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 Scottish poetry of the seventeenth centu 
 
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SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 
 
Published by 
 William Hodge & Co., Glasgow 
 
 Williams & Norgate,, London and Edinburgh 
 
abbotsforb Series 
 
 of tbe 
 
 Scottlsb iPoets 
 
 Edited by GEORGE EYRE-TODD 
 
 SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 SIR ROBERT AYTOUN '^ 
 SIR DAVID MURRAY ^-' ,»kj|, 
 
 SIR ROBERT KER^ //:«^ 
 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER 
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND '^^^^ 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE ^ 
 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES ^^ 
 
 London and Edinburgh 
 SANDS & COMPANY 
 
TO 
 
 His Grace 
 The duke OF MONTROSE, K.T., 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 WHICH CONTAINS THE COMPLETE EXTANT POETICAL WORKS 
 OF 
 
 His Heroic Ancestor, 
 The Most 'Noble JAMES, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE, 
 
 IS 
 
 Dedicated, 
 
NOTE. 
 
 There has hitherto existed no anthology of the 
 Scottish poetry of the " Stuart Period." Owing to 
 this circumstance, and to the consequent difficulty 
 of forming a comprehensive judgment, it has been 
 usual to consider that period somewhat lightly. 
 The credit of the productions of the time has 
 also suffered greatly from the typographical diffi- 
 culties which have stood in the way of clear 
 reading. These have been enough, in many cases, 
 not only to obscure the beauties, but to obliterate 
 the meaning of the poems. It is hoped that the 
 present volume, by clearing away these obstructions 
 and affording means of collective perusal, may help 
 towards a more popular appreciation of the work 
 of a neglected century. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Scottish Poetry of the Seventeenth Century, i 
 
 Sir Robert Aytottn, ii 
 
 The Lover's Remonstrance, .19 
 
 The Exercise of Afifection, . . . 20 
 
 Song, .22 
 
 To a Variable Mistress, . . . 23 
 
 To an Inconstant Mistress, . . 24 
 
 The Author's Answer, . . ... 26 
 
 The Forsaken Mistress, . . .28 
 
 Unrecompensed Devotion, .... 3° 
 
 Sonnet left in a Lady's Mirror, . 31 
 
 On a Lady that was Painted, .... 32 
 On Tobacco, ... • • 33 
 
 Sir David Murray, 37 
 
 A Question, . . . ... 41 
 
 His Mistress, . ... 42 
 
 Adieu ! . . .43 
 
 Love's Idea, . . . 44 
 
 Love's Accompt, . . . 45 
 
 Sir Robert Kek, . . 49 
 In Praise of a SoUtary Life, . . -55 
 
 First Psahn, .... 56 
 
 Psalm cxxx., . . . . 5^ 
 
 Sir William Alexander, . . 62 
 
 Sonnets and Songs from " Aurora," 75 
 
 A Parsenesis to Prince Henry 97 
 
 Olympias before Execution 122 
 
 Brutus .and Portia, . . . . 128 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Quintus Curtius when 
 
 William Drummond, 
 
 Poems : Amorous, Funeral, Divine (First Part), 
 
 Poems : Amorous, Funeral, Divine (Second Part), 
 
 Tears on the Death of Moeliades, 
 
 Urania, or Spiritual Poems, 
 
 Epigram, 
 
 Forth Feasting, 
 
 Flowers of Sion, 
 
 Posthumous Poems. 
 
 F.pitaphs, 
 
 Epigrams, 
 
 The Marquis of Montrose, 
 Love Verses, . 
 Lines Written in his Copy of 
 
 a. Youth, 
 Epitaph on a Dog, 
 In Praise of Women, 
 Sovereignty in Danger, . 
 On the Faithlessness and Venality of the Times, 
 
 Sympathy in Love, 
 
 On Receiving News of the Death of Charles L, 
 
 On the Death of Charles I 
 
 Written on the Eve of his Execution, . 
 
 The Semples of Beltrees, .... 
 
 The Packman's Paternoster, . 
 
 The Life and Death of the Piper of Kilbarchan, 
 
 Hallow Fair, ....... 
 
 Maggif Lauder, ...... 
 
 The Blythsome Bridal^ 
 
 The Banishment of Poverty, . 
 
 She Rose and Let Me In, .... 
 
 Old Longsyne, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iSS 
 
 171 
 187 
 191 
 
 192 
 
 193 
 
 207 
 
 211 
 
 216 
 217 
 
 221 
 23s 
 
 241 
 241 
 242 
 243 
 243 
 24s 
 246 
 247 
 
 248 
 
 251 
 261 
 270 
 275 
 278 
 280 
 284 
 292 
 293 
 
SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 In the year 1603 James VI. passed over Berwick 
 bridge to assume the crown of his English 
 kingdom. It was not, however, till 1707 that 
 the legislative union of England and Scotland 
 was effected. The century bej;ween these 
 dates, from the union of the crowns to the 
 union of the parliaments, was in both countries 
 a period of immense significance. The previous 
 century has been marked in British history as 
 the century of Reformation ; and with equal 
 justice the seventeenth century may be named 
 the century of Revolution. Nor does this 
 epithpt refer merely to the disaster which 
 during that century overtook the throne. In 
 the hundred years which elapsed between 
 the end of the House of Tudor with the death 
 of Elizabeth and the accession of the House 
 of Hanover in the person . of George I. a 
 greater revolution than the mere overturn of a 
 B v 
 
2 SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 
 dynasty was taking place. During the Stuart 
 period, as it has been named, was effected the 
 great passage from ancient to modern times. 
 It was the misfortune rather than the fault of 
 the Stuart kings that they happened to be the 
 rulers at the time of this great change. Their 
 shortcomings, it is true, were many, and they 
 made grievous mistakes, but the period was one 
 of conflict between the old order and the new, 
 between government, by the king and govern- 
 ment by the people, and by the nature of their 
 office the princes of the time were upon the 
 losing side. No one, at anyrate, can deny that' 
 the Stuarts paid dearly for their errors, since 
 one of the race, within the period, suffered 
 on the block, and another was deprived of his 
 throne. 
 
 These catastrophes,, the execution of Charles I. 
 and the exile of James II., were the great 
 political events which marked the transition 
 effected ,in the two kingdoms during the seven- 
 teenth century. At the same time there are 
 other circumstances, less conspicuous, perhaps, 
 but hardly less significant, which remain tokens 
 of the change. In the Scottish poetry of the 
 period, in particular, a remarkable departure is 
 to be noticed. From the dawn of the century 
 it not only abandoned absolutely all its ancient 
 national fields of inspiration, but actually almost 
 
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 3 
 
 entirely ceased to use the ancient national 
 tongue. The immediate causes of this depar- 
 ture are easily traced. 
 
 During the last forty years of the previous 
 century the national mind of Scotland had been 
 convulsed and engrossed by the events of the 
 Reformation, Such a period of struggle is never 
 itself productive of much poetry : song, whether 
 of love or of patriotism, is invariably an after- 
 production. Moreover, the grim new asceticism 
 of the Reformers set its face sternly against 
 what they termed " the profane and unprofit- 
 able art of poem-making." By the end of the 
 sixteenth century, owing to these discourage- 
 ments, the ancient vigorous school of native 
 Scottish poetry had become extinct. The 
 rollicking humour of James V., the biting satire 
 of Lyndsay and Maitland, the quaint love- 
 philosophy of Scot, and the richly coloured 
 allegory of Montgomerie — the entire river of 
 national song, in short, of which these were 
 characteristic features, had ceased to flow. George 
 Buchanan, one of the greatest Scotsmen of his 
 time, it is true, wrote poetry, but he wrote in 
 Latin. The vernacular muse of the country 
 was represented by nothing stronger than such 
 pedantic versifyings as the "Essayes" of James 
 VI., such a sweet but slender rivulet of fancy 
 as Alexander Hume's "Day Aestival," or such 
 
4 SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 
 godly imaginings as were set forth in Lady 
 Culross's " Dream." 
 
 Poetry was at this low ebb in Scotland when 
 the king crossed the Border, and the transference 
 of the court to London threw the ancient Scots 
 tongue out of fashion, and brought the southern 
 idiom into vogue. 
 
 At the same time the great era of English 
 poetry was at its zenith. Marlowe and Spenser 
 were but lately dead, while Shakespeare was at 
 the acme of his powers, and was the centre of a 
 galaxy of dramatic poets the like of which the 
 world had never seen. It was the time of Ben 
 Jonson and of Beaumont and Fletcher, of 
 Massinger, Ford, Webster, and a dozen others. 
 In the hands of these poets, and of such masters 
 of prose as Lord Bacon and Sir Philip Sidney, 
 the English language just then had been wrought 
 to its highest pitch of dignity, beauty, and 
 strength. It remains small matter for marvel, 
 therefore, that the Scottish poets of the new 
 period were caught by the glamour of the new 
 fashion, and strove to sing in the tongue of 
 their English contemporaries. 
 
 It can be understood that ability to do this 
 with sufficient ease and elegance to attract 
 notice was confined to those few persons whose 
 education and opportunities had made them 
 familiar with the speech and literature of the 
 
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. S 
 
 southern kingdom. Hence it came about that 
 the Scottish poets of note in the seventeenth 
 century were all men of position and rank — a 
 circumstance in itself not without effect upon 
 choice of subject and style of thought. 
 
 There must also, it is true, have been a few 
 poets of the people, those nameless, humble 
 singers to whom is owed the folk-song of the 
 time — such ballads as " The Dowie Dens o' 
 Yarrow," "The Bonnie House o' Airlie," and 
 " The Baron o' Brackley." But the ballads of 
 the seventeenth century are singularly few. 
 Barely half-a-dozen of. the first rank, indeed, 
 are to be found. They cannot therefore qualify 
 the fact that the body of Scottish poetry of the 
 period followed the southern vogue. 
 
 For fifty years this fashion lasted ; the ancient 
 themes, as well as the characteristics and the 
 language, of the Scottish poets of former days 
 were abandoned, and the verse of the north 
 might almost as aptly have been the product 
 of southern pens. 
 
 It might have been feared that at such a 
 time the muse of the north, labouring under 
 the double disadvantage of an adopted style 
 and an alien tongue, \yas in danger of becoming 
 a mere echo of its southern rival. From this 
 abject position it was saved by a few great 
 names, not all of the first rank in poesie, 
 
6 SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE 
 
 indeed, but all entitled to an honourable place 
 and esteem beside those of the English singers 
 of their day. Even in that great English era, 
 from the time of Spenser to that of Dryden, 
 which included the transcendent names of 
 Shakespeare and Milton, the Scottish poetry 
 cannot be passed by which contains the stren- 
 uous passion of Montrose, the sense and dignity 
 of the Earl of Stirling, and the wit, grace, and 
 harmony of Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 When these poets ceased to sing a great 
 silence fell upon the muse of the country. The 
 latest of the group, Drummond and Montrose, 
 died within eighteen months of the execution of 
 Charles I. After that event Scotland descended 
 to one of the most troubled periods of her 
 history. First came the civil wars of Charles 
 II., followed by the irksome domination of 
 Cromwell. Next, after the death of the Pro- 
 tector, hardly had Monk marched south with his 
 Coldstream levies and inaugurated the Restora- 
 tion, when the fierce and bloody struggles began 
 between Episcopacy and the Covenanters. These 
 struggles were ended in 1688 by the Revolution 
 and the flight of James II.; but the Revolution 
 in turn gave rise to the equally fierce conflicts 
 of Jacobites and Whigs^ which lasted over the 
 end of the century. During the whole period 
 the country was torn by the dissensions of nobles 
 
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 7 
 
 and churchmen, prelates and presbyters ; and 
 men had enough to think about to keep their 
 heads on their shoulders, without turning 
 attention to a leisurely art like the writing 
 of poetry. 
 
 In England circumstances were somewhat 
 different ; there was room for Milton to sit apart 
 in his blindness and compose "Paradise Lost"; 
 and in the precarious sunshine of the Merry 
 Monarch's court there was warmth enough to 
 quicken the song of the Cavalier poets. But in 
 Scotland there was storm and night, and not- 
 withstanding a ilash here ,and there, as in the 
 case of the Semples, from the smouldering 
 embers of the ancient popular muse, Scottish 
 poetry, during the second half of the seven- 
 teenth century, must be held to have reached 
 its nadir.* 
 
 When, in 1707, the head centre of national 
 dissension and party strife was removed by the 
 transference of the Scottish parliament to 
 London, and the country emerged from its long 
 period of discord and conflict to a new era of 
 prosperity and enterprise, its entire social system 
 had undergone a change. The feudalism of the 
 Middle Ages in church and state had passed 
 
 * In support of this statement it will be enough to refer he 
 leader to the bald Covenanting ballads of thp period and to 
 compositions like those of Dr. Pennycuik, author of the 
 "Description of Tweeddale.'' 
 
8 SCOTTISH POETRY. 
 
 finally away, and had given place to the con- 
 stitutional order of modern days. Very soon 
 the new era declared itself in the national poetry. 
 Allan Ramsay struck the note boldly again upon 
 Scottish character and Scottish manners, and, 
 reviving interest in the ancient ballads of the 
 country, gave the first signal for the great 
 Romantic movement of northern Europe, which 
 culminated in Goethe, Balzac, and Scott. 
 
SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 As the first Scottish poet of note who elected to 
 write in Shakespeare's English, Sir Robert Aytoun 
 remains a figure of peculiar interest 'in the literary 
 history of Scotland. In several aspects, indeed, his 
 career may be noted as typical. He began life, 
 like so many young Scotsmen of his time, as an 
 obscure, wandering scholar-adventurer, yet he became 
 the trusted servant and friend of two kings and two 
 queens. And though he filled a post of high con- 
 sideration at a critical period in history, his best 
 title to remembrance lies in the verses which he 
 wrote as a relaxation from more serious duties. He 
 represents, in short, a characteristic figure of that 
 age — the courtier among poets who was no less a 
 poet among courtiers. 
 
 Aytoun's descent has been traced from the Norman 
 house of De Vescy, barons of Sprouston in Northum- 
 berland, through one Gilbert de Vescy, who in the 
 fourteenth century received the lands of Eiton or 
 Aytoun, in Berwickshire, from Robert the Bruce. 
 The poet, a younger son, was born in his father's 
 castle of Kinaldie, near St. Andrews, in 1570. He 
 
12 SIR ROBERT A YTOUN. 
 
 graduated at St. Andrews University in 1584, and 
 on his father's death in 1590, receiving his slender 
 patrimony, he went abroad, studying civil law at the 
 University of Paris, and exercising his leisure with 
 the writing of Latin poetry. In 1603, however, 
 occurred the accession of James VI. to the throne 
 of England, and, seeing in that event an opportunity 
 not to be lost, Aytoun hastened home and addressed 
 to the king a congratulatory Latin poem of consider- 
 able length and no small tact. This performance 
 had the good fortune to attract the royal notice, 
 and James, eager to attach men of literary talent to 
 his person, invited the author to court, and installed 
 him for the nonce one of the Grooms of the Privy 
 Chamber. 
 
 Aytoun throve at court. When James acknow- 
 ledged the authorship of the " Apology for the Oath 
 of Allegiance," the poet was one of the two envoys 
 sent to convey the royal dedication to Rudolph II., 
 Emperor of Germany, and the other princes of 
 Europe. ' This mission he appears to have fulfilled 
 to the king's satisfaction, for on his return Aytoun 
 was knighted at Rycot in Oxfordshire, and about 
 the same time was appointed both Gentleman of the 
 Bedchamber to James himself and Private Secretary 
 to the queen. In 1619 he received a grant of ;^soo 
 per annum for thirty-one years out of certain moneys 
 accruing to the royal exchequer. This in the fol- 
 lowing July was converted into a hfe pension, on 
 account of "services rendered to the king and his 
 late consort." 
 
S/Ji ROBERT AYTOUN. 13 
 
 Along with Bacon, in 1623, Aytoun became a 
 candidate for the provostship of Eton. His chief 
 motive for seeking this somewhat lucrative post was, 
 it appears, to benefit the children of the former 
 provost, Thomas Murray, who had been his early 
 friend. In support of his candidature he addressed 
 a poetical epistle to the king, but although James 
 was understood to favour his views, the post finally 
 fell to Sir Henry Wotton, himself no inconsiderable 
 poet, as well as a scholar of repute. 
 
 On the death of James in 1625 Aytoun was con- 
 tinued in his office by Charles I., and was appointed 
 Secretary to Quden Henrietta Maria. These posts 
 apparently enabled him to exercise considerable 
 private influence at court. His name, at anyrate, 
 is found mixed up with a case in which certain 
 claims to a patent for camleting silk were disputed 
 between two London tradesmen a^nd two Pages of 
 the Bedchamber. Evidence, moreover, is not wanting 
 which proves that he stood well in the esteem of his 
 royal mistress. In 1636 the queen appointed him 
 Master of St. Katherine's Hospital, a sinecure in her 
 own gift, worth £,200 a year.* 
 
 * St. Katherine's Hospital, which was founded in 1 148 by 
 Matilda, wife of the usurper Stephen, occupied, in Aytoun's 
 time, a site whit;h is now covered by St. Katherine's Dock. 
 Its patronage was vested in the queen-consort, and this so 
 strictly as to give rise, some fifty years ago, to a singular 
 dilemma. In the early years of Queen Victoria's reign the 
 mastership became vacant. Curiously enough, Her Majesty 
 was' then found disqualified to make the new appointment, 
 and the power of nomination was accordingly exercised by 
 Adelaide, the Queen Dowager. 
 
14 SIR ROBERT AYTOVN. 
 
 In the royal household Aytoun successively filled 
 the further posts of Master of Requests and Master 
 of Ceremonies ; and Charles finally showed his appre- 
 ciation of the services and sagacity of his attendant 
 by appointing him a Privy Councillor. 
 
 The old courtier-poet died as he had lived, within 
 the royal precincts, and happily passed away before 
 the clouds of misfortune drew to their darkest round 
 the head of his royal master. Aytoun breathed his 
 last in the palace of Whitehall in February 1637-38, 
 in his 69th year, and the splendid monument erected 
 over his grave in Westminster Abbey by his nephew 
 and heir, Sir John Aytoun, still bears witness to his 
 honours. 
 
 Aytoun's character appears to have been one of 
 singular tact and worldly prudence, combined with 
 modest dignity and great kindliness of heart. With 
 all his good fortune he seems to have escaped the 
 fate of most men in his position. Dempster says of 
 him that "he conducted himself with such moderation 
 and prudence that when he obtained high honours in 
 the palace, all held that he deserved greater." At the 
 same time the old courtier did not forget his kin. 
 With true Scottish family feeling, he procured for his 
 nephew a small situation in the Household, from 
 which he afterwards became Gentleman Usher of 
 the Black Rod. Aubrey, in his Lives of Eminent 
 Men, states that Aytoun "was acquainted with all 
 the wits of his time in England." The general 
 esteem in which he was held, however, is perhaps 
 best testified by Ben Jonson's assurance to Drum- 
 
S//i ROBERT AYTOVN. 15 
 
 mond at Hawthornden that "Sir Robert Aytoun 
 loved him dearly." 
 
 In a prefatory note the poet's nephew has left on 
 record that Aytoun "did not affect the name of a 
 poet, having neither published in print nor kept copies 
 of anything he writ, either in Latin or English." Of 
 his Latin poems a MS. was at one time preserved in 
 the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh ; but this has 
 disappeared, and all of his Latin poems now known 
 are owed to Scot of Scotstarvet's Delitim Poetarum 
 Scotorum. His English poems have been preserved 
 in two MSS. One, a thin folio of forty-three pages, 
 containing corrections by Sir John Aytoun, is among 
 the Additional MSS. in the British Museum. The 
 other, "The Poems of that Worthy Gentleman, Sir 
 Robert Aytoun, Knight,'' was in the possession of 
 the poet's editor; the Rev. Charles Rogers. Several 
 of the pieces were included in the collections of 
 Watson and Pinkerton, and the English poems were 
 edited together by Dr. Rogers in 1844. A more 
 complete edition, including the surviving Latin 
 poems, was printed privately by the same editor at 
 London in 187 1, the memoir and English poems 
 being reproduced in the first volume of Transactions 
 of the Royal Historical Society. 
 
 As a poet, Aytoun appears entitled to higher con- 
 sideration than he has yet received. Notwithstanding 
 Dryden's statement, quoted by Aubrey, that he con- 
 sidered Aytoun's verse "some of the best of that 
 age," this typical Jacobean singer has suffered no 
 little neglect. Nothing that he wrote, indeed, can 
 
i6 'SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 be held to rival the lyric perfection of verses like 
 Ben Jonson's "Drink to me only." It is true, as 
 well, that the range of his muse is limited. The 
 actual quantity of his verse is not large, and what 
 there is of it mostly concerns " the boy that bears," 
 as Aytoun himself puts it, " the stately style of Love." 
 Love, however, as every reader of the verse of that 
 age is aware, was almost exclusively the subject of 
 the lyric poetry of the time ; and the other lyric 
 poets , of the day were even more limited in the 
 quantity of their compositions. Letting pass, there- 
 fore, the first great flight of Shakespearean singers, 
 Aytoun appears entitled upon his actual merits to 
 rank among the best, as he was among the earliest, 
 of those graceful dalliers with a courtly muse who 
 have become known as the Cavalier poets. 
 
 His claim to be the first of the Scottish poets to 
 write in English rests on the fact that his "Diophantus 
 and Charidora'' was produced before the accession 
 of James VI. to Elizabeth's throne in 1603. The 
 fashion of writing in English, thus set, was imme- 
 diately followed by Sir William Alexander, who pro- 
 duced his early work, the Aurora, in 1604, and by 
 Drummond, who composed his " Tears on the Death 
 of MEeliades" in 1613. "Diophantus and Charidora" 
 is a long and conventional production, though here 
 and there it has a characteristic line, as when 
 Diophantus swears "by the Stygian stanks of Hell," 
 or declares, of his mistress that 
 
 She is mine by lot of love, 
 Though luck in love I want. 
 
S/J{ ROBERT A YTOUN. 17 
 
 In one of its verses, curiously, the poet anticipates 
 Tennyson : — 
 
 For if of all mishaps 
 
 This be the first of all, 
 To have been highly happy once, 
 
 And from that height to fall. 
 
 It is by his later and shorter pieces, however, that 
 Aytoun should be best remembered. In these he 
 has expressed, better perhaps than any other, the 
 modest dignity of unfortunate but self-respecting love. 
 The ring of genuine feeling in his verse is not to 
 be mistaken. It is this which has prevented the 
 Jacobean courtier-poet from becoming old-fashioned, 
 while his touch of gentle stateliness has endued him 
 with a delicate and perennial charm. 
 
THE LOVER'S REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 EAR, why do you say you love, 
 When indeed you careless prove? 
 Reason better can digest 
 Earnest hate, than love in rest. 
 
 Wherefore do your smiling eyes 
 Help your tongue to make sweet lies ? 
 Leave to statesman tricks of state ; 
 Love doth politicians hate. 
 
 You perchance presume to find 
 Love of some chameleon kind; 
 But be not deceived, my fair, 
 Love will not be fed on air. 
 
 Love's a glutton of his food; 
 Surfeits make his stomach good: 
 Love whose diet grows precise 
 Sick from some consumption dies. 
 
 Then, dear love, let me obtain 
 That which may true love rnaintain ; 
 Or, if kind you cannot prove. 
 Prove true — say you cannot love. 
 
S/X ROBERT AYTOUlf. 
 
 THE EXERCISE OF AFFECTION. 
 
 There is no worldly pleasure here below 
 Which by experience doth not folly prove ; 
 
 But, among all the follies that I know, 
 The sweetest folly in the world is love. 
 
 But not that passion which, by fools' consent, 
 Above the reason bears imperious sway, 
 
 Making their lifetime a perpetual Lent, 
 As if a man were born to fast and pray. 
 
 No ! that is not the humour I approve. 
 As either yielding pleasure or promotion; 
 
 I like a mild and lukewarm zeal in love. 
 Although I do not like it in devotion. 
 
 For it hath no coherence with my creed 
 To think that lovers die as they pretend. 
 
 If all that say they die had died indeed. 
 
 Sure long ere now the world had had an end. 
 
 Besides, we need not love but if we please ; 
 
 No destiny can force man's disposition; 
 And how can a,ny die of that disease 
 
 Whereof himself may be his own physician ? 
 
THE EXERCISE OF AFFECTION. 
 
 But some seem so distracted of their wits 
 That I would think it but a venial sin 
 
 To take some of those innocents that sit 
 In Bedlam out, and put some lovers in. 
 
 Yet some men, rather than incur the slander 
 Of true apostates, will false martyrs prove; 
 
 But I am neither Iphis nor Leander, 
 
 I'll neither drown nor hang myself for love. 
 
 Methinks a wise man's actions should be such 
 As always yield to reason's best advice. 
 
 Now, for to love too little or too touch 
 
 Are both extremes, and all extremes are vice. 
 
 Yet have I been a lover by report, 
 
 Yea, I have died for love, as others do ; 
 
 But, praised be God, it was in such a sort 
 That I revived within an hour or two. 
 
 Thus have I lived, thus have I loved till now. 
 And found no reason to repent me yet; 
 
 And whosoever otherwise vill do 
 His courage is as little as his wit. 
 
SIR ROBERT A YTOUN. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 What means this strangeness now of late, 
 Since time doth truth approve? 
 
 This distance may consist with state, 
 It cannot stand with love. 
 
 'Tis either cunning or distrust 
 
 That doth such ways allow. 
 The. first is base, the last's unjust; 
 
 Let neither blemish you. 
 
 If you intend to draw me on, 
 
 You over-act your part, 
 And if you mind to send me gone, 
 
 You need not half this art. 
 
 Speak but the word, or do but cast 
 A look which seems to frown, 
 
 I'll give you all the love that's past; 
 The rest shall be my own. 
 
 And such a fair and equal way 
 On both sides, none can blame, 
 
 Since every one is bound to play 
 The fairest of his game. 
 
TO A VARIABLE MISTRESS. 23 
 
 TO A VARIABLE MISTRESS. 
 
 Why did I wrong my judgement so 
 As to affect where I did know 
 
 There was no hold for to be taken? 
 That which her heart thirsts after most, 
 If once of it her hope can boast, 
 
 Straight by her folly is forsaken. 
 
 Thus, while I still pursue in vain, 
 Methinks I turn a child again. 
 
 And of my shadow am a-chasing : 
 For all her favours are to me 
 Like apparitions which I see. 
 
 Yet ne'er come near th' embracing. 
 
 Oft have I wished that there had been 
 Some almanac whereby to've seen 
 
 When love with her had been in season. 
 But I perceive there is no art 
 Can find the epact of the heart 
 
 That loves by chance,' and not by reason. 
 
 Yet will I not for this despair; 
 For time her humour may prepare 
 
 To love him who is now neglected : 
 For what unto my constancy 
 Is now denied, one day may be 
 
 From her inconstancy expected. 
 
24 SIR ROBERT A YTOUN. 
 
 TO AN INCONSTANT MISTRESS. 
 
 I LOVED thee once, I'll love no more, 
 Thine be the grief, as is the blame ; 
 Thou art not what thou wast before, 
 What reason should I be the same? 
 He that can love unloved again 
 Hath better store of love than brain ; 
 God send me love my debts to pay. 
 While unthrifts fool their love away ! 
 
 Nothing could have my love o'erthrown 
 
 If thou hadst still continued mine ; 
 Nay, if thou hadst remained thine own 
 I might perchance have yet been thine. 
 But thou thy freedom did recall 
 That it thou might elsewhete enthrall. 
 And then how could I but disdain 
 A captive's captive to remain? 
 
 When new desires had conquered thee, 
 And changed the object of thy will. 
 It had been lethargy in me. 
 
 Not constancy, to love thee still: 
 Yea, it had been a sin to go 
 And prostitute affection so, 
 Since we are taught no prayers to say 
 To such as must to others pray. 
 
TO AN INCONSTANT MISTRESS. 25 
 
 Yet do thou glory in thy choice, 
 
 Thy choice of his good fortune boast; 
 I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice 
 To see him gain what I have lost. 
 The height of my disdain shall be 
 To laugh at him, to blush for thee; 
 To love thee still, but go no more 
 A-begging at a beggar's door. 
 
26 SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S ANSWER. 
 
 Written at the King's Command. 
 
 Thou that loved once, now lov'st no more, 
 
 For fear to show more love than brain; 
 With heresy unhatched before. 
 Apostasy thou dost maintain. 
 
 Can he have either brain or love 
 That doth inconstancy approve? 
 A choice well made no change admits, 
 And changes argue after-wits. 
 
 Say that she had not been the same, 
 
 Shouldst thou therefore another be? 
 What thou in her as vice did blame, 
 Can that take virtue's name in thee? 
 No, thou in this her captive was, 
 And made thee ready by her glass; 
 Example led revenge astray. 
 When true love should have kept the way. 
 
 True love hath no reflecting end; 
 
 The object good sets all at rest; 
 And noble breasts will freely lend 
 
 Without expecting interest. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S ANSWER. 27 
 
 'Tis merchant love, 'tis trade for gain, 
 To barter love for love again; 
 'Tis usury, nay, worse than this. 
 For self-idolatry it is. 
 
 Then let her choice be what it will. 
 
 Let constancy be thy revenge; 
 If thou retribute good for ill, 
 
 Both grief and shame shall check her change. 
 Thus mayst thou laugh, when thou shalt see 
 Remorse reclaim her home to thee; 
 And where thou beg'st of her before, 
 She now sits begging at thy door. 
 
