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But neither are these things what I have at present quoted the passage for.

I quote it, that we may consider how much wonderful and various history is gathered in the fact, recorded for us in this piece of entirely fair fiction, that in the Scottish borough of Fairport, (Montrose, really,) in the year 17– of Christ, the knowledge given by the pastors and teachers provided for its children by enlightened Scottish Protestantism, of their fathers’ history, and the origin of their religion, had resulted in this substance and sum;–that the statues of two crusading knights had become, to their children, Robin and Bobbin; and the statue of the Madonna, Ailie Dailie.

A marvellous piece of history, truly: and far too comprehensive for general comment here. Only one small piece of it I must carry forward the readers’ thoughts upon.

The pastors and teachers aforesaid, (represented typically in another part of this errorless book by Mr. Blattergowl) are not, whatever else they may have to answer for, answerable for these names. The names are of the children’s own choosing and bestowing, but not of the children’s own inventing. ‘Robin’ is a classically endearing cognomen, recording the errant heroism of old days–the name of the Bruce and of Rob Roy. ‘Bobbin’ is a poetical and symmetrical fulfilment and adornment of the original phrase. ‘Ailie’ is the last echo of ‘Ave,’ changed into the softest Scottish Christian name familiar to the children, itself the beautiful feminine form of royal ‘Louis;’ the ‘Dailie’ again symmetrically added for kinder and more musical endearment. The last vestiges, you see, of honour for the heroism and religion of their ancestors, lingering on the lips of babes and sucklings.

But what is the meaning of this necessity the children find themselves under of completing the nomenclature rhythmically and rhymingly? Note first the difference carefully, and the attainment of both qualities by the couplets in question. Rhythm is the syllabic and quantitative measure of the words, in which Robin, both in weight and time, balances Bobbin; and Dailie holds level scale with Ailie. But rhyme is the added correspondence of sound; unknown and undesired, so far as we can learn, by the Greek Orpheus, but absolutely essential to, and, as special virtue, becoming titular of, the Scottish Thomas.

The ‘Ryme,'[175] you may at first fancy, is the especially childish part of the work. Not so. It is the especially chivalric and Christian part of it. It characterises the Christian chant or canticle, as a higher thing than a Greek ode, melos, or hymnos, or than a Latin carmen.

Think of it, for this again is wonderful! That these children of Montrose should have an element of music in their souls which Homer had not,–which a melos of David the Prophet and King had not,–which Orpheus and Amphion had not,–which Apollo’s unrymed oracles became mute at the sound of.

A strange new equity this,–melodious justice and judgment as it were,–in all words spoken solemnly and ritualistically by Christian human creatures;–Robin and Bobbin–by the Crusader’s tomb, up to ‘Dies irae, dies illa,’ at judgment of the crusading soul.

You have to understand this most deeply of all Christian minstrels, from first to last; that they are more musical, because more joyful, than any others on earth: ethereal minstrels, pilgrims of the sky, true to the kindred points of heaven and home; their joy essentially the sky-lark’s, in light, in purity; but, with their human eyes, looking for the glorious appearing of something in the sky, which the bird cannot.

This it is that changes Etruscan murmur into Terza rima–Horatian Latin into Provencal troubadour’s melody; not, because less artful, less wise.

Here is a little bit, for instance, of French ryming just before Chaucer’s time–near enough to our own French to be intelligible to us yet.

‘O quant tres-glorieuse vie,
Quant cil quit out peut et maistrie,
Veult esprouver pour necessaire,
Ne pour quant il ne blasma mie
La vie de Marthe sa mie:
Mais il lui donna exemplaire
D’autrement vivre, et de bien plaire
A Dieu; et plut de bien a faire:
Pour se conclut-il que Marie
Qui estoit a ses piedz sans braire,
Et pensait d’entendre et de taire,
Estleut la plus saine partie.