The Buckley School's founder believed all public speakers should hone their presentation skills by reading poetry out loud. We keep that worthwhile practice alive by including a poem in our magazine each month for you to read aloud. Above, a portrait of Sir Walter Scott and his beloved dogs, painted by Sir William Allan in 1844.
"O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!"
– one of many lines we owe to the poetry of Walter Scott
You may very well have quoted the line above, unaware of its source. These days, readers tend to know of Sir Walter Scott because of his novels such as Ivanhoe and Rob Roy or perhaps they recall reading his narrative poem in school, "The Lady of the Lake."
Walter Scott was born in Scotland in August of 1771. As a child, he was made lame by a bout of polio. As an adult, the illness continued to affect both his writing and his life.
At age 12, Scott began his studies at the University of Edinburgh and at 15, met the poet Robert Burns. By his early 20s, Scott was practicing law and enthusiastically reading contemporary German literature. He was inspired to write.
Between 1805 and 1817, Scott wrote and published a number of long poems. It is said he was the most popular poet of the era until Lord Byron published Childe Harrold’s Pilgrimmage.
Scott also began writing novels. Despite physical challenges, financial problems, the death of his wife and other troubles, Scott produced a tremendous amount of work, including 27 novels.
Below, we provide a few lines that suggest this busy man had a sense of humor. If you've found yourself vacationing this summer in less-than-ideal accommodations, this poem may speak to you—even as you speak it aloud to improve your public speaking.
On Leaving Mrs. Brown's Lodgings
by WALTER SCOTT
So goodbye, Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,
Where lodgers fight not,
Where below your chairmen drink not,
Where beside your gutters stink not;
But all is fresh and clean and gay,
And merry lambkins sport and play,
And they toss with rakes uncommonly short hay,
Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day,
And where oats are twenty-five shillings a boll, they say;
But all's one for that, since I must and will away.