28 SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 THE FORSAKEN MISTRESS.* 
 
 I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair; 
 
 And I might have gone near to love thee 
 Had I not found the sUghtest prayer 
 That lips could spealf had power to move thee. 
 But I can let thee now alone 
 As worthy to be loved by none. 
 
 I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find 
 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 Thy favours are but like the wind 
 Which kisseth everything it meets; 
 
 And since thou canst love more than one 
 Thou'rt worthy to be loved by none. 
 
 * The authorship of this poem cannot with certainty be 
 attributed to Aytoun. It does not appear in Sir John Aytoun's 
 MS., and in Watson's Collection of Scots Poems it is printed 
 with no author's name attached. Dr. Rogers, in including it, 
 urged the similarity to Aytoun's sentiment and style. It appeared 
 set to music in Playford's "Select Ayres" under the title of a 
 " Song to his Forsaken Mistress." Burns paid it the compliment 
 of attempting to "improve the simplicity of the sentiments by 
 giving them a Scottish dress"; but it cannot be said that the 
 version of the Ayrshire bard at all equals the original. 
 
THE FORSAKEN MISTRESS. 29 
 
 The morning rose that untouched stands, 
 
 Armed with her briers, how sweet she smells ! 
 But plucked, and strained through ruder hands. 
 Her sweet no longer with her dwells j 
 But scent and beauty both are gone, 
 And leaves fall from her one by one. 
 
 Such fate, ere long, will thee betide. 
 
 When thou hast handled been awhile. 
 Like fair flowers to be thrown aside. 
 And thou shalt sigh when I shall smile 
 To see thy love to every one 
 Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 
 
30 SIR ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 UNRECOMPENSED DEVOTION. 
 
 My Fair's unkind, and I have spent my pains, 
 
 And purchased nothing but undue disdains. 
 
 Oh, had she been as kind as I was true. 
 
 What praise to her, what joy to me'd been due! 
 
 But to my grief and her disgrace I find 
 
 That fair ones too much loved prove seldom kind. 
 
 What then? Shall loving less be my revenge? 
 
 Oh no ! I wrong my judgement if I change. 
 
 The dice are cast, and, let her loathe or love, 
 
 I may imhappy, not inconstant prove; 
 
 For it is quite impossible for me 
 
 To love her less, as more in love to be. 
 
SONNET. 31 
 
 SONNET 
 
 Left in a Lady's Mirror. 
 
 To view thy beauty well, if thou be wise, 
 Come not to gaze upon this glass of thine; 
 But come and look upon these eyes of mine. 
 
 Where thou shalt see thy true resemblance twice. 
 
 Or, if thou think'st that thou profan'st thine eyes, 
 When on my wretched eyes they deign to shine. 
 Look on my heart, wherein, as in a shrine, 
 
 The lovely picture of thy beauty lies. ' 
 
 Or, if thy harmless modesty think shame 
 To gaze upon the horrors of my heart, 
 
 Come read these lines, and, reading, see in them 
 The trophies of thy beauty, and my smart. 
 
 Or, if to none of these thou'lt deign to come, 
 
 Weep eyes, break heart, and then my verse be 
 dumb. 
 
32 S/£ ROBERT AYTOUN. 
 
 ON A LADY THAT WAS 
 PAINTED. 
 
 Pamphilia hath a number of good arts, 
 Which commendation to her worth imparts; 
 But, above all, in one she doth excel — 
 That she can paint incomparably well. 
 And yet so modest that, if praised for this, 
 She'll swear she does not knovy what painting is, 
 But straight will blush with such a portrait grace 
 That one would think vermilion dyed her face. 
 One of her pictures I have ofttimes seen. 
 And would have sworn that it herself had been; 
 And when I bade her it on me bestow, 
 I swear I heard the picture's self say No. 
 What ! think you this a prodigy ? 'Tis none — 
 The painter and the picture both were one. 
 
ON TOBACCO. 33 
 
 ON TOBACCO. 
 
 Forsaken of all comforts but these two, 
 My faggot and my pipe, I sit and muse 
 On all my crosses, and almost accuse 
 
 'The Heavens for dealing with me as they do. 
 
 Then Hope steps in, and with a smiling brow 
 Such cheerful expectations doth infuse 
 As make me think erelong I cannot choose 
 
 But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now. 
 
 But having spent my pipe, I then perceive 
 That hopes and dreams are cousins — both deceive. 
 
 ' Then make I this conclusion in my mind, 
 'Tis all one thing — both tend into one scope — 
 
 •To live upon tobacco and on hope: 
 
 The one's but smoke, the other is but wind. 
 
SIR DAVID MURRAY. 
 
SIR DAVID MURRAY. 
 
 Among the various Scotsmen at the English court of 
 James VI. who occupied their leisure, and perhaps 
 helped their fortunes, by the occasional exercise of 
 an elegant poetic pen. Sir David Murray of Gorthy 
 cannot be passed over. By his contemporaries he 
 appears to have been held in high esteem, as much 
 for his poetic taste as for his courtly connection, 
 and his sonnets remain typical examples of the poetic 
 vein fashionable among the court gallants of his time. 
 A younger son of Robert Murray of Abercairney 
 by a daughter of the house of TuUibardine, his cir- 
 cumstances were those of the Scotsman so familiar 
 in the English epigram of the period — the youth of 
 good family but slender purse, who looked to a place 
 at court as his natural provision for life. Unlike 
 many of his less fortunate fellows, however, he not 
 only attained his desire in this respect, but gained 
 the trust and affection of his royal master to an un- 
 common degree. He was at first attached to the 
 person of Prince Henry in the capacity of First 
 Gentleman of the Bedchamber; and when in 1610 
 the prince's household was definitely fixed, Murray 
 
38 SIJl DAVID MUKRAY. 
 
 became Groom of the Stole and Gentleman of the 
 Robes. According to a contemporary he was re- 
 garded by the heir to the throne as the most reliable 
 of his attendants — " the onely man in whom he put 
 choise trust." He appears to have been in equal 
 favour with the king, for when, probably like most 
 other court gallants, he found his affairs in difficulties, 
 he received from James a free gift, first of ;^2ooo and 
 then of ;^S2oo, expressly stated to be for the payment 
 of his debts. These gifts occurred in 1613 and 161 5 
 respectively, and in 1630 they were capped by a grant 
 from King Charles of the estate of Gorthy. He 
 seems, however, to have remained unmarried, and he 
 died without succession.* 
 
 Murray's longest poem is " The Tragicall Death of 
 Sophonisba,'' published at London in 161 1. It forms 
 one of the evidences of the revival of taste for Italian 
 models then going on, the subject having been a 
 favourite one with Italian poets of the previous cen- 
 tury. As a work upon its own merits, Murray's poem 
 can hardly be said to deserve immortality. Apart 
 from its startling anachronisms and obtrusive con- 
 ceits, its chi^f fault is a want of action and energy. 
 It flows along in soliloquies of little interest, never 
 rising to true passion nor melting to real pathos. 
 Much of it indeed is mere measured prose. 
 
 Printed with "Sophonisba" was a collection of 
 poems entitled " Ccelia," consisting chiefly of sonnets 
 addressed to the poet's mistress. It is upon some 
 
 *'Do\x^3s'i Baronage of Scotland, p. 102. 
 
SIR DAVID MURRAY. 39 
 
 of these that Murray must depend for his poetic 
 fame. They are not, it is true, marked by any 
 striking originality, but among the faults common to 
 the poetry of the time — z. constant tendency to con- 
 ceits and conventional phrases — they display a certain 
 richness of colouring and air of ancient courtliness 
 which render them, like some stately old garden of 
 their time, still pleasant to wander through. 
 
 The volume of 161 1 was reprinted for the Banna- 
 tyne Club at Edinburgh in 1823. 
 
A QUESTION. 
 
 ND is it true, dear, that you are unkind? 
 
 Shall I believe, sweet saint, that you are so? 
 I fear you are; but stay, O stay, my mind ! 
 Too soon to credit that that breeds my woe. 
 Yet whither shall my resolutions go? 
 To think you are, or not, unkind, J must. 
 
 Th' effect says Aye, and yet my fancy No, 
 Being loth such undeserved harm to trust. 
 My passions thus such operations breed 
 
 In my divided soul, that I cannot 
 Conceive you are that which you are indeed. 
 
 Imperious love doth so control my thought. 
 Unhappy I that did such love embrace ! 
 Unconstant you that hates such love, alas ! 
 
42 SIR DAVID MURRAY. 
 
 HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 Bright angel's face, the paradise of love — 
 
 High stately throne where majesty doth shines- 
 Beauty's idea, sweetness' sweetened shrine — 
 
 Clear heavens, wherein proud Phoebus' dazzlers 
 move — 
 
 Fair pearly rolls that stain the ivory white, 
 Environed with coral-dyed walls — 
 Sweet-nectared breath, more soft than Zephyr's 
 gales — 
 
 Heart-reiving tongue, whose speech still breeds 
 delight — 
 
 Smooth cheeks of rose and lilies interlaced — 
 Art-scorning nose, in framing which, no doubt, 
 Nature of her whole skill played bankerout, 
 
 When it in midst of such perfections placed — 
 
 Gold-glittering tresses, and souls-wounding locks. — 
 
 Only proiad ears, more deaf than flinty rocks ! 
 
ADIEU! 43 
 
 ADIEU! 
 
 Adieu, sweet Ccelia! for I must depart 
 
 And leave thy sight, and with thy sight all joy, 
 Convoyed with care, attended with annoy, 
 
 A vagabonding wretch from part to part. 
 
 Only, dear Ccelia, grant me so much grace 
 
 As to vouchsafe this heart befraught with sorrow 
 T' attend upbn thy shadow even and morrow, 
 
 Whose wonted pleasure was to view thy face. 
 
 And if sometimes thou solitar remain. 
 
 And for thy dearest dear a sigh lets slide. 
 This poor attender, sitting by thy side, 
 
 Shall be thy echo, to reply 't again. 
 
 Then farewell, Ccelia ! for I must away. 
 
 And to attend thee my poor heart shall stay. 
 
44 SIR DAVID MURRAY. 
 
 LOVE'S IDEA. 
 
 Days, hours, and nights thy presence may detain, 
 
 But neither day nor hour nor night shall not 
 Bar thy sweet beauty from mine eyes unseen, 
 
 Since so divinely printed in my thought. 
 
 That skilful Greek that Love's idea wrought. 
 And limned it so exactly to the eye. 
 
 When beauty's rarest patterns he had sought, 
 With this thy portrait could not matched be. 
 Though on a table he — most skilful he — 
 
 In rarest colours rarest parts presented. 
 So on a heart, if one may match a tree. 
 
 Though skill-less, I thy rarer shape have pointed. 
 Not by Love's self Love's beauty formed he; 
 But by thyself thyself art formed in me. 
 
LOVE'S ACCOMPT. 45 
 
 LOVE'S ACCOMPT. 
 
 Ponder thy cares, and sum them all in one, 
 Get the account of all thy heart's disease, 
 Reckon the torments do thy mind displease, 
 
 Write up each sigh, each plaint, each tear, each groan. 
 
 Remember on thy grief conceived by day, 
 And call to mind thy night's disturbed rest. 
 Think on those visions did thy soul molest 
 
 While as thy wearied corpse a-sleeping lay; 
 
 And when all those thou hast enrolled aright 
 Into the 'count-book of thy daily care, 
 
 Extract them truly, then present the sight 
 With, them, of flinty Coelia the fair, 
 
 That she may see if yet more ill remain's 
 
 For to be paid to her unjust disdains. 
 
SIR ROBERT KER. 
 
SIR ROBERT KER, 
 
 EARL OF ANCRAM. 
 
 Among poets whose fame lives by reason of a single 
 composition must be included the first Earl of 
 Ancram. One sonnet, " In Praise of a Solitary Life," 
 is all of his original work now known to be extant. 
 
 In Douglas's "Peerage of Scotland," II., 136, a 
 full account is furnished of Sir Robert Ker's ancestry. 
 He was descended from a long line of Border 
 chieftains, most conspicuous of whom probably was 
 his great-grandfather Sir Andrew Ker of Fernihirst, 
 one of the most striking figures on the marches in 
 the reigns of James IV. and James V. Himself the 
 representative of the house of Fernihirst, the poet- 
 would appear to have inherited the traditions of his 
 stormy race in a career of vicissitude and romantic 
 adventure. 
 
 To begin with, in 1590, when he was no more than 
 twelve years of age, in the course of an outstanding 
 feud with the rival house of Cessford, his father was 
 assassinated. The perpetrator of the deed was Sir 
 Robert Ker, afterwards first Earl of Roxburgh; and 
 the heir of Ancram by rule of vendetta inherited the 
 blood-debt. This however, in 1606, at the instance 
 
 E V 
 
so SIR ROBERT KER. 
 
 of the Council and the earnest entreaty of the king, 
 he consented to forego, and so closed the feud. Again, 
 later in life, fyhen he had risen to a high position at 
 ■court, his influence appears to have excited the 
 jealousy of the unscrupulous Duke of Buckingham. 
 In consequence, one Charles Maxwell of Terregles 
 fixed a quarrel upon the poet, and forced him to a 
 ■duel. This was fought at Newmarket in February, 
 1620, apparently on horseback, and resulted in the 
 death of Maxwell. A verdict of manslaughter was 
 ^iven against Ker, and he received the regular 
 sentence of burning in the hand. The sentence, 
 however, was commuted to banishment, and after an 
 ■exile of six months he received the king's pardon. 
 
 Ker held the appointment of Groom of the Bed- 
 chamber, first to the young Prince Henry and 
 afterwards to Prince Charles, accompanying the 
 royal household to England in 1603 in that capacity. 
 About 1605 he received the honour of knighthood. 
 In the following years, besides holding many high 
 •offices at Whitehall, he was employed on several 
 missions to Scotland, and on at least one abroad, to 
 the court of Bohemia. His most romantic expedition, 
 ho-vyever, was undertaken in company with Prince 
 Charles. When the heir to the throne, following the 
 romantic example of his great-grandfather, James V.', 
 went over, incognito, to Spain to adventure a suit 
 with the Infanta, he was accompanied by Sir Robert 
 Ker. It is unfortunate, perhaps, that the experiences 
 of the royal party upon that expedition are not better 
 known. 
 
S/Ji ROBERT KER. 51 
 
 From first to last Charles appears to have held his 
 early attendant in high esteem : at the coronation in 
 Scotland in 1633 he raised him to the peerage as 
 Earl of Ancram, and he also conferred upon him 
 several valuable grants and concessions, culmin- 
 ating in a pension of ^^2000 a year. Ker on his 
 side seems to have fully justified the confidence 
 placed in him. Throughout all the troubles of the 
 time he remained steadily faithful to the royal house, 
 and upon the execution of the king he retired to 
 Amsterdam, where, in 1654, after some years of great 
 privation, he died at the age of 76. So deep, indeed, 
 were the distresses entailed upon him by his loyalty 
 that after his death his body was arrested for debt, 
 and it was only upon the intercession of Cromwell 
 that the burial was allowed to take place. 
 
 Ker's eldest son, WilHam, having married Anne, 
 heiress of an elder branch of the family and Countess 
 of Lothian in her own right, was created Earl of 
 Lothian in 1631, and from him the present Marquis 
 of Lothian is directly descended. With, this son, who 
 had espoused the cause of Parliament and the Cove- 
 nant, as well as with others of his family, and with 
 some of the most distinguished men of the day, the 
 exiled earl kept up a correspondence. This corres- 
 pondence, known as "the Lothian Papers," was 
 published in 1875, ^'^^ a memoir and portrait, for 
 the Bannatyne Club, and it throws considerable light 
 on the events of the time. ' 
 
 Among the acquaintance of his happier days the 
 old courtier appears to have counted John Donne and 
 
52 SIR ROBERT KER. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden ; and Sage, in his life of 
 the last-named poet, records a quaint anecdote of 
 Drummond peeping into a room in a London tavern, 
 and discovering Ben Jonson, Michael Drayton, Sir 
 William Alexander, and Sir Robert Ker laughing and 
 chatting together., 
 
 The sonnet " In Praise of a Solitary Life " was 
 enclosed in a letter to Drummond, dated December 
 I, 1644, which is included in the Correspondence. 
 The author states that he sends the sonnet because 
 his friend " was so kind to the last," from which it 
 may be gathered that the earl was the writer of other 
 compositions. The only other verse of his which has 
 survived, however, is a set of paraphrases in metre of 
 eleven of the Psalms. These have been preserved in 
 the Drummond MSS., and are printed in the appendix 
 to the Correspondence. They are dated 1624, and 
 were written, it is recorded, to suit certain Dutch and 
 French measures to which Ker had heard the Psalms 
 sung when he was abroad. 
 
 As a man, the Earl of Ancram appears to have 
 filled a high position with modesty, ability, and entire 
 trustworthiness, and when misfortunes came upon him 
 he bore them with firmness and piety. 
 
 As a poet, there is naturally not much to be 
 said regarding him. His sonnet can be read at a 
 glance, and conveys its own impression. Certainly 
 its author's criticism upon it cannot be accepted 
 as final. "The date of this starved rhyme," he 
 wrote, "and the place, was the very Bed-chamber, 
 where I could not sleep." 
 
Sm ROBERT KER. 53 
 
 It is, however, rather as a member of a group which 
 would be incomplete without him that he is entitled 
 to regard — that group of accomplished gentlemen, 
 scholars, poets, and courtiers, whom James VI. carried 
 in his train across the Border, and who, at a period 
 when the feat was unusually difficult, enabled the 
 Court to establish itself with respect amid the 
 brilliance of English genius.. 
 
IN PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE. 
 
 (]WEET solitary life! lovely, dumb joy, 
 That need'st no warnings how to grow 
 more wise 
 
 By other men's mishaps, nor the annoy 
 Which from sore wrongs done to one's self doth 
 rise — 
 The morning's second mansion, truth's first friend, 
 
 Never acquainted with the world's vain broils; 
 When the whole day to our own use we spend, 
 And our dear time no fierce ambition spoils ! 
 Most happy state, that never tak'st revenge 
 
 For injuries received, nor dost fear 
 The court's great earthquake, the grieved truth of 
 change. 
 Nor none of falsehood's savoury lies dost hear; 
 Nor know'st hope's . sweet disease, that charms our 
 
 sense. 
 Nor its sad cure — dear-bought experience ! 
 
S6 S/H ROBERT KER. 
 
 FIRST PSALM. 
 
 The man is blest whom no lewd counsel can 
 Entice to turn from the right path aside, 
 
 Nor sit with the ill-natured, scornful man, 
 Nor in the way of sinners will abide; 
 
 But on God's law doth study day and night, 
 
 And takes great care how he may keep it right. 
 
 He shall be like a goodly tree that grows 
 Near to a river, where no summer's heat 
 
 Nor winter, with his eager frosts and snows, 
 
 Doth scorch the leaves, nor yet the branches beat. 
 
 Nor yet the owner's greedy hope deceive, 
 
 But yields him as much fruit as he can crave. 
 
 With the ungodly it shall not be so. 
 
 Because they do neglect the Lord's command. 
 
 Look how a whirling wind the dust doth blow 
 Or how the chaff from out the corn is fanned : 
 
 So shall the Lord them utterly deface, 
 
 That where they have been none can shew the place. 
 
FIRST PSALM. 57 
 
 And when the Judge shall in the clouds appear 
 To give true judgment upon good and bad, 
 
 The godly may look up with joyful cheer, 
 But the ungodly fearfully and sadj 
 
 For He that all our secret thoughts doth view 
 
 Will give each one according to his due.* 
 
 * In the paraphrase both of this Psalm and of that which here 
 succeeds, the poet professedly follows the famous Latin version of 
 <Jeorge Buchanan. 
 
58 SI/! ROBERT KER. 
 
 PSALM CXXX. 
 
 Deep sunk in floods of grief, 
 Unto the Lord I prayed 
 
 That he would send relief, 
 And thus my sad heart said: 
 
 Lord, hear the sighs and groans 
 That I before Thee pour, 
 
 Listen unto my moans 
 And help me at this hour. 
 
 If, like a judge severe, 
 To punish Thou be bent. 
 
 No flesh can be so clear 
 As to prove innocent. 
 
 But merciful Thou art, 
 And from all passion free ; 
 
 But, Lord, it is our part 
 With fear to trust in Thee. 
 
 Thy word, mine only hope. 
 Sustains my wavering mind. 
 
 And in that faithful prop 
 All confidence I find. 
 
PSALM, CXXX. 59 
 
 No watchman of the night 
 
 More longeth for the day 
 Than I do for the Hght 
 
 Which Thy grace doth display. 
 
 Then trust the Lord all ye 
 
 That do Him fear and know, 
 For it is only He 
 
 That helps the weak and low. 
 
SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER, 
 
 EARL OF STIRLING. 
 
 Of all the figures typical of the times of Elizabeth 
 and James VI. in England, probably the most charac- 
 teristic, and certainly the most picturesque, was the 
 gentleman-adventurer. To say nothing of the Drakes 
 and Frobishers who sought forturie on the high seas 
 and on the Spanish Main, there were men of another 
 class, like Edmund Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, and 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, equally ready to compete for 
 honour with the pen or with the sword — to shine at 
 court, to plant colonies abroad, to take hard blows 
 on the battlefield, or to indite poetry or history as 
 occasion offered. Among Scotsmen of this type the 
 most conspicuous figure of the time remains that of 
 the first Earl of Stirling. In the matter of reputation 
 and enterprises, no less than in vicissitudes of fortune, 
 a close parallel might be drawn between this noble- 
 man and Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 The family of Alexander of Menstrie,* which 
 reached its highest position in the person of the 
 poet-earl, traced its descent from Somerled, Lord of 
 
 * "Menstrie" — appropriately enough, "the minstrel." 
 
64 S/X WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 the Isles in the time of Malcolm IV. Its immediate 
 ancestor was John, Lord of the Isles, who married 
 Margaret, daughter of Robert II. The grandsons of 
 John of the Isles were Angus, fouiider of the family 
 of M'Alister of Loup, and Alexander, who obtained 
 from the Argyle family a grant of the lands of 
 Menstrie, near Stirling, and settled there. Sixth in 
 descent from this first holder of the estate was 
 William Alexander, the poet. 
 
 Born in 1580, and probably educated first at the 
 neighbouring grammar school of Stirling, he is known 
 to have attended Glasgow University, and after leaving 
 college to have travelled on the continent as tutor to 
 Archibald, the young seventh Earl of Argyle. During 
 these travels he is supposed to have written the series 
 of songs, sonnets, madrigals, sestinets, and elegies, 
 published in 1604 under the title of "Aurora." 
 Different views have been entertained as to the lady 
 to whom these effusions were addressed; but from 
 sonnet 104 and the final song it appears all but 
 certain that the subject of the series was the lady 
 who became his wife — Janet, daughter and heiress 
 of Sir William Erskine. 
 
 In 1603, having returned to Scotland, he pubUshed 
 his "Tragedy of Darius." This he reprinted in 1604 
 with a second poetic drama, the "Tragedy of Croesus";' 
 and these, with the "Alexandrsean Tragedy," published 
 in 1605, and "Julius Caesar" in 1607, made up the 
 quatrain which in the last-named year attracted 
 universal praise when issued under the title of 
 Monarchic Tragedies. ' 
 
S//i WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 6$ 
 
 Meanwhile Alexander was not unknown at court, 
 and in 1604, having followed King James to London, 
 he definitely attracted the royal attention and favour 
 by the publication of his "Parsenesis to Prince 
 Henry." This procured him an appointment as one 
 of the gentlemen of the Prince's' privy chamber — the 
 first step on the ladder of his adventurous public 
 fortunes. He held this post till the Prince's death in 
 161 2, an event which, as in duty bound, he enlarged 
 upon in an " Elegy on the Death of Prince Henry." 
 
 In the following year James, who appears to have 
 had a particular regard for Alexander, calling him 
 his philosophical poet, appointed him one of the 
 gentlemen ushers to Prince- Charles. The royal 
 favour was still further shown in 16 14 in an 
 appointment as Master of Requests, and by the 
 king's conferring upon the poet the honour of 
 knighthood. In that year Alexander ended his 
 poetical career for the time by the publication of 
 "Doomsday, or the Great Day of the Lord's Judg- 
 ment," a ponderous performance in four "Hours" 
 or books. It is true that twenty-three years later, 
 in 1637, under the title of Recreations with the 
 Muses, he republished most of his poems in collected 
 form, with "Doomsday" enlarged to twelve Hours, 
 and with the addition of the first book of a new 
 heroic poem entitled "Jonathan." But from 16 14 
 his career must be regarded rather as that of the 
 courtier, statesman, and man of affairs than as that 
 of the poet. 
 
 In 161 1, probably with a view to further the 
 
 F V 
 
66 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 colonization of Ireland, begun in Elizabeth's time, 
 the king had founded the order of Baronets of 
 Ulster; and in 162 1 in furtherance of a similar 
 policy for Nova Scotia, James conferred upon Sir 
 William Alexahder probably the largest concession 
 ever granted to a subject. This was no less than 
 a free gift by charter of the whole of Canada, 
 including Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. At the 
 same time it was ordered that persons of approved 
 position, upon purchase of five thousand acres of 
 the land of the colony, for which the price was 
 set at ^^150, should be created hereditary Baronets 
 of Nova Scotia. For four years the enterprise rested 
 at this point; but in 1625 the grant was confirmed 
 by Charles I., whereupon Sir William, in support of 
 the undertaking, ■ issued a pamphlet entitled " An 
 Encouragement to Colonies," and the creation of the 
 new baronetcies began. 
 
 In 1626 Alexander was made Secretary of State 
 for Scotland, and other tokens of the royal con- 
 fidence rapidly followed. He was made Keeper, 
 of the Signet in 162 7^ and a Commissioner of 
 Exchequer in 1628, and, having been raised to the 
 peerage as Viscount Stirling and Baron Alexander. of 
 Tullibody in 1630, he was appointed one of the Extra- 
 ordinary Lords of Session in 1631. Finally, upon the 
 Scottish coronation of Charles in 1633, he was created 
 Earl of Stirling and Viscount Canada.* To these 
 titles was added that of Earl of Dovan in 1639. 
 
 * Upon that occasion Charles created one marquis, ten earls, 
 two viscounts, and eight barons. 
 
S/Ji WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 67 
 
 In February of the following year, 1640, while in 
 London prosecuting the business of his various offices, 
 the earl died, having seen the first beginnings of the 
 storm which was rising to overwhelm the throne, but 
 being spared a knowledge of the tragic end which 
 awaited his royal master.* 
 
 No career of the time, excepting, perhaps, that of 
 Sir Walter Raleigh or of Charles I. himself, presents 
 a picture of such brilliant endeavour combined 
 with such uniform misfortune as the career of the 
 Earl of Stirling. His reputation as a man suffered 
 very seriously from the circutnstances of his time. 
 Much has been said of his venality in the matter of 
 the Canadian concession ; but his impeachment ' on 
 this score must now be looked on chiefly as a result 
 of popular rancour. Similar concessions, if none so 
 large, were about that time made to several men of 
 enterprise who undertook to found colonies abroad, 
 and curiously enough, within recent years the iden- 
 tical method has once more been resorted to in the 
 concessions to the various companies engaged in 
 
 *Lockhart in his life of Scott, chap, ii., furnishes an interest- 
 ing footnote. On Sir Walter's copy of Recreations with the 
 Muses, his biographer, it appears, found the following MS. 
 note : — " Sir William Alexander, sixth Baron of Menstrie and 
 first Earl of Stirling, the friend of Drummond of Hawthornden 
 and Ben Jonson, died in 1640. His eldest son, William, Vis- 
 count Canada, died before his father, leaving one son and three 
 daughters by his wife. Lady Margaret Douglsis, eldest daughter 
 of William, first Marquis of Douglas. Margaret, the second of 
 these daughters, married Sir Robert Sinclair of Longformacus 
 in the Merse, to whom she bore two daughters, Anne and Jean. 
 Jean Sinclair, the younger daughter, married Sir John Swinton 
 of Swinton ; and Jean Swinton, her eldest daughter, was the 
 grandmother of the proprietor of this volume." 
 
68 SIJi WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 founding the British empire in Africa. It does not 
 appear that Alexander profited to any undue extent 
 by the Nova Scotia baronets' payments for grants 
 of land. In return for these he had probably to 
 bear the entire cost of the two expeditions which 
 were sent out to the colony, as well as the charges 
 of administration and of establishing the settlement 
 at Port Royal. He seems, indeed, rather to have 
 been out of pocket by the transaction, for when it 
 was found that by Charles First's ill-advised treaties 
 with the French not only the newly captured 
 Quebec, but the British colonists' headquarters at 
 Port Royal, as well as the lesser British settle- 
 ments, had to be, abandoned, the king, in name 
 of losses, made Alexander a gift of _;^io,ooo. 
 
 The loss of their lands, however, enraged the new- 
 made baronets, and this, with the failure of the 
 colony, which appears to have been mostly a Scottish 
 one, rendered Sir William most unpopular at home. 
 Other circumstances increased this feeling. He had 
 the misfortune to be Secretary of State during the 
 period of Charles's attempt to introduce the English 
 form of church government and church service into 
 Scotland, and he had in consequence upon this 
 account also, to bear the brunt of popular antipathy. 
 Everything he did was, in popular fashion, turned to 
 matter of personal obloquy. He was known to have 
 received a patent monopoly for thirty-one years of 
 printing King James' version of the Psalms in metre 
 — the version which the people, in the endeavour to 
 introduce the English liturgy, were enjoined to use. 
 
