Wlalter Scott’s “Lady in the Lake.” Here is part of Sir Walter Scott’s “Lady in the Lake,” misquoted in Anne of Green Gables as “Lady OF the Lake.”

In Chapter 5 of Rilla of Ingleside, Jem goes to fight, and Rilla echoes the heroism in her diary:

Jem and Jerry went to Charlottetown that night and two days later they came back in khaki. The Glen hummed with excitement over it. Life at Ingleside had suddenly become a tense, strained, thrilling thing. Mrs. Blythe and Nan were brave and smiling and wonderful. Already Mrs. Blythe and Miss Cornelia were organizing a Red Cross. The doctor and Mr. Meredith were rounding up the men for a Patriotic Society. Rilla, after the first shock, reacted to the romance of it all, in spite of her heartache. Jem certainly looked magnificent in his uniform. It was splendid to think of the lads of Canada answering so speedily and fearlessly and uncalculatingly to the call of their country. Rilla carried her head high among the girls whose brothers had not so responded. In her diary she wrote:

“He goes to do what I had done
Had Douglas’s daughter been his son,”

and was sure she meant it. If she were a boy of course she would go, too! She hadn’t the least doubt of that.

In Chapter 30 of Rilla of Ingleside, Getrude has a prophetic dream.

“Rilla, it was a good dream. Listen–I dreamed just as I did four years ago, that I stood on the veranda steps and looked down the Glen. And it was still covered by waves that lapped about my feet. But as I looked the waves began to ebb–and they ebbed as swiftly as, four years ago, they rolled in–ebbed out and out, to the gulf; and the Glen lay before me, beautiful and green, with a rainbow spanning Rainbow Valley–a rainbow of such splendid colour that it dazzled me–and I woke. Rilla–Rilla Blythe–the tide has turned.”

“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Rilla.

“Sooth was my prophecy of fear
Believe it when it augurs cheer,”

quoted Gertrude, almost gaily. “I tell you I have no doubt.”

One of Emily’s journal entries one lonely winter in Emily’s Quest:

“OCT. 28, 19–

“To-night I was out for one of my long walks. In a weird, purple, shadowy world, with great, cold clouds piling up above a yellow sky, hills brooding in the silence of forsaken woods, ocean tumbling on a rocky shore. The whole landscape seemed

As those who wait
Till judgment speak the doom of fate.

“It made me feel–horribly ALONE.

-Emily’s Quest ch.19

During a visit at Aunt Hazel’s, Pat writes to Jingle in Pat of Silver Bush:

“I’m up in the garret. I like to sit here and watch the trees in the spruce valley getting black and listen to the wind moaning round the chimneys. To-night it’s the kind that Judy calls the ghost wind. It makes me think of that piece of poetry you read the last day we were in Happiness.

“The midnight wind came wild and dread
Swelled with the voices of the dead.

“Those lines always give me a lovely creepy shudder, Jingle, and I’m glad you feel it, too. Sid thinks it’s all bosh. He laughs at me when I wonder what is the meaning of the things the trees are always saying and what some of the winds are always so sorry for. But you never laugh at me, Jingle. Every night here, before I go to sleep I lie still and think I can hear the water falling over the mossy rock in dear Happiness.

-Pat of Silver Bush ch.21,4

The Lady of the Lake
By Sir Walter Scott

CANTO FIRST.
The Chase.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan’s spring
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,–
O Minstrel Harp, still must shine accents sleep?
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon,
Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd,
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won,
Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud.
At each according pause was heard aloud
Thine ardent symphony sublime and high!
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed;
For still the burden of thy minstrelsy
Was Knighthood’s dauntless deed, and Beauty’s matchless eye.
O, wake once more ! how rude soe’er the hand
That ventures o’er thy magic maze to stray;
O, wake once more ! though scarce my skill command
Some feeble echoing of shine earlier lay:
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain,
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway,
The wizard note has not been touched in vain.
Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again!

CANTO IV
X.

Ellen.

‘No, Allan, no ‘ Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e’en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke.
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden when the theme
Turned, Allan, on shine idle dream
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think’st thou he bowed shine omen aught?
O no’ ‘t was apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,– for Roderick too–
Let me be just–that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
‘If not on earth, we meet in heaven!’
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth’s fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland’s throne,
Buys his friends’ safety with his own;
He goes to do–what I had done,
Had Douglas’ daughter been his son!’

XI.

‘Nay, lovely Ellen!–dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he’s safe; and for the Graeme,–
Heaven’s blessing on his gallant name!–
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy spot!
Of such a wondrous tale I know–
Dear lady, change that look of woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.’

Ellen.

‘Well, be it as thou wilt;
I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear.’
The Minstrel tried his simple art,
Rut distant far was Ellen’s heart.

CANTO V
X.
Fitz-James was brave:–though to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
He manned himself with dauntless air,
Returned the Chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before:–
‘Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.’
Sir Roderick marked,–and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foeman worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood–then waved his hand:
Down sunk the disappearing band;
Each warrior vanished where he stood,
In broom or bracken, heath or wood;
Sunk brand and spear and bended bow,
In osiers pale and copses low;
It seemed as if their mother Earth
Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
The wind’s last breath had tossed in air
Pennon and plaid and plumage fair,–
The next but swept a lone hill-side
Where heath and fern were waving wide:
The sun’s last glance was glinted back
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,–
The next, all unreflected, shone
On bracken green and cold gray stone.

—

(excerpt from Canto II, iv)

As died the sounds upon the tide,
The shallop reached the mainland side,
And ere his onward way he took,
The stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The Harper on the islet beach,
Reclined against a blighted tree,
As wasted, gray, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given,
His reverend brow was raised to heaven,
As from the rising sun to claim
A sparkle of inspiring flame.
His hand, reclined upon the wire,
Seemed watching the awakening fire;
So still he sat as those who wait
Till judgment speak the doom of fate;
So still, as if no breeze might dare
To lift one lock of hoary hair;
So still, as life itself were fled
In the last sound his harp had sped.

—

VII

The desert gave him visions wild,
Such as might suit the spectre’s child.
Where with black cliffs the torrents toil,
He watched the wheeling eddies boil,
Jill from their foam his dazzled eyes
Beheld the River Demon rise:
The mountain mist took form and limb
Of noontide hag or goblin grim;
The midnight wind came wild and dread,
Swelled with the voices of the dead;
Far on the future battle-heath
His eye beheld the ranks of death:
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled,
Shaped forth a disembodied world.
One lingering sympathy of mind
Still bound him to the mortal kind;
The only parent he could claim
Of ancient Alpine’s lineage came.
Late had he heard, in prophet’s dream,
The fatal Ben-Shie’s boding scream;
Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast
Of charging steeds, careering fast
Along Benharrow’s shingly side,
Where mortal horseman ne’er might ride;
The thunderbolt had split the pine,–
All augured ill to Alpine’s line.
He girt his loins, and came to show
The signals of impending woe,
And now stood prompt to bless or ban,
As bade the Chieftain of his clan.