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 by Sir Walter Scott
is often credited as the first historical novel, published in 1814. The story is set during the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745, a period when Scottish Highlanders fought to restore Charles Edward Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie) to the British throne. The protagonist, Edward Waverley, is a young English soldier from a noble family who becomes caught between his loyalty to the British crown and his growing admiration for the Highlanders' cause.
Waverley's journey takes him deep into Scottish culture, where he encounters romance, adventure, and political intrigue. His encounters with historical figures, like Bonnie Prince Charlie, as well as fictional characters, such as the brave Highland chieftain Fergus Mac-Ivor and the beautiful Flora Mac-Ivor, push him to question his allegiances.
The novel is not only a gripping tale of adventure and romance but also a rich exploration of Scotland's political and cultural divisions. Scott vividly depicts the contrast between the English and the Scots, as well as the changing landscape of the Highlands as old traditions begin to fade. Waverley is celebrated for blending history and fiction, making it a cornerstone of both Scottish literature and the historical novel genre.

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The letter from the Chief contained Flora's lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by Clarendon. He had originally engaged in the service of the Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the execution of Charles I; and upon hearing that the royal standard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and General Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II, who was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body of Cavaliers in the neighbourhood of London, and traversed the kingdom, which had been so long under domination of the usurper, by marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and spirit that he safely united his handful of horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms. After several months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and courage gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within reach he terminated his short but glorious career.

There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was desirous to place the example of this young hero under the eye of Waverley, with whose romantic disposition it coincided so peculiarly. But his letter turned chiefly upon some trifling commissions which Waverley had promised to execute for him in England, and it was only toward the conclusion that Edward found these words: 'I owe Flora a grudge for refusing us her company yesterday; and, as I am giving you the trouble of reading these lines, in order to keep in your memory your promise to procure me the fishing-tackle and cross-bow from London, I will enclose her verses on the Grave of Wogan. This I know will tease her; for, to tell you the truth, I think her more in love with the memory of that dead hero than she is likely to be with any living one, unless he shall tread a similar path. But English squires of our day keep their oak-trees to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an evening at White's, and neither invoke them to wreathe their brows nor shelter their graves. Let me hope for one brilliant exception in a dear friend, to whom I would most gladly give a dearer title.'

The verses were inscribed,

To an Oak Tree

In the Church-Yard of ——, in the Highlands of Scotland, said to mark the Grave of Captain Wogan, killed in 1649.

    Emblem of England's ancient faith,

      Full proudly may thy branches wave,

    Where loyalty lies low in death,

      And valour fills a timeless grave.


    And thou, brave tenant of the tomb!

      Repine not if our clime deny,

    Above thine honour'd sod to bloom

      The flowerets of a milder sky.


    These owe their birth to genial May;

      Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,

    Before the winter storm decay;

      And can their worth be type of thine?


    No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing,

      Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart,

    And, while Despair the scene was closing,

      Commenced thy brief but brilliant part.


    'T was then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill,

      (When England's sons the strife resign'd)

    A rugged race resisting still,

      And unsubdued though unrefined.


    Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail,

      No holy knell thy requiem rung;

    Thy mourners were the plaided Gael,

      Thy dirge the clamourous pibroch sung.


    Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine

      To waste life's longest term away,

    Would change that glorious dawn of thine,

      Though darken'd ere its noontide day!

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