SIX WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 69 
 
 He was also, as Governor of Canada, licensed to issue 
 a small coin called a "turner," regarding which the 
 popular grievance was that the real value was consider- 
 ably less than the nominal — a peculiarity not then 
 considered just, though it is the characteristic of the 
 whole modern British coinage except gold. Accord- 
 ingly when, in 1632, to support his various dignities, 
 Alexander built himself a handsome town mansion on 
 the castle hill of Stirling, and inserted above the 
 doorway his family motto — ■" Per mare, per terras " — 
 that motto was parodied as " Per metre, per turners." 
 A report was also industriously spread that the grant 
 of ^10,000 made to Alexander by the king as a return 
 for his Canadian losses, was in reality a bribe to 
 betray the colony to the French ; and it can be 
 understood that the statesman's hardship was made 
 none the less by the fact that the grant was never 
 paid.* 
 
 Whatever were the merits of the case, it is probably 
 safe to say that when in July, 1637, Jenny Geddes 
 threw her stool at the Dean of Edinburgh's head in 
 St. Giles' Cathedral, there was no name more 
 execrated by the lips of the furious populace than 
 that of the unfortunate Secretary. 
 
 As a matter of fact. Lord Stirling appears to have 
 been a heavy loser by his public enterprises. Upon 
 his death his affairs were found to be insolvent, and 
 
 * The editor of Alexander's works states that in 1660 a 
 petition was presented to Charles II. by the Ladies Mary and 
 Jane Alexander for payment of this money. The petition was 
 graciously received, and handed to the Lord Chamberlain to 
 report upon, but apparently received no further attention. 
 
70 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 the mansion which had been the object of so much 
 spiteful reference passed into the possession of the 
 Argyle family. 
 
 Nor did the Earl's sacrifices and ill-fortune end with 
 loss of means. His eldest son, a young man of great 
 promise, who had married a daughter of the first 
 Marquis of Douglas, and had gone out as deputy 
 lieutenant to manage the affairs of Nova Scotia, lost 
 his health there, and died two years before his father. 
 Lord Stirling's infant grandson, who succeeded to the 
 honours of the earldom, enjoyed them only for a few 
 months ; and on the death of the fifth earl, a 
 descendant of the poet's younger son, Henry, in 
 1739, the title became dormant. 
 
 Two unsuccessful attempts have been made to 
 revive the honours, and upon the later occasion the 
 consequent trial, like the great Douglas Cause and 
 the Breadalbane Case, remains one of the famous 
 law-cases of the peerage. 
 
 The fullest account of the Earl of Stirling's life is 
 that prefixed to the Secretary's own Register of Royal 
 Letters, published for the Grampian Club in 1885 by 
 the Rev. Charles Rogers, LL.D. From this account, 
 as well as from the substance of the Earl's own 
 writings, it is to be gathered that, as the latest 
 editor of his poetry expresses it, far from cherishing 
 the tyrannical and time-serving principles popularly 
 attributed to him, " few men of his time held such 
 manly and independent theories of the duties of 
 sovereignty, or dared to express them so openly as 
 he ; and few men have shewn themselves possessed of 
 
' S/Ji WILLTAM ALEXANDER. 71 
 
 more practical ideas as to the method and working of 
 governments, shewing how they were to rule, and how 
 in their own turn they were to be ruled and watched 
 over, than the poet, philosopher, and statesman of 
 Menstrie." 
 
 Following his own collection of his works, the 
 Recreations with the Muses, published in 1637, the 
 earl's poems were twice reprinted in part — once, on 
 Addison's recommendation, by A. Johnston, in 1720, 
 and again, in Chalmers' heavy collection of British 
 poets, in 18 10. The first and only complete edition 
 was printed by Maurice Ogle & Co. in three volumes 
 at Glasgow, in 1870. This edition, howeVer, does not 
 include two poems, "The Comparison" and "The 
 Solsequium,'' printed in Ramsay's Evergreen, which 
 have been attributed to the earl. 
 
 Besides his recognized poetry, Alexander, in 161 3, 
 published a completion of the third part of Sir Philip 
 Sidney's Arcadia, which has been included in the 
 fourth and subsequent editions of that work. There 
 are also substantial grounds for believing that he was 
 himself author of the greater part of the version of 
 Psalms in metre attributed to King James. 
 
 But it is with the Earl's acknowledged and secular 
 poetry that we are here chiefly concerned. 
 
 It is true that the greater part of his longer poems, 
 notwithstanding the praise of Addison, cannot but be 
 considered as tedious by the modern reader. They 
 possess, however, certain claims to high credit which 
 must not be overlooked. Of his "Doomsday," or Day 
 of Judgement, it may be urged that a work of such 
 
72 SIX WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 huge moral scope could only be rendered readable by 
 genius of the very highest order. Nevertheless, the 
 varied knowledge, the power of reflection, and the 
 vigour of intellect which it displays have been pointed 
 out as entitling their possessor to no mean esteem, 
 and, a somewhat significant circumstance, the work 
 is said to have furnished Milton with the suggestion 
 of "Paradise Lost." Similar exception has been taken 
 to the " Monarchic Tragedies." Founded upon the 
 Greek model, these are philosophical poems rather 
 than dramas intended for performance. They exhibit 
 almost no action, the events with which they deal 
 being always narrated as occurring off the stage. 
 They present, however, a series of noble soliloquys" 
 and reflections, and almost every page sparkles with 
 some brilliant and sage aphorism. The scene between 
 Brutus and Portia in " Julius Caesar " may be cited as 
 an almost unsurpassed picture of an ideal conjugal 
 union, and the speech of Olympias before execution 
 in the " Alexandraean Tragedy" might almost have 
 been written by Christopher Marlowe. For their 
 shrewdness, dignity, and sense, no less than for their 
 frequent passages of poetic beauty, the " Monarchic 
 Tragedies" attracted universal admiration in their 
 time, and were praised by poets of repute like 
 Drummond, Drayton, and Daniel; while it has been 
 shown that even Shakespeare did not disdain to 
 borrow suggestions from them. 
 
 Alexander's best poem, however, is his "Paraenesis," 
 or exhortation, to Prince Henry, afterwards readdressed 
 to the prince who became Charles II. This contains 
 
sin WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 73 
 
 perhaps the finest extant directions for kingly rule. 
 Full of wise lessons derived from the successes 
 and mistakes of the rulers of the past, the poem 
 anticipates the highest modern ideas of kingship. 
 Alexander, for instance, has anticipated Tennyson in 
 teaching that the throne should be broad-based upon 
 the people's will — a very daring doctrine for the 
 seventeenth century ; and he has gone further than 
 Tennyson in indicating the means whereby this 
 foundation may be secured : — 
 
 Kings should excell all those whom they command 
 In all the parts which do command respect, &c. 
 
 Here, more, perhaps than in any other of his works, 
 shines the poet-statesman's wonderful tact when 
 treading upon delicate ground. What, for example 
 could be more courtly and yet sensible, under the 
 peculiar circumstances, in reference to a monarch like 
 James VI., than the advice to Prince Henry to adopt 
 as a kingly inodel his sire — not, however, in trivial 
 things, but only in those " matchless virtues which all 
 minds admire." It says much for the poet's power 
 of wisely gauging character that in this Parsenesis he 
 gave warning against exactly those mistakes which 
 within the half-century cost Charles I. his head and 
 James II. his throne. 
 
 " Aurora," though Alexander did not republish it, 
 remains its author's most charming poem. There 
 appears to have been a vogue, just then, of sonnets in 
 series, owing probably to the revived interest of the 
 time in Petrarch and the Italian poets. Shakespeare's 
 
74 SIJi WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 sonnets are an instance of this vogue; Alexander's 
 "Aurora" is another. The "Aurora" it is true, 
 contains- various forms of verse, but of the whole the 
 sonnets remain by far the finest part. The theme of 
 the series is the perennial one of love, and the sonnets 
 by themselves present a very complete epitome of a 
 lover's varying mood's and fortunes. 
 
 This poem by itself would entitle Alexander to a 
 high place among the courtly singers of his time, 
 whom it matches upon their own field of love. When 
 to this are added the graver qualities of his other 
 works, no doubt can remain of his claim, not only to 
 stand next to Drummond among the Scottish poets of 
 the century, but to rank among the foremost of the 
 second flight of English Jacobean singers. 
 
 An undue neglect has hitherto been Alexander's 
 fortune at the hands of literary appraisers. For this 
 the great extent of his writings is largely to blame, 
 hiding the grains of gold in an earthen bed. But 
 the insight, wisdom, and independent spirit, apart 
 from the frequent beauties of his work, must always 
 make even his longest poems worth perusal, and 
 among the monuments of his time and of Scotland a 
 niche of high honour of his qwn must remain to the 
 Earl of Stirling as distinctively the poet-counsellor 
 of kings. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM 
 "AURORA." 
 
 UNSPOKEN LOVE. 
 
 |NCE to debate my cause whilst I drew near. 
 My staggering tongue against me did con- 
 spire. 
 And whilst it should have charged it did retire — 
 
 A certain sign of love that was sincere. 
 
 I saw her heavenly virtues shine so clear 
 That I was forced for to conceal my fire, 
 And with respects even bridling my desire. 
 
 More than my life I held her honour dear, 
 
 And though I burned with all the flames of love, 
 Yet, frozen with a reverent kind of fears, 
 I durst not pour my passions in her ears, 
 
 Lest so I might the hope I had remove. 
 
 Thus love marred love, desire desire restrained; 
 
 Of mind to move a world, I dumb remained. 
 
76 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 INCONSTANT FORTUNE. 
 
 Sestinet. 
 
 Hard is my fortune, stormy is my state, 
 
 And as inconstant as the waving sea. 
 
 Whose course doth still depend upon the winds : 
 
 For lo, my life, in danger every hour, 
 
 And though even at the point for to be lost. 
 
 Can iind no comfort but a flying show. 
 
 And yet I take such pleasure in this show 
 That still I stand contented with my state, 
 Although that others think me to be lost. 
 And whilst I swim amidst a dangerous sea, 
 'Twixt fear and hope, are looking for the hour 
 When my last breath shall gUde amongst the winds. 
 
 Lo, to the seaman beaten with the winds 
 Sometimes the heavens a smiling face will show. 
 So that to rest himself he finds some hour; 
 But nought, ah mel can ever calm my state. 
 Who, with my tears as I would make a sea. 
 Am, flying Scylla, in Charybdis lost. 
 
 The pilot that was hkely to be lost. 
 
 When he hath 'scaped the furor of the winds 
 
 Doth straight forget the dangers of the sea ; 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." ^^ 
 
 But I, unhappy I, can never show 
 No kind of token of a quiet state, 
 And am tormented still from hour to hour. 
 
 O shall I never see that happy hour 
 
 When I, whose hopes once utterly were lost, 
 
 May find a means to re-erect my state, 
 
 And leave for to breathe forth such dolorous winds. 
 
 Whilst I myself in constancy do show 
 
 A rock against the waves amidst the sea. 
 
 As many waters make in end a sea. 
 
 As many minutes make in end an hour. 
 
 And still what went before th' effect doth show. 
 
 So all the labours that I long have lost, 
 
 As one that was but wrestling with the winds. 
 
 May once in end concur to bless my state. 
 
 And once my storm-stead state saved from the sea, 
 In spite of adverse winds, may in one hour. 
 Pay all my labours lost, at least in show. 
 
78 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 AN ARGUMENT. 
 
 I SWEAR, Aurora, by thy starry eyes. 
 
 And by those golden locks whose lock none slips, 
 And by the coral of thy rosy lips. 
 
 And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; 
 
 I swear by all the jewels of thy mind. 
 Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, 
 Thy solid judgment and thy generous thought, 
 
 Which in this darkened age have clearly shined; 
 
 I swear by those and by my spotless love, 
 And by my secret, yet most fervent fires. 
 That I have never nursed but chaste desires. 
 
 And such as modesty might well approve. 
 
 Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, 
 
 Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM ''AURORA." 79 
 
 BASE AND NOBLE THRALDOM. 
 
 The thoughts of those I cannot but disprove 
 
 Who, basely lost, their thraldom must bemoan; 
 
 I scorn to yield myself to such a one 
 Whose birth and virtue is not worth my love. 
 No, since it is my fortune to be thrall, 
 
 I must be fettered with a golden band; 
 And if I die, I'll die by Hector's hand. 
 So may the victor's fame excuse my fall; 
 And if by any means I must be blind. 
 
 Then it shall be by gazing on the sun. 
 
 Oft by those means the greatest have been won, 
 Who must like best of such a generous mind. 
 At least by this I have allowed of fame 
 Much honour if I win, if lose, no shame. 
 
So Sm WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 THE COST OF PRIDE. 
 
 O, IF thou knewest how thou thyself dost harm, 
 And dost prejudge thy bliss and spoil my rest, 
 Then thou wouldst melt the ice out of thy breast, 
 
 And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 
 
 O, if thy pride did not our joys control. 
 
 What world of loving wonders shouldst thou see ! 
 For if I saw thee once transformed in me, 
 
 Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul. 
 
 Then all thy thoughts should in my visage shine. 
 And if that ought mischanced thou shouldst not 
 
 moan. 
 Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone. 
 
 No, I would have my share in what were thine. 
 
 And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, 
 
 This happy harmony would make them none. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 8i 
 
 THE PAIN OF LOVING. 
 
 When I behold that face for which I pined 
 And did myself so long in vain annoy, 
 My tongue not able to unfold my joy, 
 
 A wond'ring silence only shows my mind. 
 
 But when again thou dost extend thy rigour, 
 And wilt not deign to grace me with thy sight. 
 Thou kill'st my comfort, and so spoil'st my might. 
 
 That scarce my corps retains the vital vigour. 
 
 Thy presence thus a great contentment brings. 
 And is my soul's inestimable treasure; 
 But O, I drown in th' ocean of displeasure 
 
 When I in absence think upon those things. 
 
 Thus would to God that I had seen thee never. 
 
 Or would to God that I might see thee ever ! 
 
82 S/Ji WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 THE SOVEREIGN GOOD. 
 
 O NOW I think, and do not think amiss, 
 That th' old philosophers were all but fools, 
 Who used such curious questions in their schools, 
 
 Yet could not apprehend the highest bliss. 
 
 Lo, I have learned in th' academe of love 
 A maxim which they never understood; 
 To love and be beloved, this is the good 
 
 Which for most sovereign all the world will prove. 
 
 That which delights us most must be our treasure, 
 And to what greater joy can one aspire 
 Than to possess all that he doth desire 
 
 Whilst two united souls do melt in pleasure? 
 
 This is the greatest good can be invented, 
 
 That is so great it cannot be augmented. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 83 
 
 ON HEARING OTHERS' MISTRESSES 
 PRAISED. 
 
 When whiles I hear some gallants to give forth 
 That those whom they adore are only fair, 
 With whom they think none other can compare, 
 
 The beauty of beauty and the height of worth; 
 
 Then jealousy doth all my joys controV 
 
 For O, I think, who can accomplished be — 
 There is no sun but one— save only she 
 
 Whom I have made the idol of my soul? 
 
 And this suspicion wounds my better parts ; 
 I rage to have a rival in my light, 
 And yet would rage far more if any might 
 
 Give her their eyes and yet hold back their hearts. 
 
 Too great affection doth those passions move, 
 
 I may not trust my shadow with my love. 
 
84 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 OF CONSTANCY. 
 
 Fear not, my fair, that ever any chance 
 So shake the resolutions of my mind 
 That, like Demophon, changing with the wind, 
 
 I thy fame's rent not labour to enhance. 
 
 The ring which thou in sign of favour gave 
 Shall from fine gold transform itself in glass; 
 The diamond, which then so solid was. 
 
 Soft like the wax, each image shall receive; 
 
 First shall each river turn unto the spring. 
 The tallest oak stand trembling like a reed. 
 Harts in the air, whales on the mountains feed, 
 
 And foul confusions seize on. everything. 
 
 Before that I begin to change in aught, 
 
 Or on another but bestow one thought. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 85 
 
 THE BURNING FIRE OF LOVE. 
 
 When as the sun doth drink up all the streams, 
 And with a fervent heat the flowers doth kill, 
 The shadow of a wood or of a hill 
 
 Doth serve us for a targe against his beams. 
 
 But ah, those eyes that burn me with desire, 
 And seek to parch the substance of my soul. 
 The ardour of their rays for to control 
 
 I wot not where myself for to retire. 
 
 'Twixt them and me, to have procured some ease, 
 I interposed the seas, woods, hills, and rivers. 
 And yet am of those never-emptied quivers 
 
 The object still, and burn, be where I please. 
 
 But of the cause I need not for to doubt — 
 
 Within my breast I bear the fire about. 
 
86 S/H WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 OF AN OLD SAYING. 
 
 Oft have I heard, which now I must deny, 
 That nought can last if that it be extreme ; 
 Times daily change, and we likewise in them; 
 
 Things out of sight do straight forgotten die. 
 
 There is nothing' more 'vehement than love, 
 
 And yet I burn, and burn still with one flame; 
 Times oft have changed, yet I remain the same; 
 
 Nought from my mind her image can remove. 
 
 The greatness of my love aspires to ruth ; 
 
 Time vows to crown my constancy in th' end, 
 And absence doth my fancies but extend. 
 
 Thus I perceive the poet spake the truth, 
 
 That who to see strange countries were inclined 
 
 Might change the air, but never change the mind. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 87 
 
 PARADOX. 
 
 I HOPE, I fear, resolved, and yet I doubt, 
 I'm cold as ice, and yet I burn as fire; 
 I wot not what, and yet I much desire. 
 
 And trembling too, am desperately stout. 
 
 Though melancholious wonders I devise. 
 
 And compass much, yet nothing can embrace. 
 And walk o'er all, yet stand still in one place. 
 
 And, bound on th' earth, do soar above the skies. 
 
 I beg for life, and yet I bray for death. 
 And have a mighty courage, yet despair. 
 I ever muse, yet am without all care. 
 
 And shout aloud, yet" never strain my breath. 
 
 I change as oft as any wind can do. 
 
 Yet for all this am ever constant too. 
 
SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 A REASON FOR SUFFERING. 
 
 The most refreshing waters come from rocks, 
 Some bitter roots oft send forth dainty flowers, 
 The growing greens are cherishfed with showers, 
 
 And pleasant stems spring from deformed stocks. 
 
 The hardest hills do feed the fairest flocks. 
 
 All greatest sweets were sugared first with sours, 
 The headless course of uncontrolled hours 
 
 To all difficulties a way unlocks. 
 
 I hope to have a heaven within thine arms, 
 
 And quiet calms when all these storms are past. 
 Which, coming unexpected at the last, 
 
 May bury in oblivion bygone harms. 
 
 To suffer first, to sorrow, sigh, and smart. 
 
 Endears the conquest of a cruel heart. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA: 
 
 AGAINST DELAY. 
 
 Ah, thou, my love, wilt lose thyself at last. 
 
 Who can to match thyself with none agree. 
 
 Thou ow'st thy father nephews, and to me 
 A.recompence for all my passions past. 
 Ah, why shouldst thou thy beauty's treasure waste, 
 
 Which will begin for to decay, I see? 
 
 Erst, Daphne did become a barren tree 
 Because she was not half so wise as chaste ; 
 And all the fairest things do soonest fade, 
 
 Which O, I fear, thou with repentance try; 
 
 The roses blasted are, the lilies die. 
 And all do languish in the summer's shade. 
 Yet will I grieve to see those flowers fall down 
 Which for my temples should have framed a crown. 
 
go SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 DEFECT OF LOVE. 
 
 Small comfort might my banished hopes recall, 
 
 ' When whiles my dainty fair I sighing see, 
 If I could think that one were shed for me 
 
 It were a guerdon great enough for all; 
 
 Or would she let one tear of pity fall, 
 
 That seemed dismissed from a remorseful eye, 
 I should content myself ungrieved to die. 
 
 And nothing might my constancy appall. 
 
 The only sound of that sweet word of love, 
 
 Pressed 'twixt those lips that do my doom contain^ 
 Were I embarked might bring me back again 
 
 From death to life, and make me breathe and move. 
 
 Strange cruelty, that never can afford 
 
 So much as once one sigh, one tear, one word. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 91 
 
 THE DEBT OF LOVE. 
 
 I WOT not which to challenge for my death, 
 Of those thy beauties, that my ruin seeks — 
 The pure white fingers, or the dainty cheeks, 
 
 The golden tresses, or the nectared breath. 
 
 Ah, they be all too guilty of my fall ; 
 
 All wounded me, though I their glory raised, 
 Although I grant they need not to be praised — 
 
 It may suffice they be Aurora's all. 
 
 Yet for all this, O most ungrateful woman, 
 
 Thou shalt not scape the scourge of just disdain, 
 I gave thee gifts thou shouldst have given again: 
 
 It's shame to be in thy inferiors common. 
 
 I gave all what I held most dear to thee. 
 
 Yet to this hour thou never guerdoned me. 
 
92 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 A PETITION. 
 
 Whilst careless swimming in thy beauty seas 
 I wond'ring was at that bewitching grace, 
 Thou painted pity on a cruel face, 
 
 And angled so my judgment by mine eyes ; 
 
 But now, begun to triumph in my scorn, 
 When I cannot retire my steps again, 
 Thou armst thine eyes with envy and disdain 
 
 To murther my abortive hopes half born. 
 
 Whilst, like to end this long continued strife, 
 My paleness shows I perish in despair, 
 Thou, loth to lose one that esteems thee fair, 
 
 With some sweet word or look prolongst my life. 
 
 And so each day in doubt redact'st my state. 
 
 Dear, do not so, once either love or hate? 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 93 
 
 BEAUTY AND WORTH. 
 
 To yield to those I cannot but disdain 
 
 Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts. ' 
 It is the beauty of the better parts 
 
 With which I mind my fancies for to chain. 
 
 Those that have nought wherewith men's minds to 
 gain 
 But only curled locks and wanton looks, 
 Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks, 
 
 Which may well take, but cannot well retain. 
 
 He that began to yield to th' outward grace, 
 And then the treasures of the mind doth prove. 
 He who, as 'twere, was with the mask in love, 
 
 What doth he think when as he sees the face? 
 
 No doubt, being limed by th' outward colours so. 
 
 That inward worth would never let him go. 
 
94 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 AWAKE ! 
 
 Awake, my Muse, and leave to dream of loves ! 
 
 Shake off soft fancy's chains ! I must be free. 
 
 I'll perch no more upon the myrtle tree. 
 Nor glide through th' air with beauty's sacred doves ; 
 But with love's stately bird I'll leave my nest. 
 
 And try my sight against Apollo's rays; 
 
 Then, if that aught my venturous course dismays, 
 Upon the olive's boughs I'll light and rest. 
 I'll tune my accents to a trumpet now. 
 
 And seek the laurel in another field. 
 
 Thus I that once, as beauty means did yield, 
 Did divers garments on my thoughts bestow, 
 Like Icarus, I fear, unwisely bold. 
 Am purposed others' passions now t' unfold. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS FROM "AURORA." 95 
 
 LOVE RESOLVED. 
 
 Farewell, sweet fancies, and once dear delights, 
 The treasures of my life, which made me prove 
 
 That unaccomplished joy that charmed the sprites, 
 And whilst by it I only seemed to move. 
 
 Did hold my ravished soul, big with desire, 
 
 That, tasting those, to greater did aspire. 
 
 Farewell, free thraldom, freedom that was thrall 
 
 While as I led a solitary life. 
 Yet never less alone, whilst, armed for all. 
 
 My thoughts were busied with an endless strife. 
 For then, not having bound myself to any, 
 I, being bound to none, was bound to many. 
 
 Great god, that tam'st the gods' old-witted child, 
 Whose temples breasts, whose altars are men's 
 hearts. 
 
 From my heart's fort thy legions are exiled, 
 
 And Hymen's torch hath burned out all thy darts ; 
 
 Since I in end have bound myself to one. 
 
 That by this means I may be bound to none. 
 
 Thou dainty goddess with the soft white skin, 
 To whom so many off'rings daily smoke, 
 
 Were beauty's process yet for to begin. 
 That sentence I would labour to revoke. 
 
 Which on Mount Ida, as thy smiles did charm, 
 
 The Phrygian shepherd gave to his own harm. 
 
96 SIJi WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 And if the question were referred to me, 
 On whom I woul(j bestow the ball of gold, 
 
 I fear me Venus should be last of three; 
 
 For with the Thunderer's sister I would hold, 
 
 Whose honest flames, pent in a lawful bounds. 
 
 No fear disturbs, nor yet no shame confounds. 
 
 I mind to speak no more of beauty's dove. , 
 The peacock is the bird whose fame I'll raise: 
 
 Not that I Argos need to watch my love, 
 But so his mistress Juno for to praise ; 
 
 And if I wish his eyes, then it shall be 
 
 That I with many eyes my love may see. 
 
 Then farewell crossing joys and joyful crosses ! 
 
 Most bitter sweets, and yet most sugared sours \ 
 Most hurtful gains, yet most commodious losses. 
 
 That made my years to flee away like hours. 
 And spent the springtime of mine age in vain, 
 Which now my summer must redeem again. 
 
 O welcome easy yoke ! sweet bondage, come ! 
 
 I seek not from thy toils for to be shielded. 
 But I am well content to be o'ercome, 
 
 Since that I must command when I have yielded. 
 Then here I quit both Cupid and his mother, 
 And do resign myself t' obtain another. 
 
A PARyENESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 97 
 
 A PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE 
 HENRY. 
 
 Lo here, brave youth, as zeal g,nd duty move, 
 I labour, though in vain, to find some gift 
 
 Both worthy of thy place, and of my love ; 
 But whilst myself above myself I lift. 
 
 And would the best of my inventions prove, 
 I stand to study what should be my drift; 
 
 Yet this the greatest approbation brings. 
 
 Still to a prince to Speak of princely things. 
 
 When 'those of the first age that erst did live 
 In shadowy woods, or in a humid cave, 
 
 And taking that which th' earth not forced did give, 
 Would only pay what nature's need did crave ; 
 
 Then beasts of breath such numbers did deprive, 
 That, following Amphion, they did deserts leave, 
 
 Who with sweet sounds did lead them by the ears, 
 
 Where mutual force might banish common fears. 
 
 Then building walls, they barbarous rites disdained, 
 
 The sweetness of society to find; 
 And to attain what unity maintained. 
 
 As peace, religion, and a virtuous mind, 
 
98 S/Ji WILLIAM ALEXANDER. - 
 
 That so they might have restless humours reined, 
 
 They straight with laws their liberty confined, 
 And of the better sort the best preferred, 
 To chastise them against the laws that erred. 
 
 I wot not if proud minds who first aspired 
 O'er many realms to make themselves a right; 
 
 Or if the world's disorders so required, 
 That then had put Astraea to the flight; 
 
 Or else if some whose virtues were admired, 
 And eminent in all the people's sight, 
 
 Did move peace-lovers first to rear a throne. 
 
 And give the keys of life and death to one. 
 
 That dignity, when first it did begin. 
 
 Did grace each province and each little town. 
 
 Forth, when she first doth from Benlomond run, 
 Is poor of waters, naked of renown. 
 
 But Carron, Allan, Teith, and Dovan in, i 
 
 Doth grow the greater still, the further down. 
 
 Till that, abounding both in power and fame. 
 
 She long doth strive to give the sea her name. 
 
 Even so those sovereignties which once were small. 
 Still swallowing up the nearest neighbouring state. 
 
 With a deluge of men did realms appall. 
 
 And thus th' Egyptian Pharoahs first grew great; 
 
 Thus did th' Assyrians make so many thrall. 
 Thus reared the Romans their imperial seat, 
 
 And thus all those great states to work have gone, 
 
 Whose limits and the world's were all but one. 
 
A PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 99 
 
 But I'll not plunge in such a stormy deep, 
 
 Which hath no bottom, nor can have no shore, 
 
 But in the dust will let those ashes sleep, 
 
 Which, clothed with purple, once th' earth did 
 adore ; 
 
 Of them scarce now a monument we keep. 
 
 Who, thundering terror, curbed the world before; 
 
 Their states, which by a number's ruin stood, 
 
 Were founded, and confounded both, with blood. 
 
 If I would call antiquity to mind, 
 
 I for an endless task might then prepare; 
 
 But what? ambition, that was ever blind. 
 
 Did get with toil that which was kept with care. 
 
 And those great states 'gainst which the world repined, 
 Had falls as famous as their risings rare,. 
 
 And in all ages it was ever seen. 
 
 What virtue raised, by vice hath ruined been. 
 
 Yet registers of memorable things 
 
 Would help, great Prince, to make thy judgment 
 sound. 
 Which to the eye a perfect mirror brings. 
 
 Where all should glass themselves who would be 
 crowned. ' 
 
 Read these rare parts that acted were by kings. 
 
 The strains heroic, and the end renowned; 
 Which, whilst thou in thy cabinet dost sit. 
 Are worthy to bewitch thy growing wit. 
 
100 S/Jl WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 And do not, do not thou the means omit, 
 
 Times matched with times, what they beget to spy, 
 
 Since history may lead thee unto it — 
 A pillar whereupon good sp'rits rely, 
 
 Of time the table, and the nurse of wit. 
 
 The square of reason, and the mind's clear eye. 
 
 Which leads the curious reader through huge harms. 
 
 Who stands secure whilst looking on alarms. 
 
 Nor is it good o'er brave men's lives to wander. 
 As one who at each corner stands amazed. 
 
 No, study like some one thyself to render. 
 Who to the height of glory hath been raised; 
 
 So Scipio, Cyrus, Caesar, Alexander, [praised. 
 
 And that great Prince choosed him whom Homer 
 
 Or make, as which is recent, and best known, 
 
 Thy father's life a pattern for thine own. 
 
 Yet, marking great men's lives, this much impairs 
 The profit which that benefit imparts. 
 
 While as, transported with preposterous cares. 
 To imitate but superficial parts. 
 
 Some for themselves frame of their fancies snares, 
 And shew what folly doth o'er-sway their hearts': 
 
 For counterfeited things do stains embrace. 
 
 And all that is affected, hath no grace. 
 
 Of outward things who, shallow wits, take hold, 
 Do shew by that they can no higher win. 
 
 So, to resemble Hercules of old, 
 
 Mark Antony would bear the lion's skin; 
 
A PARJENESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. loi 
 
 A brave Athenian's son, as some have told, 
 
 Would such a course, though to his scorn, begin. 
 And bent, to seem look like his father dead. 
 Would make himself to lisp, and bow his head. 
 
 They who would rightly follow such as those, 
 Must of the better parts apply the powers, 
 
 As the industrious bee advis'dly goes. 
 
 To seize upon the best, shun baser flowers. 
 
 So, where thou dost the greatest worth disclose. 
 To compass that, be prodigal of hours. 
 
 Seek not to seem, but be. Who be, seem too. 
 
 Do carelessly, and yet have care to do. 
 
 Thou to resemble thy renowned sire, [things, 
 
 Must not, though some there were, mark trivial 
 
 But matchless virtues, which all minds admire. 
 Whose treasure to his realms great comfort brings. 
 
 That to attain, thou race of kings ! aspire. 
 Which for thy fame may furnish airy wings ; 
 
 And like to eaglets thus thou prov'st thy kind. 
 
 When both like him in body and in mind. 
 
 Ah, be not those most miserable souls. 
 
 Their judgments to refine who never strive, 
 
 Nor will not look upon the learned scrolls, 
 Which without practice do experience give; 
 
 But, whilst base sloth each better care controls. 
 Are dead in ignorance, entombed alive? 
 
 'Twixt beasts and such the difference is but small — 
 
 They use not reason, beasts have none at all. 
 
102 S//i WILL/AM ALEXANDER. 
 
 O heavenly treasure which the best sort loves, 
 Life of the soul, reformer of the will. 
 
 Clear light which from the mind each cloud removes, 
 Pure spring of virtue, physic for each ill, 
 
 Which in prosperity a bridle proves, 
 And in adversity a pillar still ! 
 
 Of thee the more men get, the more they crave. 
 
 And think, the more they get, the less they have. 
 
 But if that knowledge be required of all. 
 What should they do this treasure to obtain. 
 
 Whom in a throne time travels to install, 
 Where they by it of all things must ordain? 
 
 If it make them, who by their birth were thrall. 
 As Uttle kings, whilst o'er themselves they reign. 
 
 Then it must make, when it hath throughly graced them. 
 
 Kings more than kings, and like to him who placed 
 them. 
 
 This is a grief which all the world bemoans. 
 
 When those lack judgment who are born to judge. 
 
 And, like to painted tombs or gilded stones. 
 To troubled souls cannot afford refuge. 
 
 Kings are their kingdoms' hearts, which, tainted once, 
 The bodies straight corrupt in which they lodge; 
 
 And those by whose example many fall 
 
 Are guilty of the murder of them all. 
 
 The means which best make majesty to stand 
 Are laws observed, whilst practice doth direct : 
 
 The crown the head, the sceptre decks the hand, 
 But only knowledge doth the thoughts erect. 
 
A PARALNESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 103 
 
 Kings should excel all them whom they command, 
 
 In all the parts which do procure respect; 
 And this a way to what they would, prepares, 
 Not only as thought good, but as known theirs. 
 
 Seek not due reverence only to procure 
 
 With shows of sovereignty and guards oft lewd ; 
 
 So Nero did, yet could not so assure 
 The hated diadem, with blood embrued: 
 
 Nor as the Persian kings, who lived obscure, 
 And of their subjects rarely would be viewed ; 
 
 So one of them was secretly o'er-thrown, 
 
 And in his place the murderer reigned unknown. 
 
 No, only goodness doth beget regard, 
 
 And equity doth greatest glory win; 
 To plague for vice, and virtue to reward, 
 
 What they intend, that, bravely, to begin : 
 This is to sovereignty a powerful guard, 
 
 And makes a prince's praise o'er all come in : 
 Whose life, his subjects law, cleared by his • deeds. 
 More than Justinian's toils, good order breeds. 
 
 All those who o'er unbaptized nations reigned. 
 By barbarous customs sought to foster fear. 
 
 And with a thousand tyrannies constrained 
 
 All them whom they subdued their yoke to bear; 
 
 But those whom great Jehovah hath ordained 
 Above the Christians lawful thrones to rear. 
 
 Must seek by worth to be obeyed for love. 
 
 So, having reigned below, to reign above. 
 
104 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 O happy Henry, who art highly bom, 
 
 Yet beautifi'st thy birth with signs of worth. 
 
 And, though a child, all childish toys dost scorn. 
 To shew the world thy virtues budding forth. 
 
 Which may by time this glorious isle adorn, 
 And bring eternal trophies to the north. 
 
 While as thou dost thy father's forces lead, 
 
 And art the hand, whileas he is the head. 
 
 Thou, like that gallant thunder-bolt of war. 
 
 Third Edward's son, who was so much renowned, 
 
 Shalt shine in valour as the morning star, 
 
 And plenish with thy praise the peopled round. 
 
 But like to his, let nought thy fortune mar. 
 Who in his father's time did die uncrowned ! 
 
 Long live thy sire, so all the world desires, 
 
 But longer thou, so Nature's course requires. 
 
 And, though time once thee by thy birth-right owes 
 Those sacred honours which men most esteem. 
 
 Yet flatter not thyself with those fair shows 
 Which often-times are not such as they seem. 
 
 Whose burdenous weight, the bearer but o'er-throws. 
 That could before of no such danger deem : 
 
 Then if not, armed in time, thou make thee strong, 
 
 Thou dost thyself and many a thousand wrong. 
 
 Since thou must manage such a mighty state. 
 Which hath no borders but the seas and skies, 
 
 Then, even as he who justly was called great 
 Did, prodigal of pains where fame might rise. 
 
A PARMNESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 105 
 
 With both the parts of worth in worth grow great, 
 
 As learned as valiant, and as stout as wise. 
 So now let Aristotle lay the ground, 
 Whereon thou after may thy greatness found. 
 
 For if, transported with a base repose. 
 
 Thou did'st, as thou dost not, misspend thy prime, 
 O what a fair occasion would'st thou lose. 
 
 Which after would thee grieve, though out of time ! 
 To virtuous courses now thy thoughts dispose, 
 
 While fancies are not glued with pleasure's lime. 
 Those who their youth to suchhke pains engage. 
 Do gain great ease unto their perfect age. 
 
 Magnanimous now, with heroic parts, 
 
 Shew to the world what thou dost aim to be. 
 
 The more to print in all the people's hearts 
 
 That which thou would'st they should expect of 
 
 That so, preoccupied with such deserts, [thee; 
 
 They after may applaud the heavens' decree 
 
 When that day comes, which, if it comes too soon, 
 
 Then thou and all this isle would be undone. 
 
 And otherwise what trouble should'st thou find, 
 If first not seized of all thy subjects love, 
 
 To ply all humours till thy worth have shined. 
 That even most malcontents must it approve 5 
 
 For else a number would suspend their mind. 
 As doubting what thou afterwards might'st prove, 
 
 And when a state's affections thus are cold. 
 
 Of that advantage foreigners take hold. 
 
I06 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 I grant in this thy fortune to be good, 
 That art t' inherit such a glorious crown — 
 
 As one descended from that sacred blood, 
 
 Which oft hath filled the world with true renown. 
 
 The which still on the top of glory stood, 
 
 And not so much as once seemed to look down — 
 
 For who thy branches to remembrance brings, 
 
 Count what he list, he cannot count but kings. 
 
 And pardon me, for I must pause a while. 
 
 And at a thing of right to be admired. [isle. 
 
 Since those from whom thou cam'st reigned in this 
 Lo, now of years even thousands are expired. 
 
 Yet none could there them thrall, nor thence exile. 
 Nor ever failed the line so much desired : 
 
 The hundred and seventh parent living free, 
 
 A never-conquered crown may leave to thee. 
 
 Nor hath this only happened as by chance; 
 
 Of alterations then there had been some. 
 But that brave race which still did worth enhance. 
 
 Would so presage the thing that was to come, 
 That this united Isle should once advance, 
 
 And, by the Lion led, all realms o'er-come. 
 For if it kept a little free before. 
 Now, having much, no doubt it must do more. - 
 
 And though our , nations long, I must confess. 
 Did roughly woo before that they could wed. 
 
 That but endears the union we possess, 
 
 Whom Neptune both combines within one bed. 
 
A PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 107 
 
 All ancient injuries this doth redress, 
 
 And buries that which many a battle bred: 
 Brave discords reconciled, if wrath expire, 
 Do breed the greatest love, and most entire. 
 
 Of England's Mary had it been the chance 
 To make King Philip father of a son, 
 
 The Spaniard's high designs so to advance. 
 All Albion's beauties had been quite o'er-run. 
 
 Or yet if Scotland's Mary had heired France, 
 Our bondage then had by degrees begun : 
 
 Of which, if that a stranger hold a part. 
 
 To take the other that would means impart. 
 
 Thus from two dangers we were twice preserved 
 When as we seemed without recovery lost. 
 
 As from their freedom those who freely swerved. 
 And suffered strangers of our bounds to boast. 
 
 Yet were we for this happy time reserved. 
 And, but to hold it dear, a little crossed, 
 
 That of the Stewarts the illustrious race 
 
 Might, like their minds, a monarchy embrace. 
 
 Of that blest progeny, the wellknown worth 
 Hath of the people a conceit procured. 
 
 That from the race it never can go forth, 
 But, long hereditary, is well assured. 
 
 Thus, son of that great monarch of the north. 
 They to obey are happily inured, 
 
 O'er whom thou art expected once to reign. 
 
 To have good ancestors one much doth gain. 
 
io8 S//1 WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 He who by tyranny his throne doth rear, 
 
 And dispossess another of his right, 
 Whose panting heart dare never trust his care, 
 
 Since still made odibus in the people's sight. 
 Whilst he both hath, and gives, great cause of fear, 
 
 Is, spoiling all, at last spoiled of the light. 
 And those who are descended of his blood, 
 Ere that they be believed, must long be good. 
 
 Yet though we see it is an easy thing 
 For such a one his state still to maintain. 
 
 Who, by his birthright born to be a king. 
 
 Doth with the country's love the crown obtain. 
 
 The same doth many to confusion bring. 
 
 Whilst, for that cause, they care not how they reign. 
 
 O never throne established was so sure. 
 
 Whose fall a vicious prince might not procure. 
 
 Thus do a number to destruction run. 
 
 And so did Tarquin once abuse his place. 
 
 Who for the filthy life he had begun, 
 
 Was barred from Rome, and ruined all his race; 
 
 So he whose father of no king was son. 
 Was father to no king, but, in disgrace 
 
 From Sicily banished by the people's hate. 
 
 Did die at Corinth in an abject state 
 
 And as that monarch merits endless praise 
 Who by his virtue doth a state acquire, 
 
 So all the world with scornful eyes may gaze 
 On their degener'd stems, which might aspire, 
 
A PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 109 
 
 As having greater power, their power to raise, 
 
 Yet of their race the ruin do conspire, 
 And for their wrong-spent life with shame do end. 
 Kings chastised once, are not allowed t' amend. 
 
 Those who, reposing on their princely name. 
 Can never give themselves to care for ought. 
 
 But for their pleasures everything would frame. 
 As all were made for them, and they for nought, 
 
 Once th' earth their bodies, men will spoil their fame, 
 Though, whilst they live, all for their ease be 
 wrought ; 
 
 And those conceits on which they do depend 
 
 Do but betray their fortunes in the end. 
 
 This self-conceit doth so the judgment choke. 
 That when with some aught well succeeds through it, 
 
 They on the same with great affection look, 
 And scorn th' advice of others to admit. 
 
 Thus did brave Charles, the last Burgundian duke, 
 Dear buy a battle purchased by his wit; 
 
 By which in him such confidence was bred, 
 
 That blind presumption to confusion led. 
 
 O sacred council, quintessence of souls. 
 
 Strength of the commonwealth, which chains the 
 
 And every danger, ere it come, controls, [fates, 
 
 The anchor of great realms, staff of all states ! 
 
 O sure foundation which no tempest fouls, 
 On which are builded the most glorious seats ! 
 
 If ought with those succeed who scorn thy care. 
 
 It comes by chance, and draws them in a snare. 
 
no SIJi WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 Thrice happy is that king, who hath the grace 
 To choose a council whereon to rely, 
 
 Which loves his person, and respects his place, 
 And, like to Aristides, can cast by 
 
 All private grudge, and public cares embrace, 
 Whom no ambition nor base thoughts do tie — 
 
 And that they be not, to betray their seats, 
 
 The partial pensioners of foreign states. 
 
 None should but those of that grave number boast, 
 Whose lives have long with many virtues shined. 
 
 As Rome respected the Patricians most. 
 Use nobles first, if to true worth inclined ; 
 
 Yet so, that unto others seem not lost 
 
 All hopes to rise; for else, high hopes resigned. 
 
 Industrious virtue in her course would tire. 
 
 If not expecting honour for her hire. 
 
 But such as those a prince should most eschew, 
 
 Who dignities do curiously affect; 
 A public charge those who too much pursue 
 
 Seem to have some particular respect. 
 All should be godly, prudent, secret, true. 
 
 Of whom a king his council should elect; 
 And he, whilst they advise of zeal and love, 
 Should not the number, but the best approve. 
 
 A great discretion is required to know 
 What way to weigh opinions in his mind; 
 
 But ah ! this doth the judgment oft o'er-throw. 
 When whilst he comes within himself confined. 
 
A PARyiiNESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. iii 
 
 And of the senate would but make a show, 
 
 So to confirm that which he hath designed — 
 As one who only hath whereon to rest 
 For councillors, his thoughts, their seat his breast.. 
 
 But what avails a senate in this sort. 
 
 Whose power within the capital is pent — 
 
 A blast of breath which doth for nought import, 
 But mocks the world with a not acted intent? 
 
 Those are the councils which great states support. 
 Which never are made known but by the event: 
 
 Not those where wise men matters do propose, 
 
 And fools thereafter as they please dispose. 
 
 Nor is this all which ought to be desired 
 In this assembly, since the kingdom's soul. 
 
 That, with a knowledge more than rare inspired, 
 A commonwealth, like Plato's, in a scroll 
 
 They can paint forth; but means are, too, acquired 
 Disorder's torrent freely to control. 
 
 And, arming with authority their lines, 
 
 To act with justice that which wit designs. 
 
 Great empress of this universal frame, 
 
 The Atlas on whose shoulders states are stayed. 
 
 Who sway'st the reins which all the world do tame. 
 And mak'st men good by force, with red arrayed! 
 
 Disorder's enemy, virgin without blame. 
 
 Within whose balance good and bad are weighed, 
 
 O ! sovereign of all virtues, without thee 
 
 Nor peace nor war can entertained be ! 
 
112 SIJi WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 Thou from confusion all things hast redeemed. 
 
 The meeting of Amphictyons had been vain, 
 And all those senates which were most esteemed, 
 
 Were 't not by thee their councils crowned remain; 
 And all those laws had but dead letters seemed, 
 
 Which Solon, or Lycurgus, did ordain, 
 Were 't not thy sword made all alike to die, 
 And not the weak, while as the strong 'scaped by. 
 
 O not without great cause all th' ancients did 
 Paint magistrates placed to explain the laws. 
 
 Not having hands, so bribery to forbid, 
 
 Which them from doing right too oft withdraws; 
 
 And with a veil the judges' eyes were hid. 
 Who should not see the party, but the cause. 
 
 God's deputies, which his tribunal rear. 
 
 Should have a patent, not a partial ear. 
 
 An lack of justice hath huge evils begun. 
 Which by no means could be repaired again; 
 
 The famous sire of that most famous son. 
 From whom, while as he sleeping did remain. 
 
 One did appeal, till that his sleep was done. 
 And whom a widow did discharge to reign 
 
 Because he had not time plaints to attend. 
 
 Did lose his life for such a fault in th' end. 
 
 This justice is the virtue most divine 
 
 Which like the King of kings shews kings inclined, 
 Whose sure foundations nought can undermine. 
 
 If once within a constant breast confined : 
 
W PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 113 
 
 For otherwise she cannot clearly shine, 
 
 While as the magistrate oft changing mind 
 Is oft too swift, and sometimes slow to strike. 
 As led by private ends, not still alike. 
 
 Use mercy freely, justice as constrained ; 
 
 This must be done, although that be more dear. 
 And oft the form may make the deed disdained, 
 
 Whilst justice tastes of tyranny too near. 
 One may be justly, yet in rage arraigned, 
 
 Whilst reason ruled by passions doth appear : 
 Once Socrates, because o'ercome with ire. 
 Did from correcting one, till calmed, retire. 
 
 Those who want means their anger to assuage, 
 Do oft themselves, or others, rob of breath. 
 
 Fierce Valentinian, surfeiting in rage. 
 
 By bursting of a vein did bleed to death ; 
 
 And Theodosus, still but then, thought sage. 
 
 Caused murder thousands, whilst quite drunk with 
 
 Who, to prevent the like opprobrious crime, [wrath. 
 
 Made still suspend his edicts for a time. 
 
 Of virtuous kings all the actions do proceed 
 Forth from the spring of a paternal love, 
 
 To cherish, or correct, as realms have need; 
 For which he more than for himself doth move. 
 
 Who, many a million's ease that way to breed, 
 Makes sometime some his indignation prove, 
 
 And like to Codrus, would even death embrace. 
 
 If for the country's good and people's peace. 
 
114 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 This lady, that so long unarmed hath strayed, 
 Now holds the balance, and doth draw the sword, 
 
 And never was more gloriously arrayed. 
 Nor in short time did greater gcfod afford; 
 
 The state which to confusion seemed betrayed, 
 And could of nought but blood and wrongs record, 
 
 Lo! freed from trouble and intestine rage, 
 
 Doth boast yet to restore the golden age. 
 
 Thus doth thy father, generous prince, prepare 
 A way for thee to gain immortal fame. 
 
 And lays the grounds of greatness with such care. 
 That thou may'st build great works upon the same ; 
 
 Then since thou art to have a field so fair, 
 Whereas thou once mayst eternize thy name, 
 
 Begin, whileas a greater light thine smothers. 
 
 And learn to rule thyself ere thou rul'st others. 
 
 For still true magnanimity, we find, 
 
 Doth harbour early in a generous breast; 
 
 To match Miltiades, whose glory shined, 
 Themistocles, a child, was robbed of rest ; 
 
 Yet strive to be a monarch of thy mind. 
 For as to dare great things all else detest; 
 
 A generous emulation spurs the sp'rit, 
 
 Ambition doth abuse the courage quite. 
 
 Whilst of illustrious lives thou look'st the story, 
 Abhor those tyrants which still swimmed in blood, 
 
 And follow those who, to their endless glory. 
 High in their subjects' love by virtue stood; 
 
A PARMNESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 115 
 
 O ! be like him who on a time was sorry 
 
 Because that whilst he chanced to do no good 
 There but one day had happened to expire : 
 He was the world's delight, the heaven's desire. 
 
 But as by mildness some great states do gain, 
 By lenity some lose that which they have. 
 
 England's sixth Henry could not live and reign, ^ 
 But, being simple, did huge foils receive : 
 
 Brave Scipio's army mutinied in Spain, 
 
 And, by his meekness bold, their charge did leave. 
 
 O ! to the state it brings great profit oft. 
 
 To be sometimes severe, and never soft. 
 
 To guide his coursers warily through the sky. 
 Erst Phoebus did his phaeton require, 
 
 Since from the middle way if swerving by. 
 
 The heavens would burn or the earth would be on 
 
 So doth 'twixt two extremes each virtue lie [fire. 
 To which the purest sp'rits ought to aspire; 
 
 He lives most sure who no extreme doth touch, 
 
 Nought would too little be, nor yet too much. 
 
 Some kings whom all men did in hatred hold. 
 With avaricious thoughts whose breasts were torn, 
 
 Too basely given to feast their eyes with gold, 
 Used ill and abject means, which brave minds scorn ; 
 
 Such whilst they only seek, no vice controlled. 
 How they may best their treasuries adorn. 
 
 Are, though like Croesus richj whilst wealth them 
 
 Yet still as poor as Irus in their minds. [blinds. 
 
Ii6 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 And some again, as foolish fancies move, 
 Who praise preposterous fondly do pursue, 
 
 Not liberal, no, but prodigal do prove, 
 
 Then, whilst their treasures they exhausted view, 
 
 With subsidies do lose their subject's love. 
 
 And spoil whole realms, though but t' enrich a few, 
 
 Whilst with authority their pride they cloak. 
 
 Who ougjit to die by smoke for selling smoke. 
 
 But O ! the prince most loathed in evei-y land 
 Is one all given to lust; who hardly can 
 
 Free from some great mishap a long time stand ; 
 For all the world his deeds with hatred scan. 
 
 Should he who hath the honour to command 
 The noblest creature, great God's image— man. 
 
 Be to the vilest vice the basest slave, 
 
 The body's plague, soul's death, and honour's grave? 
 
 That beastly monster who, retired a part. 
 Amongst his concubines began to spin, 
 
 Took with the habit too a woman's heart 
 And ended that which Ninus did begin. 
 
 Faint-hearted Xerxes, who did gifts impart 
 To them who could devise new ways to sin. 
 
 Though backed with worlds of men, straight took 
 the flight, 
 
 And had not courage but to see them fight. ' 
 
 Thus doth soft pleasure but abase the mind. 
 And making one to servile thoughts descend. 
 
 Doth make the body weak, the judgment blind — 
 An hateful life, an ignominious end ; 
 
A PARy€.NESlS TO PRINCE HENRY. Ij7 
 
 Where those who did this raging tyrant bind 
 
 With virtue's chains, their triumphs to attend, 
 Have by that means a greater glory gained 
 Than all the victories which they attained. 
 
 The valorous Persian who not once but gazed 
 On fair Panthea's face to ease his toils. 
 
 His glory, by that continency, raised 
 
 More than by Babylon's and Lydia's spoils; 
 
 The Macedonian monarch was more praised 
 Than for triumphing o'er so many soils. 
 
 That of his greatest foe, though beauteous seen. 
 
 He chastely entertained the captive queen. 
 
 Thus have still-gazed-at monarchs much ado 
 Who, all the world's disorders to redress. 
 
 Should shine like to the sun, the which still, lo ! 
 The more it mounts aloft, doth seem the less ; 
 
 They should with confidence go freely to, 
 
 And, trusting to their worth, their will express; 
 
 Not like French Louis th' Eleventh, who did maintain 
 
 That who could not dissemble could not reign. 
 
 But still, to guard their state,- the strongest bar 
 And surest refuge in each dangerous storm 
 
 Is to • be found a gallant man of war. 
 With heart that dare attempt, hands to perform. 
 
 Not that they venture should their state too far, 
 And to each soldier's course their course conform; 
 
 The skilful pilots at the rudder sit. 
 
 Let others use their strength, and them their wit. 
 
Ii8 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 In Mars his mysteries to gain renown 
 
 It gives kings glc5ry, and assures their place; 
 
 It breeds them a respect among'st their own, 
 And makes their neighbours fear to lose their grace; 
 
 Still all those should, who love to keep their crown, 
 In peace prepare for war, in war for peace : 
 
 For as all fear a prince who dare attempt, 
 
 The want of courage brings one in contempt. 
 
 And, royal oif-spring, who mayst high aspire, 
 As one to whom thy birth high hopes assigned, 
 
 This well becomes the courage of thy sire, 
 Who trains thee up according to thy kind; 
 
 He, though the world his prosperous reign admite. 
 In which his subjects such a comfort find. 
 
 Hath, if the bloody art moved to embrace. 
 
 That wit then to make war, which now keeps peace. 
 
 And O ! how this, dear prince, the people charms. 
 Who flock about thee oft in ravished bands — 
 
 To see thee young, yet manage so thine arms. 
 Have a mercurial mind and martial hands. 
 
 This exercise thy tender courage warms; 
 
 And s,till true greatness but by virtue stands]; 
 
 Agesilaus said no king could be 
 
 More great, unless more virtuous than he. 
 
 And though that all of thee great things expect. 
 Thou, as too little, mak'st their hopes ashamed. 
 
 As he who on Olympus did detect 
 
 The famous Theban's foot, his body framed, 
 
A PARAiNESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 119 
 
 By thy beginnings so we may collect 
 
 How great thy worth by time may be proclaimed. 
 For who thy actions doth remark, may see 
 That there be many Caesars within thee. 
 
 Though every state by long experience finds" 
 That greatest blessings prospering peace imparts, 
 
 As which all subjects to good order binds. 
 Yet breeds this isle, still populous in all parts. 
 
 Such vigorous bodies and such restless minds, 
 That they disdain to use mechanic arts. 
 
 And, being haughty, cannot live in rest. 
 
 Yea, such, when idle, are a dangerous pest. 
 
 A prudent Roman told in some few hours 
 To Rome's estate what danger did redound 
 
 Then, when they razed the Carthaginian towers. 
 By which, while as they stood, still means were found 
 
 With others' harms to exercise their powers ; 
 The want whereof their greatness did confound. 
 
 For when no more with foreign foes embroiled. 
 
 Straight by intestine wars the state was spoiled. 
 
 No, since this soil, which with great sp'rits abounds. 
 Can hardly nurse her nurslings all in peace, 
 
 Then let us keep her bosom free from wounds. 
 And spend our fury in some foreign place. 
 
 There is no wall can limit now our bounds. 
 
 But all the world will need walls in short space 
 
 To keep our troops from seizing on new thrones. 
 
 The marble chair must pass the ocean once. 
 
I20 . S//i WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 What fury o'er my judgment doth prevail? 
 
 Methinks I see all th' earth glance with our arms, 
 And groaning Neptune charged with many a sail; 
 
 I hear the thundering trumpet sound th' alarms, 
 Whilst all the neighbouring nations do look pale, 
 
 Such sudden fear each panting heart disarms, 
 To see those martial minds together gone, 
 The lion and the leopard in one. 
 
 I, Henry, hope with this mine eyes ,to feed. 
 
 Whilst, ere thou wear'st a crown, thou wear'st a 
 shield. 
 
 And when thou, making thousands once to bleed 
 That dare behold thy count'nance and not yield, 
 
 Stirr'st through the bloody dust a foaming steed. 
 An interested witness in the field, 
 
 I may amongst those bands thy grace attend, 
 
 And be thy Homer when the wars do end. 
 
 But stay, where fliest thou, Muse, so far astray? 
 
 And whilst affection doth thy course command, 
 Dar'st thus above thy reach attempt a way 
 
 To court the heir' of Albion's warlike land, 
 Who gotten hath, his generous thoughts to sway, 
 
 A royal gift out of a royal hand, 
 And hath before his eyes that type of worth. 
 That star of state, that pole which guides the north. 
 
 Yet o'er thy father, lo, such is thy fate. 
 
 Thou hast this vantage which may profit thee— 
 
 An orphaned infant, settled in his seat, 
 He greater than himself could never see, 
 
A PAR^NESIS TO PRINCE HENRY. 121 
 
 Where thou may'st learn by him the art of state, 
 
 And by another what thyself should'st be, 
 Whilst that which he had only but heard told, 
 In all his course thou practised may'st behold. 
 
 And this advantage long may'st thou retain, 
 
 By which to make thee blest the heavens conspire, 
 
 And labour of his worth to make thy gain. 
 To whose perfections thou may'st once aspire ; 
 
 When as thou shew'st thyself, whilst thou dost reign, 
 A son held worthy of so great a sire. 
 
 And with his sceptres and the people's hearts. 
 
 Dost still inherit his heroic parts. 
 
SIX WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 OLYMPIAS 
 BEFORE EXECUTION.* 
 
 Can I be she whom all the world admired 
 As the most happy queen that reigned below, 
 Whom all the planets have to plague conspired, 
 Of fickle fortune's course the power to shew ? 
 No, no, not I, for what could me control 
 Or force me thus t' attend another's will. 
 Since I despise the prison of my soul 
 Where it disdains t' abide in bondage still? 
 Ah ! whilst vain pomp transported fancies fed. 
 The jealous gods my state to grudge did tempt- 
 
 *Upon the, death by poison of Alexander the Great at 
 Babylon, his captains divided the conquered provinces among 
 themselves, and decided to rule as regents, awaiting the birth of 
 Alexander's expected heir. Presently, however, moved by 
 personal ambition; these captains plotted against and overthrew 
 each other. In this struggle Olympias, the mother of Alexander, 
 took an active part, endeavouring to hold Macedonia itself for 
 her son's child by his queen Rbxana. In the course of her 
 campaign she put to death her husband Philip's natural son 
 Arideus and his queen Eurydice, who had pretended to the 
 crown. Having, however, by this and some other cruelties, 
 lost the favour of the people, she was, a little later, captured by 
 Cassander, one of the rival captains and her son's poisoner, and 
 was put to death. Cassander next caused Roxana and her son to 
 be murdered, and also, soon afterwards, Hercules, Alexander's 
 natural son. By this series of crimes he set himself at last on 
 his master's throne. The Alexandrcean Tragedy is framed upon 
 these incidents. 
 
OLYMPIAS BEFORE EXECUTION. 123 
 
 My state which envy once, and reverence, bred. 
 
 Though now it breed but pity and contempt. 
 
 Olympias once high as Olympus stood. 
 
 The wife of Philip, Alexander's mother. 
 
 Who matched Alcides' and Achilles' blood 
 
 To breed a man more worth than both together. 
 
 Am I the woman whose majestic state 
 
 Seemed once so happy to deceived conceits? 
 
 I, I am she, and never yet more great 
 
 Than at this present, even in spite of fates. 
 
 A double bondage long did burden me, 
 
 I to myself, myself to fortune thrall ; 
 
 But now captivity hath set me free, 
 
 Who could not rise till first I had a fall. 
 
 A sp'rit, whilst it prosperity benumbs, 
 
 Scarce like the self can to the world appear. 
 
 But then, when virtue every cross o'ercomes, 
 
 True greatness shines most bright in glory's sphere. 
 
 Our treasure, now I see, consists no more 
 
 Without ourselves, in th' eye-betraying shows. 
 
 But in the breast's inestimable store, 
 
 Which neither time entombs nor power o'erthrows. 
 
 never were my thoughts enlarged till now 
 To mark myself, and quintessence my mind; 
 For, long, a prey tq pride, I know not how, 
 A mist of fancies made myi judgment blind. 
 
 As those who dream sweet dreams, whilst wak'st at last, 
 Do find their error when their eyes find light. 
 Free from the slumb'ring of my fortune past, 
 
 1 now arise to judge of all things right. 
 
 That cloud of pomp whose smoke me shadowed once, 
 
124 SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 Lo, now removed, unmasks my life too late, 
 And now I see that sceptres, crowns, and thrones 
 Are burdenous badges of a dangerous state. 
 O happy woman, of true pleasure sure. 
 Who in the country leads a guiltless life, 
 From fortune's reach retired, obscure, secure, 
 Though not a queen, yet a contented wife ! 
 Thy mate, more dear to thee than is the light. 
 Though low in state, loves in a high degree. 
 And with his presence still to bless thy sight, 
 Doth scorn great courts whilst he lives courting thee. 
 And as thou wound'st him not with hid disgrace. 
 He with no jealous thought doth rack thy breast : 
 Thus both lie down to rest, and rise in peace; 
 Then, if they strive, they strive who should love best. 
 What though thou have not, as the mighty ones, 
 Thy neck surcharged with chains — Ah, chains 
 
 indeed ! — 
 Nor ears weighed down with oriental stones. 
 Nor robes whose worth may admiration breed; 
 So want'st thou that which we have ever had. 
 Sad miscontentments, jealousy, and spite. 
 And though thy back be not with purple clad 
 Thy thoughts are decked with innocencies white. 
 As birds whose cage of gold the sight deceives, 
 Do seem to sing whilst they do wail their state, 
 So, with the mighty matched, made glorious slaves. 
 We happy seem, whilst we but curse our fate. 
 That bliss whose show in us vain eyes doth please. 
 Makes thee indeed with pleasure spend thy breath, 
 Who liv'st, while young, in mirth, while aged, in ease. 
 
OLYMPIAS BEFORE EXECUTION. 125 
 
 And know'st not what it is to die till death. 
 
 Ah! since I lived -I always did but die, 
 
 When seeming happy, then most wretched still. 
 
 Whilst dazzling with vain pomp each vulgar eye. 
 
 What strange mishaps did me with anguish fill ! 
 
 The fates with fortune from my birth conspired 
 
 To make my life a pa/ttern of their might ; 
 
 For both my parents from the world retired 
 
 When I had scarcely looked upon the light. 
 
 The world may judge how I was justly grieved 
 
 Whilst angry Philip sought for my disgrace — 
 
 A thing which once I scarce could have believed — 
 
 And unto Cleopatra gave my place. 
 
 Then though I long, as desperate of relief, 
 
 For his pffence afflicted had my mind. 
 
 Yet did his sudden death augment my grief — 
 
 He was my husband, though he was unkind. 
 
 And when my son's rare deeds, which fame doth 
 
 sound. 
 The world with wonder, ravished me with joy. 
 Those, as himself, wlfo would all his confound. 
 To compass me did spite and power employ. 
 Yet stood my courage when my fortune fell. 
 And still I toiled to persecute his foes. 
 That some might fall down who too much did swell. 
 Their blood in marble regist'ring my woes. 
 That which I purposed, long so prospered too. 
 That some of them did try, by torments strange. 
 All what a woman's just disdain could do 
 Whilst spurred by jealousy, spite, and revenge. 
 But this arch-traitor, ruler of the rest, 
 
126 S//i WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 Who thirsts to drink the blood of all our race, 
 
 Even then, with us when all succeeded best. 
 
 Did compass me with ruin and disgrace. 
 
 Such was the tenor of my fortune past, 
 
 Whose least mishap had made another burst; 
 
 First orphaned, widowed, and unchilded last, 
 
 A daughter, wife, and mother all accurst. 
 
 Heavens plague Cassander ! Let that base wretch try 
 
 That Jove his judgment but a while defers; 
 
 And let his wife bewail as well as I — 
 
 I murdered for my son, and she by hers. 
 
 Even as th' incestuous Theban's monstrous brood. 
 
 So may thy sons contend with mutual wounds. 
 
 And never let thy house be free from blood 
 
 Till banished quite from this usurped bounds. 
 
 Thus, notwithstanding of my wonted power. 
 
 To me, save wishes, nothing doth remain ; 
 
 But though condemned to die, yet, at this hour, 
 
 Should I begin to curse and to complain? 
 
 No, no, that custom best becomes poor souls 
 
 Whose resolution cannot climb more high; 
 
 But I, whose courage that base course controls. 
 
 Must triumph still, whatever state I try. 
 
 Death is the port where all may refuge find. 
 
 The end of labour, entry unto rest. 
 
 Death hath the bounds of misery confined, 
 
 Whose sanctuary shrouds affliction best. 
 
 To suffer, oft, with a courageous heart, 
 
 It doth deserve more praise than deeds most known ; 
 
 For in our actions fortune hath some part, 
 
 But in our sufferings all things are our own. 
 
OLYMPIAS BEFORE EXECUTION. 127 
 
 Lo, now I loath the world and worldly things, 
 Of which I both have proved the best and worst. 
 The apprehended death great comfort brings, 
 And hath no cross but that it should be forced. . 
 O hear me now, dear son, if that thy ghost 
 May leave th' Elysian fields to look on me — 
 Of all things else this doth content me most, 
 That from this time I may remain with thee. 
 And blush not now to see thy mother's end; 
 My death in glory with thy life shall strive; 
 It, as a captive, fortune shall attend. 
 That, as thy fellow, followed thee alive. 
 
128 S/J^ WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 BRUTUS AND PORTIA. 
 
 The Tragedy of Julius C^sar — Act in., Scehe 2. 
 
 Brut. My dearest half, my comfort, my delight. 
 Of whom one smile may sweeten all my sours. 
 Thou in my bosom used to pour thy sp'rit. 
 And where I was didst spare affliction's powers. 
 When broils domestic did disturb thy rest, 
 Then still, till finding, feigning some relief. 
 Thou with calm words disguised a stormy breast, 
 Joys frankly sharing, and engrossing grief. 
 Still tend'ring me with a respective care. 
 What might offend was by no means made known. 
 But — with love's colours all things painted fair — 
 What might have made me glad was gladly shown. 
 How com'st thou then thy courage thus to lose. 
 That thou canst look so sad, and in my sight? 
 Lend me, dear love, a portion of thy woes ! 
 A burden when divided doth grow light. 
 I see the roses fading in thy face. 
 The lilies languish, violets take their place. 
 
 For. Thou hast, dear lord, prevented my design. 
 Which was to ask of thee what makes me pale. 
 If Phoebus had no light could Phoebe shine? 
 No, with the cause of force th' effects must fail. 
 The mirror but gives back as it receives 
 By just resemblance the objected form, 
 And what impression the engraver leaves 
 
BRUTUS AND PORTIA. 129 
 
 The wax retains, still to the st-amp conform. 
 
 I am the mirror which reflects thy mind, 
 
 As forced from thoughts, or flowing from thine eyes; 
 
 I take the state in which thy state I find; 
 
 Such is my colour as thy count'nance dyes. 
 
 Then how can I rejoice whilst thou art sad, 
 
 Whose breast of all thy crosses is the scroll? 
 
 I am still as thou art, if grieved or glad. 
 
 Thy body's shadow, th' essence of thy soul. 
 
 On that great planet which divides the years 
 
 Of fields inferior as the fruit depend, 
 
 And as it vanish doth, or pleased appears. 
 
 In th' earth's cold bosom life begins or ends ; 
 
 Sun of my soul, so I subsist by thee. 
 
 Whose shining virtue leads me as a thrall ; 
 
 From care-bred clouds if that thy face be free 
 
 I rise in joys, but if thou faint I fall. 
 
 Brut. With all my course this- count'nance best 
 accords. 
 Who, as you know; yet never from my birth 
 Light gestures used, nor did delight in words 
 Whose pleasant strains were only tuned to mirth. 
 My melancholy nature feeds on cares. 
 Whilst smothered sorrow by a habit smokes. 
 A thoughtful breast, when burdened with affairs, 
 Doth make a silent mouth and speaking looks. 
 As for my paleness, it imports but good; 
 The body's humbling doth exalt the mind. 
 When fatness, come from food, but serves for food; 
 In fattest bodies leanest sp'rits we find. 
 Ah ! since I saw the abhorred Thessalia's bounds 
 
 K V 
 
130 SIJ! WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 All drenched with hlood of senators and kings, 
 As if my soul yet smarted in their wounds, 
 A secret sorrow oftentimes me stings. 
 But since thy father, braving- pain with blows. 
 In the most hideous form affronted death. 
 To him my mind a sad remembrance owes, 
 Which sorrow shall exact whilst I have breath. 
 Yet grieve I that I gave thee cause of grief. 
 Who thoughtst some new mishap did me dismay; 
 To such old sores one worst can give relief. 
 But time in end may wear my woes away. 
 
 For. Why shouldst.thou so from me thy thoughts 
 conceal ? — 
 Prom thine own soul between whose breasts thou 
 
 sleep'st, 
 To whom, though shown, thou dost them not reveal, 
 But in thyself more inwardly them keep'st? 
 And thou canst hardly hide thyself from me, 
 Who soon in thee each alteration spy. 
 I can comment on all that comes from thee; 
 True love still looks with a suspicious eye. 
 Within our bosom rests not every thought 
 Tuned by a sympathy of mutual love ? 
 Thou marr'st the music if thou change in ought. 
 Which, when distempered, I do quickly prove. 
 Soul of ray soul, unfold what is amiss ! 
 Some great disaster all my thoughts divine. 
 Whose curiousness may be excused in this, 
 ■Since it concerns thy state and therefore mine. 
 
 Brut. I wonder that thou dost thy frailty show! 
 By nature women have been curious still. 
 
BRUTUS ANJb PORTIA. ijr 
 
 And yet till now thou never craved to know 
 More than I pleased to speak of my free will. 
 Nought save the wife a man within the walls, 
 Nor ought save him without she should embrace, 
 And it not comely is, but th' one enthralls, 
 When any sex usurps another's place. 
 Dear, to their wonted course thy cares inure : 
 I may have matters which import the state. 
 Whose opening up might my disgrace procure, 
 Whose weight for female thoughts would be too great. 
 For. I was not, Brutus, matched with thee to be 
 A partner only of thy board and bed : 
 
 Each servile w in these might equal me. 
 
 Who but for pleasure or for wealth did wed. 
 
 No, Portia spoused thee minding to remain 
 
 Thy fortune's partner, whether good or ill. 
 
 By love's strict bonds, whilst mutual duties chain, 
 
 Two breasts must hold one heart, two souls one will. 
 
 Those whom just Hymen voluntar'ly binds 
 
 Betwixt them should communicate all things. 
 
 But chiefly that which most doth move the minds. 
 
 Whence either pleasure or displeasure springs. 
 
 If thus thou seek thy sorrows to conceal 
 
 Through a disdain or a mistrust of me, 
 
 Then to the world what way can I reveal 
 
 How great a matter I would do for thee? 
 
 And though our sex too talkative be deemed, 
 
 As those whose tongues import our greatest powers. 
 
 For secrets still bad treasurers esteemed, 
 
 Of others greedy, prodigal of ours; 
 
 Good education may reform defects. 
 
132 S//1 WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 And this may lead me to a virtuous life — 
 Whilst such rare patterns generous worth respects; 
 I Cato's daughter am, and Brutus' wife. 
 Yet would I not repose my trust in ought, 
 Still thinking that thy cross was great to bear, 
 Till I my courage to a trial brought. 
 Which suffering for thy cause can nothing fear. 
 For first to try how that I could comport 
 With stern affliction's sp'rit-enfeebling blows. 
 Ere I would seek to vex thee in this sort. 
 To whom my soul a duteous reverence owes, 
 Lo, here a wound which makes me not to smart : 
 No, I rejoice that thus my strength is known; 
 Since thy distress strikes keeper in my heart 
 Thy grief, life's joy, makes me neglect mine own. 
 Brut. Thou must, dear love,' that which thou 
 sought'st receive. 
 Thy heart so high a sail in storms still bears 
 That thy great courage doth' reserve to have 
 Our enterprise entrusted to thine ears. 
 This magnanimity prevails so far 
 That it my resolution must control. 
 And of my bosom doth the depths unbar 
 To lodge thee in the centre of my soul. 
 Thou seest in what estate the state now stands. 
 Of whose strong pillars Csesar spoiled the best. 
 Whilst, by his own, preventing others' hands, 
 Our famous father fell amongst the rest. 
 That proud usurper fondly doth presume 
 To re-erect detested Tarquin's throne. 
 Thus the world's mistress, all-commanding Rome, 
 
BRUTUS AND PORTIA. 133 
 
 Must entertain no minion now but one. 
 
 All those brave minds who mark where he doth tend, 
 
 Swell with disdain their country's scorn to see; 
 
 And I am one of those who soon intend, 
 
 His death or mine procured, to be made free. 
 
 Por. And without me canst thou resolve so soon 
 To try the danger of a doubtful strife ? 
 As if despaired, and always but undone, 
 Of me grown weary ; weary of thy life ! 
 Yet since thou thus thy rash design hast shown, 
 Leave Portia's portion, venture not her part, 
 Endanger nought but that which is thine own : — 
 Go where thou lik'st, I will hold still thy heart. 
 But lest by holding of thy best part back 
 The other, perished, aggravate my groans — 
 Who would be so thought guilty of thy wrack? — 
 Take all thy treasure to the seas at once. 
 Like Asia's monarch's wife, who with short hairs. 
 Sad signs of bondage, passed still where he passed, 
 To wear away or bear away thy cares 
 I'll follow, thee and of thy fortune taste. [brued. 
 These hands, which were with mine own blood im- 
 To strike another may more strength afford. 
 At least, when thou by th' enemies art pursued, 
 I'll set myself betwixt thee and each sword. 
 But if too great a privilege I claim, 
 Whose actions all should be disposed by thee. 
 Ah ! pardon, Brutus, and but only blame 
 This stream of passions that transported me. 
 
 Brut. Thou ask'st what thou shouldst give. 
 Forgive, dear mate, 
 
134 S/H WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 This venturous course of mine, which must have place 
 Though it make fortune tyrant of our state, 
 Whose fickle footsteps virtue grieves to trace. 
 Arid wonder not though thus to thee I prove, 
 Since private duties now all power have lost; 
 I weigh not glory, profit, pleasure, love, 
 . Nor what respect may now import me most. 
 So to the land of which I hold my life 
 I may perform that work which I intend, 
 Let me be called unkind unto my wife; 
 Yea, worst of all, ingrate unto, my friend. 
 As an instinct by nature makes us know, 
 There are degrees of duty to be passed, 
 Of which the first unto the gods we owe. 
 The next t' our country, to our friends the last. 
 From Rome of old proud tyrants bent to drive. 
 Did th' author of my race, with ardent zeal. 
 Make those to die whom he had made to live. 
 And spoiled hitnself to raise the commonweal. 
 To settle that which Csesar now o'erthrows, 
 Though, virtue's nursery, stately whilst it stood. 
 He, with the tyrant interchanging blows. 
 On glory's altar offered fame his blood. 
 And did that man, to cross the common foe, 
 Then damn his sons to death, and with dry eyes? 
 And is his special heir degenered so 
 In abject bondage that he basely lies? 
 No, his posterity his name not stains. 
 But even to tread his steps doth fast draw near i 
 Yet of his sp'rit in us some spark remains, 
 Who more than life our liberty hold dear. 
 
BRUTUS AND PORTIA. 13S 
 
 For. Then prosecute thy course; for I protest, 
 Though with some grief, my soul the same approves. 
 This resolution doth become thy breast 
 In honour's sphere, where heavenly virtue moves. 
 And do this enterprise no more defer ; , 
 What thee contents, to me contentment brings. 
 I to my life thy safety do prefer, 
 But hold thy honour dear above all things. 
 It would but let the world my weakness see 
 If I sought my delights, not thy desires. 
 Though grief it give, and threaten death to me, 
 Go, follow forth that which thy fame requires. 
 Though nature, sex, and education breed 
 No power in me with such a purpose even, 
 I must lend help to this intended deed 
 If vows and prayers may penetrate the heaven. 
 But dif35culties huge my fancy finds : 
 Nought save the success can defray my fear. 
 Ah ! fortune always frowns on worthy minds, 
 As hating all who trust in ought save her. 
 Yet I despair not but thou may'st prevail, 
 And by this course, to ease my present groans, 
 I this advantage have which cannot fail — 
 I'll be a freeman's wife, or else be none's. 
 For, if all prosper not as we pretend, 
 And that the heavens Rome's bondage do decree. 
 Straight with thy liberty my life shall end, 
 WTio have no comfort but what comes from thee. 
 My father hath me taught what way to die, 
 By which, if hindered from encount'ring death. 
 Some other means I, though more strange, must try; 
 
136 S/H WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
 
 For, after Brutus, none shall see me breathe. 
 
 Brut. Thou for my cause all others erst did'st leave, 
 But now forsak'st thyself to join with me. 
 O'er generous love no power weak passions have ; 
 Against thy mind thou dost with mine agree. 
 I'll, since by thee approved, securely go 
 And vilipend the dangers of this life. 
 Heavens make my enterprise to prosper so 
 That I may once prove worthy such a wife! 
 But ah ! of all thy words those grieve me most 
 Which brag me with the dating of thy days ! 
 What though I in so good a cause were lost? 
 None flies the fate which stablished for him stays. 
 Do not defraud the world of thy rare worth, 
 But of thy Brutus the remembrance love ; 
 From this fair prison strive not to break forth 
 Till first the fates have forced thee to remove. 
 
 For. The heavens I fear have our confusion sworn, 
 Since this ill age can with no good accord. 
 Thou and my father, ah ! should have been born 
 When virtue was advanced and vice abhorred. 
 Then, ere the hght of virtue was declined. 
 Your worth had reverenced been, not thrown away, 
 Where now ye both have but in darkness shined 
 As stars of night, that had been suns by day. 
 
 Brut. My treasure, strive to pacify thy breast, 
 Lest sorrows but sinistrously presage 
 That which thou would'st not wish. And hope the best. 
 Though virtue now must act on fortune's stage. 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 With one exception the Scottish poets of mark of 
 the Jacobean period were something more than simply 
 men of letters. Courtiers, statesmen, or, as in the 
 case of the later Montrose, soldiers, the main interests 
 of their lives lay in the world of action, and poetry 
 was with them either the solace of hours of retirement 
 or the outcome of experience gained in active life. 
 William Drummond, alone of them all, can be said to 
 have lived a life devoted to the art of poetry. To 
 this circumstance may possibly, to some extent, be 
 attributed the fact that of all the Scottish poets of 
 that time he, without question, holds the highest place. 
 Hawthornden estate lies on the banks of the North 
 Esk, near Lasswade, about seven miles from Edin- 
 burgh. The mansion-house, a picturesque mass of 
 ancient roofs and gables, rises among its trees high on 
 the cliff edge overhanging the stream. The more 
 modern part of the house was built by the poet him- 
 self, but the rest, ivy-mantled now, and ruinous, is 
 believed to be at least six hundred years old. Under 
 its foundations, hewn in the solid rock of the cliff-face. 
 
140 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 are caves said to have been places of refuge of Scottish 
 patriots during the wars of Bruce and David II. Not 
 far distant, on the other side of the rocky glen, stands 
 Roslin Castle, the ruined stronghold of the St. Clairs, 
 and Roslin Chapel, perhaps the richest gem of ancient 
 ecclesiastical architecture in the country, with, on the 
 moor above them, the scene where in one day, about 
 the year 1299, three English armies were defeated in 
 succession by Sir John Comyn and Sir Simon Fraser. 
 These surroundings, with the romantic chasm of the 
 Esk itself, and the river brawling down its bed far 
 below, make Hawthornden to the present hour exactly 
 such a spot as might stir the imaginings of a poet. 
 
 Here on December 13, 1585, William Drummond 
 was born. His father, John Drummond, the first 
 Drummond of Hawthornden, was second son of Sir 
 Robert Drummond of Carnock in Stirlingshire, head 
 of a branch of the Drummonds, barons of Stobhall in 
 Perthshire, one of whose daughters was mother of 
 James I. The poet's mother was Susannah Fowler, 
 sister of William Fowler, a person of some literary 
 attainment, who afterwards became private secretary 
 to the queen. John Drummond probably met her at 
 the Scottish court, where he himself presently became 
 gentleman-usher to the king, and obtained the honour 
 of knighthood. Eldest of a family of seven, William 
 Drummond was educated at the High School and at 
 the University of Edinburgh, taking his degree in 
 1605. As he did not intend to push his fortunes 
 at court, like the many young Scotsmen who followed 
 James VI. to England, and as he did not mean to 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 141 
 
 enter the church, the only profession for which 
 Edinburgh University could then qualify, he was 
 sent to Paris and Bourges to study law. By the 
 death of his father, however, in 16 10, he became 
 master of independent means, and forthwith, giving 
 up all thought of pursuing a career for which he had 
 little liking, he retired to Hawthornden. That 
 romantic spot was thenceforth his home ; to its situ- 
 ation and surroundings he probably owed much of 
 what he presently became ; and by his residence there 
 he made it — what is now its chief claim to regard — a 
 shrine of poetic and literary memories. 
 
 After this retirement to Hawthornden the poet's 
 life appears to have been for most part that of the 
 quiet country gentleman. His library in 1610 con- 
 tained 267 Latin books, 35 Greek, 11 Hebrew, 61 
 Italian, 8 Spanish, 120 French, and 50 English. A 
 large part of these he appears to have himself read in 
 the original, and he added judiciously to their number, 
 till in 1627 he was able to make a gift to the library 
 of his beloved Alma Mater of 500 choice volumes — 
 a collection which still remains one of the most valued 
 treasures of Edinburgh University. 
 
 From the sequestered retreat at Hawthornden 
 Drummond first attracted literary notice after the 
 death of Prince Henry. Upon that sad event, which 
 occurred in 161 2, he, like many others of his time, 
 composed an elegy — Tearesfor the Death of Mceliades. 
 This was the name which the young heir of the crown 
 had been accustomed to assume in his sports and 
 masquerades. The elegy, pubhshed by Andro Hart 
 
142 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 at Edinburgh, went through three editions within a 
 year, and led to Drummond's life-long friendship with 
 Sir William Alexander, then at the height of his 
 reputation. 
 
 Notwithstanding the success of this little piece, 
 nothing further from Drummond's pen appeared till 
 1616. In the intervening period had happened what 
 from its consequences must be considered the great 
 event of the poet's life. He had fallen in love, and had 
 wooed, won, and sadly lost the object of his affections. 
 The lady was a daughter of Cunningham of Barns, in 
 Fife. Her Christian name has not come down to us, 
 and nearly all that is known of the affair is given in 
 four lines by Bishop Sage, the writer of the biography 
 prefixed to the edition of Drummond's works of 1711. 
 The poet, it appears, was successful in his suit, 
 receiving a warm return of his affections, " but when 
 the day for the marriage was appointed, and all things 
 ready for the .solemnization of it, the young lady took 
 a fever, and was suddenly snatched away by it, to his 
 great grief and sorrow." 
 
 This experience, with the wakening of feeling and the 
 tearing of heart-strings which it involved, did more 
 than anything else in his life to stir and exalt the 
 genius of the poet. Its effect was both deep and 
 lasting, and its immediate result was most valuable 
 to literature. In the flush of his hopes as a lover 
 he had written a number of poems — songs, sonnets, 
 and madrigals — descriptive of his passion ; and under 
 the cloud of his despair he shut himself up at 
 Hawthornden, and, brooding on his grief, pro- 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 143 
 
 duced another series recording his later emotions. 
 The whole collection he published in 1616, the year 
 of Shakespeare's death, under the title of Poems, 
 Amorous, Funerall, Divine, Pastorall. Between the 
 lines of this volume the reader can decipher the story 
 of the poet's love and loss. 
 
 In May of the following year King James paid his 
 first visit to Scotland since ascending the English 
 throne. Universal rejoicing and much panegyric, 
 written and spoken, marked the occasion. But apart 
 from its political issues the event is now chiefly 
 remembered by the poem written on it by Drummond. 
 This production. Forth Feasting, A Panegyric to the 
 King's Most Excellent Majesty, apparently brought 
 no mark of approbation, and no reward, from James 
 himself J but it definitely fixed attention on the new 
 poet, whose reputation had been gradually growing in 
 London. First the veteran Michael Drayton opened 
 correspondence with him in most cordial terms ^ then 
 — the event in Drummond's life which has appealed 
 most to popular fancy — Ben Jonson, the autocrat of 
 literary London at that time, on his great walking 
 tour to the country of his own ancestors, paid a visit 
 to the poet's home. 
 
 This visit probably occurred about Christmas in 
 1 6 18, and tradition runs that Drummond, expecting 
 his guest, was sitting under the ancient sycamore 
 which still stands in front of the house, when down 
 the avenue from the high road trudged the burly 
 figure of Jonson. Drummond, it is said, stepped 
 forward with the words "Welcome, welcome, royal 
 
144 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Ben !" To which Jonson replied, "Thank ye, thank 
 ye, Hawthornden." Whereupon the two laughed, 
 turned into the house, and sealed their friendship 
 with the good cheer there waiting. 
 
 While Jonson stayed with him, Drummond kept a 
 note of some of the great man's sayings, chiefly gossip 
 and criticism regarding his contemporaries. A frag- 
 ment of this MS., printed in the 17 ii edition of 
 Drummond's works, has furnished foundation for an 
 attack by GifTord, Jonson's biographer, upon his 
 hero's Scottish host, Drummond being accused of 
 malignity, playing the spy, and the like. The entire 
 MS., however, has been more recently discovered, 
 and was published in the Transactions of the Society 
 of Scottish Antiquaries (iv. 241) ; and the summing 
 up of the whole question, now possible, appears to 
 be that, while Drummond was perhaps unwise in 
 letting it remain on record that the burly and some- 
 what rough and gross personality of Jonson grated 
 upon his own more delicate and refined nature, he 
 has said nothing in his few lines of summary 
 regarding his guest which was not evidently true, 
 while, as for the record of Ben Jonson's own remarks 
 on contemporaries, we can only wish we had more 
 of it* 
 
 For several years after this visit Drummond lived' 
 an uneventful life at Hawthornden, his melancholy 
 for the loss of his mistress, as well as a serious illness 
 which carried him to the gates of death, turning his 
 
 * It was reserved for a later Johnson to be chronicled on his 
 Scottish tour with the painstaking minuteness of a Boswell. 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 145 
 
 muse more and more into a religious vein. Of these 
 years. the poetic fruits appeared in 1623. That was a 
 year of gloom and fear in Scotland. Famine lay on 
 the country, and a large part of the population was 
 cut down. Strange lights too — blazing stars, fire- 
 flaughts, and flaming dragons — seen in the heavens 
 seemed to forebode disaster. God, in the opinion of 
 many, was about to punish the wickedness of men — 
 to visit with His wrath such enormities, for instance, 
 as the king's recent introduction of Episcopacy to 
 Scotland, and the proposed Spanish marriage of 
 Prince Charles. In these circumstances the appear- 
 ance of Drummond's Flowers of Sion, together with 
 his grave and beautiful prose essay. The Cypress 
 Grove, both dealing chiefly with death and the vanity 
 of human life, must have touched a sympathetic chord 
 in the national temper of the time. 
 
 With this publication Drummond's poetical career 
 may be said to have closed. He did not cease to 
 write verse, but what he wrote was slight of purpose, 
 and all that was published during his life, excepting, 
 indeed, an Entertainment, or set of speeches, written 
 for King Charles's coronation visit to Edinburgh in 
 1633, was a commendatory sonnet, or occasional set 
 of lines written once iri a while to introduce the 
 publications of friends. 
 
 Of the last twenty-six years of the poet's life it is 
 only necessary here to sum the facts. After 1623 his 
 chief connection with poetry appears to have been in 
 correspondence with friends like Sir Robert Ker and 
 Michael Drayton. A visit which he is supposed to 
 
146 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 have paid to the continent was probably cut short by 
 the war with France in 1626 ; and in all likelihood it 
 was this experience, aided perhaps by a suggestion 
 from the fertile brain of his friend Sir William 
 Alexander, which turned his mind to the prospecting 
 of various engines of war. For a variety of these, 
 at anyrate — carbines, bayonets, ship's logs, telescopes, 
 and a perpetual-motion machine — he obtained a 
 patent that autumn. In 1627 he made his gift to 
 the library of Edinburgh University ; and in 1632 he 
 married. The lady, Elizabeth Logan, was, according 
 to one tradition, daughter of the parish minister of 
 Eddlestone, about ten miles south of Hawthornden, 
 but in the family papers she. is stated to have been 
 sister to James Logan of Mountlothian, and grand- 
 daughter to Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig, famous 
 through his connection with the Gowrie conspiracy. 
 Drummond was attracted to her, it is said, by her 
 close resemblance to his early mistress. He became 
 by her the father of five sons and four daughters. 
 
 About the same time occurred the scandal regard- 
 ing the suppressed earldom of Stratherne. It was a' 
 long story, involving questions of the legitimacy of 
 the children of Robert II., and seeming in these 
 troublous times to threaten some danger to the 
 throne. Regarding the difficulty, Drummond, by 
 way of warning, addressed to Charles a paper entitled 
 Considerations to the King. Possibly this production 
 was, like the patent for military engines, owed to 
 the suggestion of Drummond's friend. Lord Stirling, 
 but pamphlet and patent together mark the be- 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 147 
 
 ginning of the poet's interest in the political affairs 
 of his time. In the following year, when Charles 
 came northward for his coronation, Drummond wrote 
 his Entertainment for the royal reception in Edin- 
 burgh. Neither his addresses to royalty, however, 
 nor his merit as a poet ever brought him any recog- 
 nition at the hands of the king. 
 
 Near the same period, stimulated by a corres- 
 pondence with the Earl of Perth, representative of 
 the ancient house of Stobhall, and therefore head 
 of the name of Drummond, the poet began his 
 History of the Lives and Reigns of the Five Jameses, 
 Kings of Scotland, a work which was finished about 
 1644, and was published in 1655, after its author's 
 death. 
 
 But with the coronation visit of Charles to Scotland 
 the real troubles of the country had begun, and from 
 that time forth Drummond became more and more 
 engrossed in political events. To protect himself and 
 his property he signed the National Covenant of 
 1638 ; but his sympathies were upon the side of the 
 court, and, in the royalist interest, among various 
 squibs and epigrams, he wrote and circulated several 
 tracts. The chief of these were Irene (Peace), or a 
 Remonstrance for Concord, Amity, and Love amongst 
 His Majesty s Subjects, and SKia/Mx'" ( Shadowfighting), 
 or a Defence of a Petition tendered to the Lords of the 
 Council of Scotland by certain Noblemen and Gentle- 
 men. The former of these was an endeavour to 
 advocate moderation on both sides at the first signing 
 of the Covenant against the king; the second, of 
 
148 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 later date, in 1643, was chiefly a denunciation of 
 the irksome domination of the Presbyterian clergy in 
 all affairs, public and private, of Scotland at that time. 
 
 The great civil war was by this time raging between 
 the king and the parliament in England. Marston 
 Moor was fought in July, 1644, and Charles received 
 his final defeat at Naseby in June, 1645. Between 
 these dates the Marquis of Montrose effected his 
 brilliant series of victories in Scotland. After the 
 crowning triumph of the royalist general at Kilsyth, 
 Drummond, who was a personal friend, hastened to 
 send him congratulations, and, in return, received his 
 protection; and one of the last acts of Montrose 
 before leaving the country at the final command of 
 Charles was the courtly and gracious one of sending 
 the old poet a letter of kindly thanks and farewell. 
 
 Later, in 1648, when King Charles lay a prisoner 
 at Carisbrooke in the Isle of Wight, and a new 
 attempt to rescue him, made by the "Engagers," 
 was rekindling the flames of war, Drummond again 
 took up his pen to help the movement. Strangely 
 enough, however, notwithstanding this and his former 
 repeated appeals in the cause of royalty, he appears 
 to have been in no way molested by the democratic 
 government in power, and was left throughout in 
 quiet possession of his house and estate. 
 
 To him and to the other royalists of the country 
 the climax of horror came in January, 1649, when 
 Charles laid his head on the block at Whitehall. 
 Throughout his life Drummond had been an ardent ' 
 Royalist ; constantly, alike in the time of the learned 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 149 
 
 James and of the luckless Charles, he had in poetry 
 and in prose supported the courtly side; and now, 
 at what seemed the end of all he thought noble in 
 the state, he probably did not much care to survive. 
 There appears no reason, save the statement of his 
 biographer of 17 11, to believe that the shock of the 
 news actually hastened Drummond's death; but the 
 fact remains that the poet survived the king only 
 some ten months. "He died," says Bishop Sage, 
 "the 4th of December, wanting only nine days of 
 64 years of age, to the great grief and loss of all 
 learned and good men; and was honourably buried 
 in his own aisle in the church of Lasswade, near to 
 his house of Hawthornden." There, amid the ruins, 
 under ' its own stone arch, the poet's grave is still to 
 be seen. His family at his death consisted of two 
 sons and a daughter, to the descendants of whom 
 Hawthornden still belongs. 
 
 At the instance of the ppet's brother-in-law. Sir John 
 Scot of Scot's Tarvet, the first collected edition of 
 Drummond's prose works was published at London 
 in 1755. The poetry was published in the following 
 year, the editor being Edward Phillips, nephew of 
 John Milton ; and it has been supposed that the 
 author of "Lycidas" and "II Penseroso" inspired 
 the preface. This describes Drummond's- genius as 
 "the most polite and verdant that ever the Scottish 
 nation produced," and sets Drummond on a level 
 with " Tasso and the choicest of the English poets." 
 Next, in 1684, there was printed at Edinburgh a 
 curious Dog-Latin farcical poem of the cast of 
 
ISO WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 humour of "Christ's Kirk on the Green," entitled 
 Polemo-Medinia inter Vitervam et Nebernam {i.e., 
 "The Midden-Fecht between Scotstarvet and New- 
 barns"). This, when reprinted at Oxford by the 
 future Bishop Gibson in 1691, was definitely stated 
 to be by Drummond. Of late the authorship has 
 been disputed, chiefly on the ground that no mention 
 of the piece occurred during Drummond's lifetime, 
 and that no allusion to it appears in the poet's MSS. 
 But the evidence seems to favour its authenticity, 
 which was never denied by the poet's family ; and 
 for several decades this was the most popular of all 
 Drummond's productions. An enlarged edition of 
 the poet's works— prose and verse — with a life pre- 
 fixed, was issued under the hands of Bishop Sage 
 and Thomas Ruddiman in 171 1. No later edition 
 of the prose has been printed, but the standard 
 edition of the poetry is that edited for the Maitland 
 Club by Lord Dundrennan and David Irving in 
 1832. Later editions are those of Peter Cunningham 
 in 1833, and of W. B. TurnbuU in 1856. Of the 
 poet's life, the fullest and best account is that by 
 Professor Masson, published by Messrs. Macmillan 
 & Co., London, in 1873. 
 
 Of Drummond's prose work little need here be said. 
 His history lacks value from the fact that it repre- 
 sents rio original research, but is merely a rkhauffe 
 of previously known facts, tinged by the personal 
 politics of the writer. Nor is there evidence that his 
 minor tracts exercised any influence on the political 
 movements with which they dealt. Regarding the 
 
WILUAM DKUMMOND. \%\ 
 
 Cypress Grove, however, a different criticism has to 
 be recorded. An essay on the folly of the fear of 
 death, it has been termed by a competent critic one 
 of the noblest prose poems in literature. Full of a 
 mournful music, and written in a pure and lofty 
 strain, language and thought in its pages together 
 roll on, bearing the soul away irresistibly from the 
 littlenesses and petty troubles of life to the con- 
 sideration of a philosophy regarding death which is 
 as consolatory and ennobling as it is grave and 
 beautiful. For its high qualities, says the poet's 
 biographer, "it surpasses any similar piece of old 
 English prose known to me, unless it be here and 
 there, perhaps a passage in some of the English 
 divines at their best, or Sir Thomas Browne of 
 Norwich in the finest parts of his Urn-Burial." It 
 remains, indeed, both in conception and execution, 
 probably the greatest thing which Drummond did. 
 
 Drummond's poetry, though it is limited in range, 
 was certainly the finest English poetry of its time. 
 Shakespeare, it is believed, laid down his pen in 
 1613, and Milton took up his in 1625. Between 
 these dates Drummond produced in succession his 
 "Tears on the Death of Moeliades,'' his "Poems, 
 Amorous, Funeral, and Divine," his "Forth Feasting," 
 and his " Flowers of Sion " — all of his poetical work, 
 excepting a stray sonnet or two, which was published 
 during his lifetime. To this work there was no rival, 
 unless we turn to dramatic composition, in which 
 the master of the period was Drummond's famous 
 visitor, Ben Jonson. The chief characteristics of 
 
IS2 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Drummond's verse are its lustrous beauty and its 
 melodious sweetness. For these qualities it has been 
 termed Spenserian, but Spenser was not its model. 
 Just then the Italian poets were anew attracting 
 attention in this country. In Scotland a new trans- 
 lation of Petrarch had recently been made by 
 Drummond's uncle, Secretary Fowler, and Ariosto 
 had been similarly treated by Stewart of Baldynneis. 
 Drummond, moreover, was familiar with the Italian 
 poets in the original, and it was he who reintroduced 
 into England the fine Italian vein in which he was 
 presently copied and surpassed by Milton. His 
 "Tears for the Death of Mceliades" is said to have 
 afforded the model for Milton's "Lycidas"; and it 
 has been suggested further * that " if we had had no 
 Drummond we should never have seen the delicacies 
 of Comus, L' Allegro, and II Penseroso." Drummond 
 has been called the Scottish Petrarch, and his 
 sonnets are still held to rank immediately after those 
 of Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth. If he 
 appears to lack vigour and originality, as has some- 
 times been said, that lack is more than atoned for 
 by the wonderful sensuous richness and perfection 
 of his work. His genius, it is true, seems to have 
 been unfitted for the production of any long-sustained 
 composition, but so also, later, was the genius of 
 Robert Burns, and it may well be doubted whether 
 the yard-measure serves as any very valuable criterion 
 of poetic merits. 
 
 Altogether, as might perhaps have been expected, 
 
 * Pinkerlon's Ancient Scottish Poems. 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 153 
 
 Drummond's work presents a reflection of his life — 
 & life without struggle or vehemence, inspired with 
 a lofty idealism, and tinged in its finer part with a 
 gentle melancholy. In his verse is to be seen the 
 dawn of the philosophy and feeling of modern poetry 
 — a light which was to be obscured for a time by 
 the troubles of the second Reformation. By the poet 
 of Hawthornden the taste for nature and the power 
 ■of rich natural description which have always been 
 ■characteristic of the best Scottish poets were united 
 to an ease and grace in the use of the English 
 tongue for which he had no rival among either his 
 predecessors or contemporaries. To leave detail, 
 Drummond indeed must be admitted not only to 
 have been the greatest Scottish poet of his own age, 
 but to be entitled to rank among the great English 
 poets of all time. 
 
POEMS: 
 AMOROUS, FUNERAL, DIVINE. 
 
 FIRST FART. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 jlN my first years, and prime yet not at height. 
 When sweet conceits my wits did entertain. 
 Ere beauty's force I knew, or false delight, 
 Or to what oar she did her captives chain. 
 Led by a sacred troop of Phoebus' train, 
 I first began to read, then loved to write. 
 And so to praise a perfect red and white. 
 But, God wot, wist not what was in my brain. 
 Love smiled to see in what an awful guise 
 I turned those antiques of the age of gold. 
 And, that I might more mysteries behold, 
 He set so fair a volume to mine eyes. 
 
 That I (quires closed which dead, dead sighs but 
 ' breath) 
 
 Joy on this living book to read my death. 
 
IS6 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays, 
 And what by mortals in this world is brought 
 In Time's great periods shall return to nought ; 
 That fairest states have fatal nights and days ; 
 I know how all the Muse's heavenly lays, 
 With toil of sp'rit which are so dearly bought. 
 As idle sounds, of few or none are sought, 
 And that nought lighter is than airy praise. 
 I know frail beauty 's like the purple flower 
 To which one morn oft birth and death affords ; 
 That love a jarring is of minds' accords. 
 Where sense and will invassal reason's power. 
 Know what I list, this all can not me move. 
 But that, O me ! I both must write and love. 
 
SONNET. 157 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 That learned Grecian, who did so excel 
 In knowledge passing sense, that he is named 
 Of all the after-worlds divine, doth tell 
 That at the time when first our souls are framed. 
 Ere in these mansions blind they come to dwell. 
 They live bright rays of that eternal light. 
 And others see, know, love, in heaven's great height, 
 Not toiled with aught to reason doth rebel. 
 Most true it is, for straight at the first sight 
 My mind me told that in some other place 
 It elsewhere saw the idea of that face. 
 And loved a love of heavenly pure delight. 
 No wonder now I feel so fair a flame, 
 Sith I her loved ere on this earth she came. 
 
1S8 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, 
 Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings. 
 Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings. 
 Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest ! 
 Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things 
 Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest. 
 And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings 
 Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 
 Since I am thine, O come, but with that face 
 To inward light which thou are wont to show. 
 With feignfed solace ease a true-felt woe; 
 Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace. 
 
 Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, 
 I long to kiss the image of my death. 
 
SONNET. 1 59 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ah ! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest, 
 And your tumultuous broils a while appease; 
 Is 't not enough, stars, fortune, love molest 
 Me all at once, but ye must too displease? 
 Let hope, though false, yet lodge within my breast, 
 My high attempt, though dangerous, yet praise. 
 What though I trace not right heaven's steepy ways ? 
 It doth suffice, my fall shall make me blest. 
 I do not doat on days, nor fear not death — 
 So that my life be brave, what though not long? 
 Let me renown'd live from the vulgar throng, 
 And when ye list, Heavens ! take this borrowed 
 breath. 
 Men but like visions are, time all doth claim : 
 He lives who dies to win a lasting name. 
 
l6o WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 With flaming horns the Bull now brings the year; 
 Melt do the horrid mountains' helms of snow; 
 The silver floods in pearly channels flow ; 
 The late-bare woods green anademes do wear; 
 The nightingale, forgetting winter's woe, 
 Calls up the lazy morn her notes to hear; 
 Those flowers are spread wh.ich names of princes bear. 
 Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow ; 
 Here lows a heifer, there bewailing strays 
 A harmless lamb, not far a stag rebounds; 
 The shepherds sing to grazing flocks sweet lays. 
 And all about the echoing air resounds. 
 
 Hills, dales, woods, floods, and everything doth 
 change, 
 
 But she in rigour, I in love am strange. 
 
MADRIGAL. i6l 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 Like the Idalian queen, 
 
 Her hair about her eyne, 
 
 With neck and breast's ripe apples to be seen, 
 
 At first glance of the morn. 
 
 In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair flowers 
 
 Which of her blood were born, 
 
 I saw, but fainting saw, my paramour's. 
 
 The Graces naked danced about the place, 
 
 The winds and trees amazed 
 
 With silence on her gazed; 
 
 The flowers did smile, like those upon her face; 
 
 And as their aspen stalks those fingers band. 
 
 That she might read my case, 
 
 A hyacinth I wished me in her hand. 
 
i62 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Trust not, sweet soul, those curled waves of gold, 
 With gentle tides, which on your temples flow. 
 Nor temples spread with flakes of virgin snow, 
 Nor snow of cheeks with Tyrian grain enrolled. 
 Trust not those shining lights which wrought my woe, 
 When first I did their burning rays behold. 
 Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show 
 Than of the Thracian harper have been told. 
 Look to this dying Uly, fading rose, 
 Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams 
 Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice. 
 And think how little is 'twixt life's extremes. 
 The cruel tyrant that did kill those flowers, 
 Shall once, ah me ! not spare that spring of yours. 
 
SONNMT. 163 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 If crost with all mishaps be my poor life, 
 
 If one short day I never spent in mirth, 
 
 If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, 
 
 If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth ; 
 
 If this vain world be but a sable stage 
 
 Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars; 
 
 If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age. 
 
 If knowledge serve to hold our thoughts in wars ; 
 
 If Time can - close the hundred mouths of Fame, 
 
 And make, what long since past, like that to be; 
 
 If virtue only be an idle name, 
 
 If I, when I was born, was born to die ; 
 
 Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? 
 
 The fairest rose in shortest time decays. 
 
i64 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 The sun is fair when he, with crimson crown 
 And flaming rubies, leaves his eastern bed; 
 Fair is Thaumantius, in her crystal gown. 
 When clouds, engemm'd, hang azure, green, and red: 
 To western worlds when wearied day goes down. 
 And from Heaven's windows each star shows her 
 
 head, 
 Earth's silent daughter. Night, is fair, though brown; 
 Fair is the moon, though in love's livery clad; 
 Fair Chloris is when she doth paint April; 
 Fair are the meads, the woods; the flpods are fair; 
 Fair looketh Ceres with her yellow hair, 
 And apples' queen when, rose-cheeked, she doth smile. 
 That heaven, and earth, and seas are fair is true, 
 Yet true that all not please so much as you. 
 
SONNET. i6s 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ah ! who can see those fruits of Paradise, 
 Celestial cherries, which so sweetly swell, 
 That sweetness' self confined there seems to dwell. 
 And aU those sweetest parts about despise? 
 Ah ! who can see and feel no flame surprise 
 His hardened heart ? For me, alas ! too well 
 I know their force, and how they do excel. 
 Now burn I through desire, now do I freeze; 
 I die, dear life, unless to me be given 
 As many kisses as the spring hath flowers, 
 Or as the silver drops of Iris' showers. 
 Or as the stars in all-embracing heaven; 
 
 And if, displeased, ye of the match complain. 
 Ye shall have leave to take them back again. 
 
l66 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Dear wood, and you, sweet solitary place. 
 Where frorn the vulgar I estranged live. 
 Contented more with what your shades me give 
 Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace; 
 What snaky eye, grown jealous of my peace, 
 Now from your silent horrors would me drive, 
 When sun, progressing in his glorious race 
 Beyond the Twins, doth near our pole arrive? 
 What sweet delight a quiet life affords. 
 And what is it to be of bondage free. 
 Far from the madding worldling's hoarse discords. 
 Sweet flowery place, I first did learn of thee. 
 Ah! if I were mine own, your dear resorts 
 I would not change with princes' stately courts. 
 
SEXTAIN. 167 
 
 SEXTAIN. 
 
 SiTH gone is my delight and only pleasure, 
 
 The last of all my hopes, the cheerful sun 
 
 That cleared my life's dark day, nature's sweet 
 
 treasure, 
 More dear to me than all beneath the moon. 
 What resteth now, but that upon this mountain 
 I weep, till Heaven transform me in a fountain 
 
 Fresh, fair, delicious, crystal, pearly fountain, 
 On whose smooth face to look she oft took pleasure. 
 Tell me (so may thy streams long cheer this mountain, 
 So serpent ne'er thee stain, nor scorch thee sun. 
 So may with gentle beams thee kiss the moon). 
 Dost thou not mourn to want so fair a treasure? 
 
 While she her glassed in thee, rich Tagus' treasure 
 
 Thou envy, needed not, nor yet the fountain 
 
 In which that hunter saw the naked moon ; 
 
 Absence hath robbed thee of thy wealth and pleasure. 
 
 And I remain like marigold of sun 
 
 Deprived, that dies by shadow of some mountain. 
 
i68 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Nymphs of the forests, nymphs who on this mountain 
 Are wont to dance, showing your beauty's treasure 
 To goat-feet Sylvans and the wond'ring sun, 
 When, as you gather flowers about this fountain, 
 Bid her farewell who placed here her pleasure. 
 And sing her praises to the stars and moon. 
 
 Among the lesser lights as is the moon, 
 Blushing through scarf of clouds on Latmos' moun- 
 tain. 
 Or when her silver locks she looks for pleasure 
 In Thetis' streams, proud of so gay a treasure, 
 Such was my fair when she sat by this fountain 
 With other nymphs, to shun the amorous sun. 
 
 As is our earth in absence of the sun, 
 
 Or when of sun deprived is the moon; 
 
 As is without a verdant shade a fountain. 
 
 Or wanting grass, a mead, a vale, a mountain; 
 
 Such is my state, bereft of my dear treasure, 
 
 To know whose only worth was all my pleasure. 
 
 Ne'er think of pleasure, heart ; eyes, shun the sun ; 
 Tears be your treasure, which the wand'ring moon 
 Shall see you shed by mountain, vale, and fountain. 
 
MADRIGAL. 169 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold. 
 
 Of breast, of lips, of hair, 
 
 So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight, 
 
 That, wake, I think I hold 
 
 No shadow but my fair. 
 
 Myself so to deceive, 
 
 With long-shut eyes I shun the irksome light. 
 
 Such pleasure thus I have, 
 
 Delighting in false gleams. 
 
 If Death Sleep's brother be. 
 
 And souls relieved of sense have so sweet dreams. 
 That I would wish me thus to dream and die. 
 
I70 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Place me where angry Titan burns the Moor, 
 And thirsty Afric fiery monsters brings, 
 Or where the new-borri phoenix spreads her wings. 
 And troops of wond'ring birds her flight adore; 
 Place me by Gange, or Ind's' em pampered shore, 
 Where smiHng heavens on earth cause double springs;. 
 Place me where Neptune's quire of syrens sings, 
 Or where, made hoarse through cold, he leaves to- 
 
 roar; 
 Me place where Fortune doth her darlings crown, 
 A wonder or a spark in Envy's eye. 
 Or late outrageous fates upon me frown, 
 And pity wailing see disaster'd me; 
 
 Affection's print my mind so deep doth prove, 
 I may forget myself, but not hiy love. 
 
POEMS: 
 AMOROUS, FUNERAL, DIVINE. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Sweet soul, which in the April of thy years 
 So to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, 
 And now with golden rays of glory crowned 
 Most blest abid'st above the sphere of spheres 
 If heavenly laws, alas ! have not thee bound 
 From looking to this globe that all upbears, 
 If ruth and pity there above be found, 
 O deign to lend a look unto those tears. 
 Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice. 
 And though I raise not pillars to thy praise. 
 Mine offerings take; let this for me suflSce, 
 My heart a living pyramid I raise ; 
 And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green. 
 Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. 
 
172 WILLIAM DRVMMOND. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 This life, which seems so fair, 
 
 Is hke a bubble blown up in the air, 
 
 By sporting children's breath. 
 
 Who chase it everywhere, 
 
 And strive who can most motion it bequeath: 
 
 And though it sometime seem of its own might. 
 
 Like to an eye of gold, to be fixed there. 
 
 And firm to hover in that empty height. 
 
 That only is because it is so light. 
 
 But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 
 For even when most admired, it in a thought, 
 As swelled from nothing, doth dissolve in nought. 
 
SONG. 173 
 
 SONG. 
 
 O Pan, Pan, winter is fallen in our May, 
 
 Turned is in night our day ! 
 
 Forsake thy pipe, a sceptre take to thee, 
 
 Thy locks dis-garland, thou black Jove shalt be. 
 
 Thy flocks do leave the meads, 
 
 And, loathing three-leaved grass, hold up their heads; 
 
 The streams not glide now with a gentle roar. 
 
 Nor birds sing as before; 
 
 Hills stand with clouds, like mourners, veiled in black. 
 
 And owls on cabin roofs foretell our wrack. 
 
 That zephyr every year 
 So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, 
 It was for her : that wrapt in gowns of green, 
 Meads were so early seen, 
 
 That in the saddest months oft sung the merles, 
 It was for her; for her trees dropped forth pearls. 
 That proud and stately courts 
 Did envy those our shades, and calm resorts. 
 It was for her ; and she is gone, O woe ! 
 Woods cut again do grow, 
 Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done, 
 But we, once dead, no more do see the sun. 
 
 Whose name shall now make ring 
 The echoes ? of whom shall the nymphets sing ? 
 
174 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Whose heavenly voice, whose soul-invading strains, 
 
 Shall fill with joy the plains? 
 
 What hair, what eyes, can make the morn in east 
 
 Weep, that a fairer riseth in the west? 
 
 Fair sun, post still away. 
 
 No music here is found thy course to stay. 
 
 Sweet Hybla swarms, with wormwood fill your bowers, 
 
 Gone is the flower of flowers. 
 
 Blush no more, rose, nor, lily, pale remain. 
 
 Dead is that beauty which yours late did stain. 
 
 Ah me ! to wail my plight 
 Why have not I as many eyes as night 
 Or as that shepherd which Jove's love did keep, 
 That I still still may weep ? 
 But though I had, my tears unto my cross 
 Were not yet equal, nor grief to my loss. 
 Yet of your briny showers. 
 Which I here pour, may spring as many flowers 
 As came of those which fell from Helen's eyes ; 
 And when ye do arise. 
 May every leaf in sable letters bear 
 The doleful cause for which ye spring up here. 
 
SONNET. I7S 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train, 
 Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers ; 
 The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain. 
 The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers. 
 Thou turn'st, sweet youth, but, ah ! my pleasant hours 
 And happy days with thee come not again; 
 The sad memorials only of my pain 
 Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours. 
 Thou art the same which still thou wast before, 
 Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair; 
 But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air. 
 Is gone, nor gold nor gems her can restore. 
 Neglected Virtue, seasons go and come. 
 While thine, forgot, lie closed in a tomb. 
 
176 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 What doth it serve to see Sun's burning face, 
 And skies enameli'd with both the Indies' gold? 
 Or moon at night in jetty chariot rolled, 
 And all the glory of that starry place? 
 What doth it serve earth's beauty to behold, 
 The mountain's pride, the meadow's flowery grace. 
 The stately comeliness of forests old, 
 The sport of floods, which would themselves embrace? 
 What doth it serve to hear the Sylvans' songs. 
 The wanton merle, the nightingale's sad strains. 
 Which in dark shades seem to deplore my wrongs? 
 For what doth serve all that this world contains, 
 Sith she for whom those once to me were dear. 
 No part of them can have now with me here? 
 
SONNET. 177 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 As, in a dusky and tempestuous night, 
 A star is wont to spread her locks of gold. 
 And while her pleasant rays abroad are rolled. 
 Some spiteful cloud doth rob us of her sight ; 
 Fair soul, in this black age so shined thou bright, 
 And made all eyes with wonder thee behold, 
 Till ugly Death, depriving us of light, 
 In his grim misty arms thee did enfold. 
 Who more shall vaunt true beauty here to see? 
 What hope doth more in any heart remain, 
 That such perfections shall his reason reign. 
 If beauty, with thee born, too, died with thee? 
 
 World, plain no more of Love, nor count his 
 harms ; 
 
 With his pale trophies Death hath hung his arms. 
 
 N 
 
/ 
 
 178 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 It autumn was, and on our hemisphere 
 
 Fair Ericyne began bright to appear; 
 
 Night westward did her gemmy world decline, 
 
 And hide her lights, that greater light might shine; 
 
 The crested bird had given alarum twice 
 
 To lazy mortals, to unlock their eyes ; 
 
 The owl had left to plain, and from each thorn 
 
 The winged musicians did salute the morn. 
 
 Who, while she glassed her locks in Ganges' streams. 
 
 Set open wide the crystal port of dreams ; 
 
 When I, whose eyes no drowsy night could close. 
 
 In sleep's soft arms did quietly repose. 
 
 And, for that heavens to die me did deny, 
 
 Death's image kissfed, and as dead did he. 
 
 I lay as dead, but scarce charmed were my cares, 
 
 And slakfed scarce my sighs, scarce dried my tears. 
 
 Sleep scarce the ugly figures of the day 
 
 Had with his sable pencil put away. 
 
 And left me in a still and calmy mood, 
 
 When by my bed methought a virgin stood, 
 
 A virgin in the blooming of her prime. 
 
 If such rare beauty measured be by time. 
 
 Her head a garland wore of opals bright, 
 
SONG. 179 
 
 About her flowed a gown as pure as light, 
 Dear amber locks gave umbrage to her face, 
 Where modesty high majesty did grace ; 
 Her eyes such beams sent forth that but with pain 
 Here weaker sights their sparkling could sustain. 
 No deity feigned, which haunts the silent woods. 
 Is like to her, nor syren of the floods. 
 Such is the golden planet of the year, 
 When, blushing in the east, he doth appear. 
 Her grace did beauty, voice yet grace did pass, 
 Which thus through pearls and rubies broken was. 
 "How long wilt thou," said she, "estranged from joy, 
 Paint shadows to thyself of false annoy ? 
 How long thy mind with horrid shapes affright. 
 And in imaginary ills delight. 
 
 Esteem that loss which, well when viewed, is gain. 
 Or if a loss, yet not a loss to plain ? 
 O leave thy tirfed soul more to molest, 
 And think that woe when shortest then is best. 
 If she for whom thou deaf'nest thus the sky 
 Be dead, what then ? was she not born to die ? 
 Was she not mortal born? If thou dost grieve 
 That times should be in which she should not live, 
 Ere e'er she was weep that day's wheel was rolled. 
 Weep that she lived not in the age of gold ; 
 For that she was not then, thou may'st deplore 
 As duly as that now she is no more. 
 If only she had died, thou sure hadst cause 
 To blame the destinies, and heaven's iron laws; 
 But look how many millions her advance. 
 What numbers with her enter in this dance, 
 
i8o WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 With those which are to come : shall heavens them 
 
 stay, 
 And all fair order break, thee to obey? 
 Even as thy birth, death, which doth thee appal, 
 A piece is of the life of this great all. 
 Strong cities die, die do high palmy reigns, 
 And, weakling, thou thus to be handled plains. 
 "If she be dead, then she of loathsome days 
 Hath past the line, whose length but loss bewrays; 
 Then she hath left this filthy stage of care. 
 Where pleasure seldom, woe doth still repair. 
 For all the pleasures which it doth contain. 
 Not countervail the smallest minute's pain. 
 And tell me, thou, who dost so much admire 
 This little vapour, smoke, this spark, or fire, 
 Which life is called, what doth it thee bequeath 
 But some few years which birth draws out to death ? 
 Which if thou paragon with lustres run. 
 And them whose career is but now begun, 
 In day's great vast they shall far less appear 
 Than with the sea when matched is a tear. 
 But why wouldst thou here longer wish to be? 
 One year doth serve all nature's pomp to see, 
 Nay, even one day and night: this moon, that sun, 
 Those lesser fires about this round which run, 
 Be but the same which, under Saturn's reign, 
 Did the serpenting seasons interchain. 
 How oft doth life grow less by living long? 
 And what excelleth but what dieth young? 
 For age, which all abhor, yet would embrace. 
 Whiles makes the mind as wrinkled as the face; 
 
SONG. lii 
 
 And when that destinies conspire with worth, 
 That years not glory wrong, life soon goes forth. 
 Leave then laments, and think thou didst not live, 
 Laws to that first Eternal Cause to give, 
 But to obey those laws which he hath given. 
 And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven, 
 Which cannot err, whatever foggy mists 
 Do blind men in these sublunary lists. 
 
 "But what if she for whom thou spend'st those 
 groans. 
 And wastest life's dear torch in ruthful moans, 
 She for whose sake thou hat'st the joyful light, 
 Court'st solitary shades, and irksome night, 
 Doth live ? O ! if thou canst, through tears, a space 
 Lift thy dimm'd lights, and look upon this face. 
 Look if those eyes which, fool, thou didst adore. 
 Shine not more bright than they were wont before; 
 Look if those roses death could aught impair, 
 Those roses to thee once which seemed so fair; 
 And if those locks have lost aught of that gold 
 Which erst they had when thou them didst behold. 
 I live, and happy live, but thou art dead. 
 And still shalt be, till thou be like me made. 
 Alas ! while we are wrapt in gowns of earth. 
 And blind, here suck the air of woe beneath, 
 Each thing in sense's balances we weigh, 
 And but with toil and pain the truth descry. 
 
 "Above this vast and admirable frame, 
 This temple visible, which world we name. 
 Within whose walls so many lamps do burn. 
 So many arches opposite do turn. 
 
i82. WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Where elemental brethren nurse their strife, 
 And by intestine wars maintain their life, 
 There is a world, a world of perfect bliss, 
 Pure, immaterial, bright, more far from this 
 Than that high circle, which the rest enspheres. 
 Is from this dull ignoble vale of tears; 
 A world, where all is found, that here is found, 
 But further discrepant than heaven and ground. 
 It hath an earth, as hath this world of yours. 
 With creatures peopled, stored with trees and flowers; 
 It hath a sea, like sapphire girdle cast. 
 Which decketh of harmonious shores the waste ; 
 It hath pure fire, it hath delicious air. 
 Moon, sun, and stars, heavens wonderfully fair : 
 But there flowers do not fade, trees grow not old, 
 The creatures do not die through heat nor cold; 
 Sea there not tossfed is, nor air made black. 
 Fire doth not nurse itself on others' wrack ; 
 There heavens be not constrained about to range. 
 For this world hath no need of any change ; 
 The minutes grow not hours, hours rise not days, 
 Days make no months but ever-blooming Mays. 
 
 " Here I remain, but hitherward do tend 
 All who their span of days in virtue spend : 
 Whatever pleasure this low place contains. 
 It is a glance but of what high remains. 
 Those who, perchance, think there can nothing be 
 Without this wide expansion which they see, 
 And that nought else mounts stars' circumference. 
 For that nought else is subject to their sense. 
 Feel such a case; as one whom some abysm 
 
SONG. 183 
 
 Of the deep ocean kept had all his time, 
 Who, born and nourished there, can scarcely dream 
 That ought can live without that briny stream, 
 Cannot believe that there be tenipleSi towers. 
 That go beyond his caves and dampish bowers, 
 Or there be other people, manners, laws, 
 Than them he finds within the roaring waves — 
 That sweeter flowers do spring than grow on rocks. 
 Or beasts be which excel the scaly flocks — 
 That other elements be to be found 
 Than is the water, and this ball of ground. 
 But think that man from those abysms were brought, 
 And saw what curious nature here hath wrought, 
 Did see the meads, the tall and shady woods. 
 The hills did see, the clear and ambling floods, 
 The diverse shapes of beasts which kinds forth bring. 
 The feathered troops, that fly and sweetly sing. 
 Did see the palaces, the cities fair. 
 The form of human life, the fire, the air. 
 The brightness of the sun that dims his sight. 
 The moon, the ghastly splendours of the night : 
 What uncouth rapture would his mind surprise ! 
 How would he his late-dear resort despise ! 
 How would he muse how foolish he had been 
 To think nought be, but what he there had seen ! 
 
 "Why did we get this high and vast desire 
 Unto immortal things still to aspire? 
 Why doth our mind extend it beyond time. 
 And to that highest happiness even climb, 
 If we be nought but what to sense we seem, 
 And dust, as most of worldhngs us esteem? 
 
i84 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 We be not made for earth, though here we come, 
 More than the embryon for the mother's womb; 
 It weeps to be made free, and we complain 
 To leave this loathsome jail of care and pain. 
 
 " But thou who vulgar footsteps dost not trace, 
 Learn to raise up thy mind unto this place. 
 And what earth-creeping mortals most affect, 
 If not at all to scorn, yet to neglect : 
 O chase not shadows vain, which, when obtained, 
 Were better lost than with such travail gained. 
 Think that on earth, which humans greatness call. 
 Is but a glorious title to live thrall; 
 That sceptres, diadems, and chairs of state, 
 Not in themselves, but to small minds are great; 
 How those who loftiest mount do hardest light. 
 And deepest falls be from the highest height; 
 How fame an echo is, how all renown 
 Like to a blasted rose, ere night falls down ; 
 And though it something were, think how this round 
 Is but a little point, which doth it bound. 
 
 " O leave that love which reacheth but to dust. 
 And in that love eternal only trust. 
 And beauty, which, when once it is possest. 
 Can only fill the soul, and make it blest. 
 Pale envy, jealous emulations, fears. 
 Sighs, plaints, remorse, here have no place, nor tears. 
 False joys, vain hopes, here be not hate nor wrath ; 
 What ends all love, here most augments it, death. 
 If such force had the dim glance of an eye. 
 Which some few days thereafter was to die, 
 That it could make thee leave all other things, 
 
SONG. 185 
 
 And like the taper-fly there burn thy wings ; 
 And if a voice, of late which could but wail, 
 Such pow'r had, as through ears thy soul to steal ; 
 If once thou on that only fair couldst gaze, 
 What flames of love would he within thee raise? 
 In what amazing maze would it thee bring, 
 To hear but once that quire celestial sing? 
 The fairest shapes on which thy love did seize, 
 Which erst did breed delight, then would displease. 
 Then discords hoarse were earth's enticing sounds. 
 All music but a noise which sense confounds. 
 This great and burning glass that clears all eyes, 
 And musters with such glory in the skies ; 
 That silver star which with its sober light 
 Makes day oft envy the eye-pleasing night; 
 Those golden letters which so brightly shine 
 In heaven's great volume gorgeously divine; 
 The wonders all in sea, in earth, in air. 
 Be but dark pictures of that sovereign Fair — 
 Be tongues, which still thus cry unto your ear, 
 Could ye amidst worlds' cataracts them hear. 
 
 "From fading things, fond wights, lift your desire, 
 And in our beauty, his, us made, admire. 
 If we seem fair, O think, how fair is he 
 Of whose fair fairness shadows, steps, we be. 
 No shadow can compare it with the face. 
 No step with that dear foot that did it trace. 
 Your souls immortal are, then place them hence. 
 And do not drown them in the must of sense. 
 Do not, O do not, by false pleasures' might 
 Deprive them of that true and sole delight. 
 
i86 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 That happiness ye seek is not below ; 
 Earth's sweetest joy is but disguisfed woe." 
 
 Here did she pause, and with a mild aspect 
 Did towards me those lamping twins direct ; 
 The wonted rays I knew, and thrice essayed 
 To answer make, thrice falt'ring tongue it stayed ; 
 And while upon that face I fed my sight, 
 Methought she vanished up in Titan's light. 
 Who gilding with his rays each hill and plain. 
 Seemed to have brought the goldsmith's world again 
 
THE DEATH OF MCELIADES. 187 
 
 TEARS ON THE DEATH OF 
 MCELIADES. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 Chaste maids which haunt fair Aganippe's well, 
 
 And you in Tempe's sacred shade who dwell, 
 
 Let fall your harps, cease tunes of joy to sing, 
 
 Dishevelled make all Parnassus ring 
 
 With anthems sad ! thy music, Phoebus, turn 
 
 In doleful plaints, whilst joy itself doth mourn ! 
 
 Dead is thy darling who decor'd thy bays. 
 
 Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet lays. 
 
 And to a trumpet raise thine amorous style. 
 
 That floating Delos envy might this isle. 
 
 You, Acidalian archers, break your bows. 
 
 Your brandons quench, with tears blot beauty's 
 
 snows, 
 And bid your weeping mother yet again 
 A second Adon's death, nay Mars's plain. 
 His eyes once were your darts, nay, even his name. 
 Wherever heard, did every heart inflame : 
 Tagus did court his love with golden streams, 
 Rhine with his towns, fair Seine with all she claims. 
 But ah ! poor lovers, death did them betray. 
 And, not suspected, made their hopes his prey. 
 
1 88 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Tagus bewails his loss with golden streams, 
 Rhine with his towns, fair Seine with all she claims. 
 Moeliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore, 
 From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore. 
 
 Delicious meads, whose checker'd plain forth brings 
 White, golden, azure flowers, which once were kings. 
 In mourning black their shining colours dye. 
 Bow down their heads, whilst sighing zephyrs fly. 
 Queen of the fields, whose blush makes blush the 
 
 morn, 
 Sweet rose, a prince's death in purple mourn ; 
 O hyacinths, for aye your ai keep still. 
 Nay, with more marks of woe, your leaves now fill ; 
 And you, O flower of Helen's tears first born, 
 Into those liquid pearls again you turn ; 
 Your green locks, forests, cut, in weeping myrrhs, 
 The deadly cypress, and ink-dropping firs. 
 Your palms and myrtles change; from shadows dark 
 Winged syrens wail; and you, sad echoes, mark 
 The lamentable accents of their moan. 
 And plain that brave Mceliades is gone. 
 Stay, sky, thy turning course, and now become 
 A stately arch, unto the earth his tomb; 
 Over which aye the watery Iris keep. 
 And sad Electra's sisters which still weep. 
 Moeliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore. 
 From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore. 
 
 Dear ghost, forgive these our untimely tears, 
 By which our loving mind, though weak, appears. 
 Our loss, not thine, when we complain, we weep ; 
 For thee the glist'ring walls of heaven do keep 
 
THE DEATH OF MaiLIADES. 189 
 
 Beyond the planets' wheels, above that source 
 Of spheres that turns the lower in its course, 
 Where sun doth never set, nor ugly night 
 Ever appears in mourning garments dight. 
 Where Boreas' stormy trumpet doth not sound, 
 Nor clouds, in lightnings bursting, minds astound, 
 From care's cold climates far, and hot desire. 
 Where time is banished, ages ne'er expire. 
 Amongst pure sp'rits environed with beams, 
 Thou think'st all things below to be but dreams, 
 And joy'st to look down to the azured bars 
 Of heaven, indented all with streaming stars, 
 And in their turning temples to behold, 
 In silver robe the moon, the sun in gold, 
 Like young eye-speaking lovers in a dance, 
 With majesty by turns retire, advance. 
 Thou wond'rest earth to see hang like a ball. 
 Closed in the ghastly cloister of this all. 
 And that poor men should prove so madly fond, 
 To toss themselves for a small foot of ground. 
 Nay, that they even dare brave the powers above. 
 From this base stage of change that cannot move. 
 All worldly pomp and pride thou seest arise 
 Like smoke, that scatt'reth in the empty skies. 
 Other hills and forests, other sumptuous towers, 
 Amazed thou find'st, excelling our poor bowers ; 
 Courts void of flattery, of malice minds. 
 Pleasure which lasts, not such as reason blinds. 
 Far sweeter songs thou hear'st, and carollings. 
 Whilst heavens do dance, and quire of angels sings. 
 Than mouldy minds could feign. Even our annoy. 
 
190 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 If it approach that place, is chang'd in joy. 
 
 Rest blessed sp'rit, rest satiate with the sight 
 Of him whose beams both dazzle and delight, 
 Life of all lives, cause of each other cause. 
 The sphere and centre where the mind doth pause ; 
 Narcissus of himself, himself the well, 
 Lover, and beauty, that doth all excel. 
 Rest, happy ghost, and wonder in that glass 
 Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was. 
 While shall be, is, or was do pass away, 
 And nought remain but an eternal day. 
 For ever rest ; thy praise fame may enroll 
 In golden annals, whilst about the pole 
 The slow Bootes turns, or sun doth rise 
 With scarlet scarf, to cheer the mourning skies. 
 The virgins to thy tomb may garlands bear 
 Of flowers, and on each flower let fall a tear; 
 Moeliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore, 
 From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore. 
 
URANIA, OR SPIRITUAL POEMS. 191 
 
 URANIA, OR SPIRITUAL POEMS. 
 
 Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove, 
 
 Far from the clamorous world doth live his own, 
 
 Though solitary, who is not alone, 
 
 But doth converse with that eternal love. 
 
 O how more sweet is birds' harmonious moan, 
 
 Or the soft sobbings of the widowed dove, 
 
 Than those smooth whisp'rings near a prince's throne. 
 
 Which good make doubtful, do the evil approve ! 
 
 O how more sweet is zephyr's wholesome breath. 
 
 And sighs perfumed, which new-born flowers unfold. 
 
 Than that applause vain honour doth bequeath ! 
 
 How sweet are streams to poison drunk in gold ! 
 
 The world is full of horrors, falsehoods, slights ; 
 
 Woods' silent shades have only true delights. 
 
 Why, wordlings, do ye trust frail honour's dreams, 
 And lean to gilded glories which decay? 
 Why do ye toil to registrate your names 
 On icy columns, which soon melt away? 
 True honour is not here; that place it Claims, 
 Were black-brow'd night doth not exile the day, 
 
192 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Nor no far-shining lamp dives in the sea, 
 But an eternal sun spreads lasting beams. 
 There it attendeth you, where spotless bands 
 Of sp'rits stand gazing on their sovereign bliss, 
 Where years not hold it in their cank'ring hands, 
 But who, once noble, ever noble is. 
 
 Look home, lest he your weakened wit make thrall. 
 Who Eden's foolish gardener erst made fall. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 OF PHILLIS. 
 
 In petticoat of green. 
 
 Her hair about her eyne, 
 
 Phillis beneath an oak 
 
 Sat milking her fair flock : 
 
 Among that strained moisture, rare delight ! 
 
 Her hand seem'd milk in milk, it was so white. 
 
FORTH FEASTING. 193 
 
 FORTH FEASTING. 
 
 What blust'ring noise now interrupts my sleep ? 
 
 What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep. 
 
 And call me hence from out my watery court? 
 
 What melody, what sounds of joy and sport. 
 
 Be these here hurled from every neighbour spring? 
 
 With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, 
 
 Which in unusual pomp on tip-toes stand. 
 
 And, full of wonder, overlook the land? 
 
 Whence come these glitt'ring throngs, these meteors 
 
 bright, 
 
 This golden people set unto my sight? 
 
 Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise? 
 
 What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? 
 
 And do I wake, or have some dreams conspired 
 
 To mock my sense with shadows much desired? 
 
 Stare I that living face, see I those looks, 
 
 Which with delight wont to amaze my brooks? 
 
 Do I behold that worth, that man divine. 
 
 This age's glory, by these banks of mine? 
 
 Then is it true, what long I wished in vain. 
 
 That my much-loving prince is come again? 
 
 So unto them whose zenith is the pole. 
 
 When six black months are past, the sun doth roll; 
 o V 
 
194 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 So after tempest to sea-tossed wights 
 Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering Hghts ; 
 So comes Arabia's marvel from her woods, 
 And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods, 
 The feathered sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, 
 And with applauding clangours beat the sky, 
 Nile wonders, Serap's priests entranced rave, 
 And in Mygdonian stone her shape engrave, 
 In golden leaves write down the joyful time 
 In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. 
 
 Let mother earth now deckt with flowers be seen, 
 And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green. 
 Let Jieavens weep rubies in a crimson shower 
 Such as on Indias' shores they use to pour. 
 Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, 
 Which Jove rained when his blue-eyed maid was born. 
 May never hours the web of day out-weave. 
 May never night rise from her sable cave. 
 Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare 
 Your joys as ample as their causes are; 
 For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, 
 Now delicately, flat, now sweetly sharp; 
 And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair, 
 Strew all your springs and grots with lilies fair. 
 Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray 
 Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday ; 
 Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, 
 Which see the rising or the setting sun, 
 Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochels' snows; 
 Stone-rolUng Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, 
 The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, 
 
FORTH FEASTING. 195 
 
 Wild Neverne which doth see our longest day, 
 Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crowned. 
 Strange Lomond for his floating isles renowned, 
 The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, 
 The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, 
 The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, 
 Tweed, which no more our kingdoms shall divide. 
 Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, 
 The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names — 
 To ev'ry one proclaim our joys and feasts. 
 Our triumphs; bid all come, and be our guests; 
 And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall. 
 Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival. 
 This day shall by our currents be renowned. 
 Our hills about shall still this day resound : 
 Nay, that our love more to this day appear, 
 Let us with it henceforth begin our year. 
 
 To virgins flowers, to sun-burnt earth the rain. 
 To mariners fair winds amidst the main, 
 Cool shades to pilgrims which hot glances burn. 
 Please not so much to us as thy return. 
 That day, dear Prince, which reft us of thy sight. 
 Day, no, but darkness, and a cloudy night. 
 Did freight our breast with sighs, our eyes with tears. 
 Turned minutes in sad months, sad months in years; 
 Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers. 
 Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers; 
 Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost. 
 As if again she had her daughter lost; 
 The Muses left our groves, and for sweet songs 
 Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. 
 
196 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Ye know it, meads, ye murmuring woods, it know. 
 Hills, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; 
 And ye it know, my streams, which from their eyne 
 Oft on your glass received their pearled brine. 
 O Naiads dear, said they, Napseas fair, 
 O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair, 
 Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state. 
 Which made all eyes admire our hap of late. 
 As looks the heaven when never star appears. 
 But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres. 
 While Tithon's wife embosom'd by him lies. 
 And world doth languish in a dreary guise — 
 As looks a garden of its beauty spoiled — 
 As wood in winter by rough Boreas soiled — 
 As portraits razed of colours use to be — 
 So looked these abject bounds deprived of thee. 
 
 While as my rills enjoyed thy royal gleams. 
 They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams. 
 Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, 
 Nor clear Hydaspes, which on pearls doth roar, 
 Empamper'd Gange, that sees the sun new-born. 
 Nor Acheloiis with his flowery horn, 
 Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall. 
 For why? — thy sight did serve to them for all. 
 No place there is so desert, so alone. 
 Even from the frozen to the torrid zone. 
 From flaming Hecla to great Quincy's Lake, 
 Which thine abode could not most happy make. 
 All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven 
 To diverse worlds in diverse times were given, 
 The starry senate poured at pnce on thee, 
 
FORTH FEASTING. lyj 
 
 That thou exemplar might'st to others be. 
 
 Thy life was kept till the three sisters spun 
 Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. 
 With curled clouds when skies do look most fair, 
 And no disordered blasts, disturb the air. 
 When lilies do them deck in azure gowns, 
 And new-born roses blush with golden crowns. 
 To bode how calm we under thee should live. 
 What halcyonean days thy reign should give. 
 And to two flowery diadems thy right. 
 The heavens thee made a partner of the light. 
 Scarce wast thou born, when, joined in friendly bands. 
 Two mortal foes with other claspfed hands. 
 With virtue fortune strove which most should grace 
 Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place ; 
 One vowed thy sacred breast not to forsake, 
 The other on thee not to turn her back, 
 And that thou more her love's effect might'st feel, 
 For thee she rent her sail, and broke her wheel. 
 
 When years thee vigour gave, O then how clear 
 Did smothered sparkles in bright flames appear ! 
 Amongst the woods to force a flying hart. 
 To pierce the mountain wolf with feathered dart, 
 See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare. 
 Outrun the wind-outrunning daedal hare. 
 To loose a trampling steed alongst a plain. 
 And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, 
 The press thee making place, were vulgar things : 
 In admiration's air, on glory's wings, 
 O I thou far from the common pitch didst rise. 
 With thy designs to dazzle envy's eyes. 
 
198 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Thou sought'st to know this all's eternal source, 
 
 Of ever-turning heavens the restless course, 
 
 Their fixfed eyes, their lights which wand'ring run. 
 
 Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun, 
 
 If destine be or no, if planets can 
 
 By fierce aspects force the free-will of man. 
 
 The light and spiring fire, the liquid air. 
 
 The flaming dragons, comets with red hair. 
 
 Heaven's tilting lance, artillery, and bow, 
 
 Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, 
 
 The roaring element with people dumb. 
 
 The earth, with what conceived is in her womb. 
 
 What on her moves, were set unto thy sight, 
 
 Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. 
 
 But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, 
 
 As to be read in man, and learn to reign, 
 
 To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, 
 
 To spare the humble, proudlings pester down. 
 
 When from those piercing cares which thrones invest. 
 
 As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, 
 
 With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, 
 
 To the Pierian groves thou didst retire. 
 
 There, garlanded with all Urania's flowers, 
 
 In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, 
 
 Or them which charmed the dolphins in the main, 
 
 Or which did call Eurydice again, 
 
 Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere 
 
 Stars seemed to shoot, thy melody to hear. 
 
 The god with golden hair, the sister maids. 
 
 Left nymphal Helicon, their Tempe's shades. 
 
 To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue. 
 
FORTH FEASTING. 199 
 
 And in thy world-divided language sung. 
 
 Who of thine after-age can count the deeds, 
 With all that fame in time's huge annals reads? 
 How by example more than any law 
 This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw, 
 How, while the neighbour worlds, tous'd by the Fates, 
 So many Phaetons had in their states. 
 Which turned in heedless flames their burnished 
 
 thrones. 
 Thou, as ensphered, keep'dst temperate thy zones. 
 In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow. 
 The speckled flowers in unshorn meads that grow. 
 He sure may count, with all the waves that meet 
 To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. 
 Though thou were not a crowned king by birth, 
 Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. 
 Search this half-sphere and the opposite ground. 
 Where is such wit and bounty to be found? 
 As into silent night, when near the bear 
 The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, 
 And strives to match her brother's golden light, 
 The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, 
 Arcturus dies, cooled is the lion's ire, 
 Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire, 
 Orion faints to see his arms grow black. 
 And that his blazing sword he now doth lack; 
 So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree. 
 Lose all their lustre paragon'd with thee. 
 By just descent thou from more kings dost shine 
 Than many can name men in all their line. 
 What most they toil to find, and finding hold, 
 
200 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Thou scornest, orient gems and flatt'ring goldj 
 Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts 
 Than when immured with marble, closed in chests. 
 No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, 
 No mists of greatness ever could thee blind. 
 Who yet hath been so meek? Thou life didst give 
 To them who did repine to see thee live. 
 What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gained? 
 Who hath so long his people's peace maintained ? 
 Their swords are turned in sG5^hes, in coulters spears. 
 Some giant post their antique armour bears. 
 Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, 
 The wanton swain sits piping on a reed. 
 And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn. 
 The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn. 
 Her green locks Ceres without fear doth dye, 
 The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, 
 Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks. 
 Seas have no dangers save the winds and rocks. 
 Thou art this isle's palladium, neither can. 
 While thou art kept, it be o'erthrown by man. 
 Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes. 
 Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, 
 Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, 
 Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air. 
 Count how they make the Scythian them adore. 
 The Gaditan, the soldier of Aurore. 
 Unhappy vauntry ! to enlarge their bounds. 
 Which charge themselves with cares, their friends 
 
 with wounds, 
 Which have no law to their ambitious will. 
 
FORTH FEASTING. 201 
 
 But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill. 
 Thou a true victot art, sent from above, 
 What others strain by force to gain by love. 
 World-wand'ring fame this praise to thee imparts, 
 To be the only monarch of all hearts. 
 They many fear who are of many feared ; 
 And kingdoms got by wrongs by wrongs are teared, 
 Such thrones as blood doth raise,- blood throweth 
 
 down ; 
 No guard so sure as love unto a crown. 
 
 Eye of our western world. Mars-daunting King, 
 With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring. 
 Thy deeds not only claim these diadems. 
 To which, Thame, Liffey, Tay, subject their streams. 
 But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due 
 All that the planets of the year doth view ; 
 Sure, if the world above did want a prince. 
 The world above to it would take thee hence. 
 
 That murder, rapine, lust, are fled to hell, 
 And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell. 
 That honour more than riches men respect. 
 That worthiness than gold doth more effect, 
 That piety unmaskbd shows her face, 
 That innocency keeps with power her place. 
 That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven. 
 And useth right her sword, her weights holds even, 
 That the Saturnian world is come again. 
 Are wished effects of thy most happy reign. 
 That daily peace, love, truth, delights increase. 
 And discord, hate, fraud, with incumbers cease. 
 That men use strength not to shed others' blood. 
 
202 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 But use their strength now to do other good, 
 
 That fury is enchained, disarmed wrath, 
 
 TIjat, save by nature's hand, there is no death. 
 
 That late grim foes hke brothers other love, 
 
 That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, 
 
 That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain. 
 
 Are wished effects of thy most happy reign. 
 
 That towns increase, that ruined temples rise. 
 
 And their wind-moving vanes plant in the skies. 
 
 That ignorance and sloth hence run away. 
 
 That buried arts now rouse them to the day. 
 
 That Hyperion far beyond his bed 
 
 Doth see our- lions ramp, our roses spread, 
 
 That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, 
 
 That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom 
 
 warms, 
 That ill us fear, and good us do maintain. 
 Are wished effects of thy most happy reign. 
 
 O virtue's pattern, glory of our times. 
 Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, 
 Great King, but better far than thou art great. 
 Whom state not honours, but who honours state. 
 By wonder born, by wonder first installed. 
 By wonder after to new kingdoms called. 
 Young, kept by wonder near home-bred alarms, 
 Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, 
 To be, for this thy reign, which wonders brings, 
 A king of wonders, wonder unto kings ! 
 If Pict, Dane, Norman thy smooth yoke had seen,. 
 Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been : 
 If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give. 
 
FORTH FEASTING. 203 
 
 Even Brutus joy would under thee to live; 
 
 For thou thy people dost so dearly love, 
 
 That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. 
 
 O days to be desired, age happy thrice, 
 If ye your heaven-sent good could duly prize ! 
 But ye half-palsy-sick, think never right 
 Of what ye hold, till it be from your sight — 
 Prize only summer's sweet and muskbd breath, 
 When armfed winters threaten you with death — 
 In pallid sickness do esteem of health. 
 And by sad poverty discern of wealth. 
 I see an age wheri after many years, 
 And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres. 
 These days shall be to other far esteemed,, 
 And like -Augustus' palmy reign be deemed. 
 The names of Arthur's fabulous paladins, 
 Grav'n in Time's surly brows in wrinkled lines. 
 Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, 
 Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, 
 Shall by this prince's name be past as far 
 As meteors are by the Idalian star. 
 If grey-haired Proteus' songs the truth not miss 
 And grey-haired Proteus oft a prophet is. 
 There is a land hence distant many miles, 
 Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles. 
 Which homelings from this little world we name, 
 That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, 
 Shall raise him statues all of purest gold. 
 Such as men gave unto the gods of old. 
 Name by him fanes, proud palaces, and towns. 
 With some great flood, which most their fields renowns. 
 
204 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 This is. that king who should make right each wrong 
 Of whom the bards and mystic sibyls sung, 
 The man long promised, by whose glorious reign 
 This isle should yet her ancient name regain. 
 And more of Fortunate deserve the style 
 Than those where heavens with double summers smile. 
 Run on, great Prince, thy course in glory's way. 
 The end the life, the evening crowns the day; 
 Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above 
 Those heights which made the world thee first to love; 
 Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past 
 Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last ; 
 Let them exceed them of thy younger time, 
 As far as autumn doth the flowery prime. 
 Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye. 
 That once each year surveys all earth and sky. 
 Now glances on the slow and resty bears. 
 Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, 
 Just unto both the poles, and moveth even 
 In the infigured circle of the heaven. 
 O ! long, long haunt these bounds, which by thy sight 
 Have now regained their former heat and light ! 
 Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, 
 Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, 
 Embroid'ring all the banks; here hills aspire 
 To crown their heads with the ethereal fire; 
 Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, 
 Which never fremdling's slight nor sword made thralls; 
 Each circhng flood to Thetis tribute pays, 
 Men here, in health, outlive old Nestor's days ; 
 Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains. 
 
FORTH FEASTING. Z05 
 
 Bound in our cave with many-metalled chains ; 
 
 Bulls haunt our shades like Leda's lover white, 
 
 Which yet might breed Pasiphae delight; 
 
 Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport 
 
 Endymion of old the moon did court, 
 
 High-palmfed harts amidst our forests run. 
 
 And, not impaled, the deep-mouthed hounds do shun ; 
 
 The rough-foot hare him in our bushes shrouds. 
 
 And long-winged hawks do perch amidst our clouds. 
 
 The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring. 
 
 Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, 
 
 Pomona's fruits the panisks, Thetis' girls 
 
 Thy Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls ; 
 
 The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field. 
 
 Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield. 
 
 The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems. 
 
 Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, 
 
 Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, 
 
 Sabsean odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes. 
 
 And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown. 
 
 Of reeds and lilies on my head a crown, 
 
 Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, 
 
 And yearly sing due pseans to thy praise. 
 
 Ah ! why should Isis only see thee shine ? 
 Is not thy Forth as well as Isis thine? 
 Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store. 
 Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more. 
 Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, 
 For swans and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, 
 Yet in the title may be claimed in thee. 
 Nor she, nor all the world, can match with me. 
 
206 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 Now when, by honour drawn, thou shalt away 
 To her, already jealous of thy stay, 
 When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, 
 And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, 
 Much questioning of thy fare, much of thy sport. 
 Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short. 
 And chides perhaps thy coming to the north. 
 Loath not to think on thy much-loving Forth. 
 O ! love these bounds, where of thy royal stem 
 More than an hundred wore a diadem. 
 So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn. 
 So never time may see thy race outworn, 
 So of thine own still may'st thou be desired. 
 Of strangers feared, redoubted, and admired; 
 So memory thee praise, so precious hours 
 May character thy name in starry flowers ; 
 So may thy high exploits at last make even 
 With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. 
 
FLOWERS OF SWN. 207 
 
 FLOWERS OF SION. 
 
 NO TRUST IN TIME. 
 
 Look how the flower which Hng'ringly doth fade, 
 The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, 
 Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green, 
 As high as it did raise, bows low the head : 
 Right so my life, contentments being dead, 
 Or in their contraries but only seen. 
 With swifter speed declines than erst it spread. 
 And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. 
 As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the night 
 By darkness would imprison on his way. 
 Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright 
 Of what yet rests thee of life's wasting day? 
 Thy sun posts westward, passfed is thy morn, 
 And twice it is not given thee to be born. 
 
2o8 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 HYMN OF THE ASCENSION. 
 
 Bright portals of the sky, 
 
 Embossed with sparkling stars, 
 
 Doors of eternity. 
 
 With diamantine bars, 
 
 Your arras rich uphold. 
 
 Loose all your bolts and springs, 
 
 Ope wide your leaves of gold. 
 
 That in your roofs may come the King of Kings. 
 Scarfed in a rosy cloud. 
 
 He doth ascend the air : 
 
 Straight doth the moon him shroud 
 
 With her resplendent hair; 
 
 The next encrystalled light 
 
 Submits to him its beams. 
 
 And he doth trace the height 
 
 Of that fair lamp which flames of beauty's streams. 
 
 Now each ethereal gate 
 To him hath opened been, 
 And glory's King in state 
 His palace enters in ; 
 Now comed is this High Priest 
 In the most holy place, 
 Not without blood addressed, 
 With glory heaven, the earth to crown with grace. 
 
FLOWERS OF SION. 209 
 
 Stars which all eyes were late, 
 
 And did with wonder burn, 
 
 His name to celebrate, 
 
 In flaming tongues them turn ; 
 
 Their orby crystals move 
 
 More active than before. 
 
 And entheate from above, 
 
 Their sovereign prince laud, glorify, adore. 
 The quires of happy souls. 
 
 Waked with that music sweet, 
 
 Whose descant care controls. 
 
 Their Lord in' triumph meet ; 
 
 The spotless sp'rits of light 
 
 His trophies do extol, 
 
 And, arched in squadrons bright. 
 
 Greet their great Victor in his Capitol. 
 O glory of the heaven ! 
 
 O sole delight of earth ! 
 
 To thee all power be given, 
 
 God's uncreated birth ! 
 
 Of mankind lover true, 
 
 Indearer of his wrong. 
 
 Who dost the world renew. 
 
 Still be thou our salvation and our song ! 
 From top of Olivet such notes did rise, 
 Wh.en man's Redeemer did transcend the skies J 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 THE WORLD A GAME. 
 
 This world a hunting is, 
 The prey poor man, the Nimrod fierce is Death ; 
 His speedy greyhounds are 
 Lust, sickness, envy, care. 
 Strife that ne'er falls amiss. 
 
 With all those ills which haunt us while we breathe. 
 Now, if by chance we fly 
 Of these the eager chase, 
 Old age with stealing pace 
 Casts up his nets, and there we panting die. 
 
 THE BLESSEDNESS OF FAITHFUL SOULS 
 BY DEATH. 
 
 Let us each day inure ourselves to die, 
 If this, and nqt our fears, be truly death. 
 Above the circles both of hope and faith 
 With fair immortal pinions to fly ; 
 If this be death, our best part to untie. 
 By ruining the jail, from lust and wrath. 
 And every drowsy languor here beneath. 
 It turning deniz'd citizen of sky; 
 To have more knowledge than all books contain. 
 All pleasures even surmounting wishing power, > 
 The fellowship of God's immortal train, 
 And these that time nor force shall e'er deyour; 
 If this be death, what joy, what golden^ care 
 Of life can with death's ugliness comyjare ! 
 
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 
 
 SONNiET. 
 
 Ah me, and I am now the man whose muse 
 In happier times was wont to laugh at love, 
 And those who suffered that blind boy abuse 
 The noble gifts were given them from above ! 
 What metamorphose strange is this I prove ! 
 Myself now scarce I find myself to be. 
 And think no fable Circe's tyranny. 
 And all the tales are told of changed Jove. 
 Virtue hath taught with her philosophy 
 My mind unto a better cause to move. 
 Reason may chide her full, and oft reprove 
 Affection's power, but what is that to me, 
 Who ever think, and never think on ought 
 But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. 
 
 LOVE VAGABONDING. 
 
 Sweet' nymphs, if, as ye stray. 
 
 Ye find the froth-born goddess of the sea 
 
 All blubber'd, pale, undone, 
 
 Who seeks her giddy son. 
 
 That little god of love. 
 
 Whose golden shafts your chastest bosoms prove, 
 
 Who, leaving all the heavens, hath run away — 
 
 If ought to him that finds him she'll impart 
 
 Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my heart. 
 
212 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 FIVE SONNETS TO GALATEA. 
 
 I. 
 Strephon, in vain thou bring'st thy rhymes and songs, 
 Deck'd with grave Pindar's old and withered flowers; 
 In vain thou coiint'st the fair Europa's wrongs, 
 And her whom Jove deceived in golden showers. 
 Thou hast slept never under myrtles' shed, 
 Or, if that passion hath thy soul oppressed, 
 It is but for some Grecian mistress dead, 
 Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy breast. 
 How can true love with fables hold a place? 
 Thou who with fables dost set forth thy love. 
 Thy love a pretty fable needs must prove ; 
 Thou suest for grace, in scorn more to disgrace. 
 I cannot think thou wert charmed by my looks, 
 O no, thou learn'dst thy love in lovers' books. 
 
 II. 
 No more with candid words infect mine ears, 
 Tell me no more how that ye pine in anguish, 
 When sound ye sleep ; no more say that ye languish. 
 No more in sweet despite say you spend tears. 
 Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see 
 How those that are hair-brained boast of Apollo, 
 And bold give out the Muses do- them follow, 
 Though in love's library yet no lover 's he ! 
 If we poor souls least favour but them show. 
 That straight in wanton lines abroad is blazed. 
 Their name doth soar on our fame's overthrow. 
 Marked is our lightness whilst their wits are praised ; 
 In silent thoughts who can no secret cover. 
 He may, say we but not well, be a lover 
 
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 213 
 
 III. 
 Ye who with curious numbers, sweetest art, 
 Frame daedal nets our beauty to surprise, 
 Telling strange castles builded in the skies, 
 And tales of Cupid's bow, and Cupid's dart ; 
 Well howsoe'er ye act your feignfed smart. 
 Molesting quiet ears with tragic cries, 
 When you accuse our chastity's best part. 
 Named cruelty, ye seem not half too wise; 
 Yea, ye yourselves it deem most worthy praise. 
 Beauty's best guard, that dragon which doth keep 
 Hesperian fruit, the spur in you does raise 
 That Delian wit that otherwise may sleep : 
 
 To cruel nymphs your lines do fame afford. 
 
 Of many pitiful not one poor word. 
 
 IV. 
 
 If it be love to wake out all the night. 
 
 And watchful eyes drive out in dewy moans. 
 
 And when the sun brings to the world his light. 
 
 To waste the day in tears and bitter groans; 
 
 If it be love to dim weak reason's beam 
 
 With clouds of strange desire, and make the mind 
 
 In hellish agonies a heav'n to dream. 
 
 Still seeking comforts where but griefs we find; 
 
 If it be love to stain with wanton thought 
 
 A spotless chastity, and make it try 
 
 More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought 
 
 That brazen bull where he entombed did fry; 
 
 Then sure is love the causer of such woes. 
 
 Be you our lovers, or our mortal foes ? 
 
2.14 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 V. 
 And would you then shake off love's golden chain. 
 With which it is best freedom to be bound; 
 And cruel do you seek to heal the wound 
 Of love, which hath such sweet and pleasant pain? 
 All that is subject unto nature's reign 
 In skies above, or on this lower round, 
 When it is long and far sought, end hath found. 
 Doth in decadence fall, and slack remain. 
 Behold the moon, how gay her face doth grow 
 Till she kiss all the sun, then doth decay; 
 See how the seas tumultuously do flow 
 Till they embrace loved banks, then post away : 
 So is't with love; unless you love me still, 
 O do not think I '11 yield unto your will. 
 
 ALL CHANGETH. 
 
 The angry winds not aye 
 
 Do cuff the roariiig deep, 
 
 And though heavens often weep. 
 
 Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay. 
 
 Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flowers. 
 
 And love hath sweets when gone are all the sours. 
 
 This said a shepherd, closing in his arms 
 
 His dear, who blushed to feel love's new alarms. 
 
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 215 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 HAIR, fair hair ! some of the golden threads 
 
 Of which love weaves the nets that passion breeds 
 Where me like silly bird he doth retain, 
 And only death can make me free again ! 
 Ah, I you love, embrace, kiss, and adore. 
 For that ye shadow did that face before — 
 That face so full of beauty, grace, and love. 
 That it hath jealous made heaven's choir above. 
 To you I '11 tell my secret thoughts and grief, 
 Since she, dear she, can grant me no relief 
 While me from her foul traitor absence binds. 
 Witness, sweet hair, with me, how love me blinds ; 
 For when I should seek what his force restrains, 
 
 1 foolish bear about his nets and chains. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 My sweet did sweetly sleep. 
 
 And on her rosy face 
 
 Stood tears of pearls, which beauty's self did weep. 
 
 I, wond'ring at her grace. 
 
 Did all amazed remain. 
 
 When Love said, "Fool, can looks thy wishes crown? 
 
 Time past comes not again." 
 
 Then did I me bow down. 
 
 And kissing her fair breast, lips, cheeks, and eyes. 
 Proved here on earth the joys of paradise. 
 
2i6 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 
 ON A DRUNKARD. 
 
 Nor amaranths nor roses do bequeath 
 
 Unto this hearse, but tamarisks and wine; 
 
 For that same thirst, though dead, yet doth him pine. 
 
 Which made him so carouse while he drew breath. 
 
 ARETINUS. 
 
 Here Aretino lies, most bitter gall. 
 Who whilst he lived spoke ill of all ; 
 Only of God the arrant sot 
 Naught said, but that he knew him not. 
 
 Justice, truth, peace, and hospitality, 
 Friendship and love, being resolved to die, 
 In these lewd times, have chosen here to have 
 With just, true, pious, * * * their grave; 
 Them cherished he so much, so much did grace. 
 That they on earth would choose none other place. 
 
 Within the closure of this narrow grave 
 Lie all those graces a good wife could have; 
 But on this marble they shall not be read. 
 For then the living envy would the dead. 
 
EPIGRAMS. 217 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 When lately Pym descended into hell, 
 Ere he the cups of Lethe did carouse, 
 What place that was, he called aloud to tell ; 
 To whom a devil, "This is the lower house." 
 
 Here Rixus lies, a novice in the laws, 
 Who plains he came to hell without a cause. 
 
 OF THE ISLE OF RHE. 
 
 Charles, would ye quail your foes, have better luck; 
 Send forth some Drakes, and keep at home the 
 duck.* 
 
 LORD SANQUHAR. 
 
 Sanquhar, whom this earth scarce could contain. 
 
 Having seen Italy, France, and Spain, 
 
 To finish his travels, a spectacle rare. 
 
 Was bound towards heaven, but died in the air.f 
 
 *In allusion to the Duke of Buckingham, and his ill-fated 
 expedition in the year 1627. 
 
 t Robert Crichton, Lord Sanquhar, was hanged at Westminster 
 on the 29th of June, 1612, for the murder of a fencing-master 
 named Turner. 
 
THE 
 
 MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 If England in the age of Elizabeth produced her 
 typical warrior-courtier-poet in the person of Sir Philip 
 Sydney, the preux chevalier who fell at Zutphen, 
 Scotland a few years later must be held to have 
 produced hers in the person of the Marquis of 
 Montrose. To the high and rare accomplishments 
 of the Elizabethan knight, Montrose added the 
 stronger, heroic qualities of the conqueror, the 
 statesman, and the leader of men, and crowned his 
 career with a martyr's devotion and death. Last and 
 brightest star which shone on the fortunes of the 
 ill-fated Charles I., the Great Marquis, alike by the 
 brilliance of his achievement in the field, by his rich 
 accomplishment and perfect chivalry, and by his high- 
 hearted devotion to a falUng cause, seems amply to 
 deserve the title which Carlyle has given him of " the 
 noblest of the Cavaliers." 
 
 Representative of a race which had taken a heroic 
 part in nearly every period of Scottish history, and 
 whose name itself is said to signify " warrior,"* James 
 
 * Graham, Graeme, or Gram is said to be derived from the 
 old Saxon for a soldier. The name De Graham occurs in the 
 deed De Eccksia de Lohworuora of about 1 150 (Reg. Epis. 
 
222 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 Graham, fifth Earl and first Marquis of Montrose was 
 born in 1612, probably either at Kincardine, or at Mug- 
 dock Castle near Glasgow, then the chief residences 
 of the family. His mother was a daughter of the first 
 Earl of Gowrie, the restless spirit who is remembered 
 for his connection with the Raid of Ruthven. At the 
 age of twelve, being, like Cromwell, the only son in a 
 family of girls, Montrose, then Lord Graham, went to 
 Glasgow with a tutor, worthy Master Forret, whose 
 accurate account of every penny expended affords to 
 the curious reader of the present day a perfect picture 
 of the youthful cavalier and his establishment. Three 
 years later, his father meanwhile having died, the 
 young Earl passed to St. Andrews University. Here 
 again his accounts show him leading a gay and 
 generous life — playing at golf, shootirig at the butts, 
 where he won the silver arrow, playing chess and 
 cards, entertaining his friends to supper, giving money 
 to caddies, grooms, and beggars, helping a poor 
 French student to the charges for his degree, and in 
 leisure moments scribbling verses and conning his 
 favourite books — the old romances of chivalry, and 
 the lives of Sir Walter Raleigh, of Caesar, and of 
 Alexander. 
 
 •Glasg. I, 10, No. 5). Sir John the Graham, it will be re- 
 membered, took a leading part with Wallace in the Wars of 
 Independence, and fell at Falkirk in 1298. Of the Marquis's 
 immediate ancestors the first earl fell at Flodden, the second 
 was killed at Pinkie, the third was Lord Treasurer, Chancellor, 
 and Viceroy of Scotland. The fourth, the poet's father, carried 
 the sword of state at the opening of the Scots Parliament in 
 1616, and is remembered for the duel he fought with Sir James 
 Sandilands, in the High Street of Edinburgh, to avenge the 
 murder of a kinsman. 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 2-3 
 
 The gallant young nobleman was a welcome guest 
 at the mansions round St. Andrews, and in one of 
 these, Kinnaird Castle, at the early age of seventeen, he 
 wooed and married Lady Magdalene Carnegy, one of 
 Lord Southesk's six daughters. By her he had three 
 sons, one of whom succeeded him in the title. 
 
 Three years after his marriage, Montrose finished 
 his education in the manner usual with young men of 
 rank in Scotland at that time, by travel on the 
 continent. He visited Rome, France, and the Low 
 Countries, returning in 1636 to make his first appear- 
 ance at the court of Charles I. At that period he is 
 thus described by Thomas Sydney : " He was of a 
 middle stature and most exquisitely proportioned 
 limbs, his hair of a light chesnut, his coxnplexion 
 betwixt pale and ruddy, his eye most penetrating, 
 though inclining to grey, his nose rather aquiline 
 than otherwise. In riding the great horse and making 
 use of his arms he came short of none. I never 
 heard much of his delight in dancing, though his 
 countenance and his other bodily endowments were 
 equally fitting the court as the camp." A con- 
 temporary pamphlet, Montrose Redevivus, somewhat 
 later describes him as " a man of a very princely 
 courage and excellent addresses, which made him for 
 the most part be used by all princes with extraordinary 
 familiarity." 
 
 Scotland, just then, was approaching a great political 
 crisis. James VI., after his accession to the English 
 throne, had established Episcopacy in his northern 
 kingdom, and Charles was pushing matters further. 
 
224 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 In July, 1637, the attempt was made to introduce the 
 Liturgy, and the signal for resistance was given in St. 
 Giles's by Jenny Geddes with her flying stool and her 
 "Out, fause thief! Dost say mass at my lug?" In 
 1638 the nation, threatened with a religious tyranny, 
 to a man signed the National Covenant, swearing 
 solemnly to stand shoulder to shoulder in defence of 
 religious liberty. This bond was signed by Montrose, 
 and he was presently entrusted by the Committee of 
 Estates with a military commission against the Mar- 
 quis of Huntly and the town of Aberdeen, both of 
 these being supporters of prelacy. In this under- 
 taking he was entirely successful, routing the forces 
 of Huntly and sacking Aberdeen ; and shortly after- 
 wards, when the army of the Covenant, on its way to 
 England, came face to face with the army of the 
 king, Montrose was the first man to ford the Tweed 
 under the English fire. 
 
 About this period, however, the policy of the 
 Covenanting party in Scotland began to assume a 
 sinister aspect. At first the party had merely been 
 one for defence of the liberties of Scotland, but now, 
 like most popular factions when they attain to power, 
 it began to assume the offensive, and, in the interest 
 of particular tenets, to threaten even the existence of 
 the throne. This change was largely owing to the rise 
 to power of the dark, subtle, and ambitious Earl of 
 Argyle, a hereditary foe of the house of Graham. 
 Probably it did not need a personal motive just then 
 to induce the chivalrous Montrose to rally to the 
 Royalist side ; the change of front of his party was 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 225 
 
 enough. At first he had taken up arms for justice to 
 the people ; now, when the crown itself appeared to 
 be in danger, he took up arms for justice to the 
 king. In suspicion of the motives of Argyle he had 
 already drawn up a bond which was signed at Cumber- 
 nauld, Lord 'Wigton's seat, by nineteen .noblemen, 
 setting forth that, while they supported the Covenant, 
 they also intended to maintain loyalty to the throne- 
 On discovery of this bond, in May 1641, Montrose 
 and certain others, including his sister's husband and 
 his own close friend, Lord Napier, were thrown into 
 Edinburgh castle, where they lay imprisoned for ten 
 months. 
 
 This imprisonment identified Montrose with the 
 Royalists, and when the Solemn League and Cove- 
 nant of 1643, a much more aggressive document than 
 the National Covenant of 1638, was signed in Scot- 
 land, he withheld his name, and appeared definitely 
 in the opposite camp. 
 
 Charles had raised the royal standard at Nottingham 
 in August, 1642, and throughout the following year 
 his Cavaliers had proved at least equal to the forces of 
 the English Parliament opposing them. But in 1644 
 a Scottish army crossed the Border, and in conjunction 
 with the forces of the English Roundheads, inflicted 
 on Charles the crushing defeat of Marston Moor. It 
 was now, when the Royalist cause seemed almost 
 desperate, that the genius of Montrose found its 
 opportunity. Raised by Charles to the dignity of 
 Marquis, and appointed the king's Lieutenant-General 
 in Scotland, he made his way in disguise, through: 
 Q V 
 
226 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 difficulties and adventures which make the journey 
 read like a romance, from Carlisle into the Highlands. 
 He raised the king's standard suddenly in Athole, 
 where he was joined by several of the clans and by a 
 body of Irish sent over by the Earl of Antrim, and 
 dashing forthwith upon the nearest Covenanting army, 
 won his first victory for Charles at Tippermuir, and 
 took Perth. 
 
 This was done on September i, 1644, and his cam- 
 paign during the next twelve months remains one of 
 the most brilliant episodes in history. From point to 
 point of the country he dashed, often with scant 
 resources, sometimes with none; at each turn — at 
 Aberdeen, Dundee, Aldearn, and Alford — striking 
 some decisive blow ; overthrowing, one after another, 
 the generals of the estates; crushing the Clan 
 Campbell at Inverlochy; and forcing his great enemy, 
 Argyle himself, again and again to flee. Finally, by 
 his victory over General Baillie at Kilsyth on 
 August 15, 1645, he became master of Scotland. 
 
 Montrose was theri at the summit of his fortunes. 
 Appointed Captain-General and Lieutenant-Governor 
 of Scotland, he held a court at Bothwell, and received 
 congratulations and assurance of support from all who 
 were favourable to the royal cause. The task which 
 he had set himself was accomplished, Scotland was 
 the king's, and the temper and tact of the letters 
 still preserved, dated from "our Leaguer at Bothwell," 
 show that Montrose was as fit to hold the helm of 
 state as he had been to win the kingdom. He had 
 still, however, to fill another r61e in history, and to 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 227 
 
 add to the renown of his military achievement and 
 of his courtly demeanour in the hour of triumph the 
 example of a heroic character in face of defeat, 
 disappointment, and death. 
 
 A month after his crowning victory at Kilsyth he 
 was endeavouring to effect a junction with the king's 
 forces in the north of England when, lying with a 
 small part of his following at Philiphaugh on the 
 Ettrick, he was surprised by a part of the Covenanting 
 army withdrawn from England under David Lesley, 
 and suffered a disastrous defeat. He himself, when 
 all was lost, cut his way with a few friends through 
 the enemy, and with difficulty escaped. 
 
 Notwithstanding this blow, Montrose might still, 
 with his indomitable courage and fertility of resourse, 
 have rallied the Scottish Royalists, and redeemed the 
 lost cause ; but the king was now in the hands of his 
 enemies, and anxious to make terms. He therefore 
 ordered his' general to lay down arms, and at the 
 second message Montrose obeyed, taking care first to 
 stipulate for the lives and property of his friends. 
 Then, bidding those who had helped his cause a 
 regretful farewell, he retired to Holland. 
 
 He was at the Hague when the news reached him 
 of the execution of Charles, and so affected was he by 
 this, that it is said he fell down in a swoon. His 
 chaplain afterwards found on the floor of his room 
 the lines on the event beginning, "Great, Good, and 
 Just," which show the passionate intensity of his 
 feelings, and which appear to have become highly 
 popular among the Royalists. From that time the 
 
328 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 Marquis did not cease to urge the young prince, now 
 Charles II., to make an effort to assert his rights, and 
 many of the letters are extant in which Charles I.'s 
 sister, the Queen of Bohemia, and other noble ladies, 
 with whom Montrose appears to have been in high 
 favour, endeavoured to encourage him and support 
 his scheme. 
 
 At last, in the spring of 1650, commissioned by the 
 king, and supported by some foreign troops and 
 treasure, he landed in Caithness and began his last cam- 
 paign. The drama upon this occasion was short and 
 tragic. The country in which he had landed proved 
 hostile, and as the little army marched southward the 
 inhabitants held aloof. It was in vain that he used 
 every inducement, and displayed a special standard 
 which had been prepared to excite pity and indig- 
 nation for the death of Charles I. The country would 
 not rise. His only hope was, as in 1644, to strike 
 some decisive blow ; but he had now less trusty metal 
 to effect his purpose with. He was, however, pushing 
 forward with this intention when, at Invercarron, on 
 the confines of Ross-shire, he was surprised by Colonel 
 Strachan with a body of cavalry sent to scour the 
 country. The Royalist troops — German mercenaries 
 and Orkney fishermen — made hardly any resistance ; 
 the greater number of the Cavaliers were either cut 
 down or taken prisoner; and Montrose himself, severely 
 wounded and his horse shot under him, was with 
 difficulty remounted and extricated from the pursuit. 
 After changing clothes with a Highland kern, and 
 wandering for several days in dire extremity, .being 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 229 
 
 reduced, it is said, to eat his gloves, he was seized by 
 Macleod of Assynt. That chief, there is reason to 
 beheve, had formerly served with Montrose, and the 
 marquis expected to find protection at his hands. 
 Assynt, however, delivered up Montrose to General 
 Lesley, and claimed and received for the transaction 
 the published reward of ;^iooo, and four hundred 
 bolls of meal.* 
 
 Treated with every ignominy by his exultant enemies, 
 the captive Marquis was dragged from town to town 
 in the mean dress in which he had been taken. Once, 
 attired in female clothes, and helped by the Lady of 
 Grange, at whose husband's house in Fife he was 
 lodged, he had almost escaped, when the accident of 
 a drunken soldier betrayed him. Before he reached 
 Edinburgh he had been condemned to a barbarous 
 death, and when he arrived at the Water-gate in the 
 afternoon of a bleak day in May he found a cruel 
 pageant prepared for him. He was mounted high 
 and bareheaded upon a cart, while the hangman, clad 
 in the Montrose livery, rode before him covered. His 
 hands, by a refinement of cruelty, were tied, with the 
 idea, it is said, that if the populace stoned him he 
 should be defenceless. The rabble, however, struck 
 by his noble and stately bearing, wept and murmured 
 at his cruel fate. On the following Monday, in the 
 Parliament House, where he was brought to receive 
 
 * For the latest summing up of the evidence on this muchr 
 debated point see the appendix to the new translation of Wishart's 
 Memoirs of Montrose, by Canon Murdoch and Mr. Morland 
 Simpson. London : Longmans, Green, & Co. 1893. 
 
230 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 his sentence, every indignity and much vituperation 
 were heaped upon him. He replied to his accusers 
 with a calm reason and eloquence which must have 
 made any less hardened than they to pause. In 
 particular he pointed out that the deeds for which he 
 was arraigned had in every case been done under the 
 king's commission. But his death had been resolved 
 upon, and he was forced unwillingly to kneel while 
 they read his sentence. This was to the effect that 
 he should be hanged, drawn, and quartered, his head 
 fixed on the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, and his limbs 
 above the gates of the four chief cities. 
 
 This sentence was carried out on the Tuesday of 
 the following week. On the night previous he had 
 written with a diamond on the window of his prison 
 the lines, " Let them bestow on every airth a limb," 
 and he met his death with the high religious resigna- 
 tion which these lines express. On the way, to 
 execution, to which he was compelled to walk, he is 
 described as stepping " along the streets with so great 
 state, and there appeared in his countenance so much 
 beauty, majesty, and gravity as astonished the be- 
 holders; and many of his enemies did acknowledge 
 him to be the bravest subject in the world, and in him 
 a gallantry that graced all the crowd — more beseeming 
 a monarch than a mere peer." He was hanged on a 
 gallows thirty feet high, after presenting four pieces of 
 gold to the executioner, and making a speech which 
 ended with the words, " I leave my soul to God, my 
 service to my prince, my goodwill to my friends, my 
 love and charity to all." 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 231 
 
 Thus, oh May 21, 1650, in the thirty-ninth year of 
 his age, died Montrose, a nobleman whose bold genius 
 and fiery energy won for him in a few short months 
 the most brilliant reputation of his age, a hero who 
 probably, as his contemporary. Cardinal de Retz, 
 declared, comes nearest among moderns to the 
 characters depicted by Plutarch. Eleven years later 
 the whirligig of time brought its revenge. The head 
 of Montrose was taken down froih the Tolbooth, 
 where it was presently replaced by that of his arch- 
 enemy, Argyle. The body was exhumed and the 
 remains were interred with national honours — 
 mourning processions and salvoes of cannon — in the 
 cathedral of St. Giles. The hero's heart, however, is 
 not there. On the night of his execution some of his 
 friends exhumed the body, and removed and em- 
 balmed the heart. This, enclosed in a steel casket 
 made from his sword, underwent in the hands of 
 Montrose's relatives. Lord Napier's family, many 
 romantic adventures in Holland, India, and France, 
 till, in the troubles of the French Revolution, it was 
 finally concealed or lost. 
 
 The Memoirs of Montrose (1639-1650) were first 
 written by the Marquis's chaplain, George Wishart, 
 afterwards Bishop of Edinburgh. The standard Life 
 is that by Mark Napier, who also wrote a volume of 
 "Memoirs" of his hero. More recently have appeared 
 monographs by Mr. Mowbray Morris, and by Lady 
 Violet Greville, herself a lineal descendant of the.Grea 
 Marquis. Of Montrose's poems, one at least, the 
 epitaph on Charles I., was probably printed during its 
 
232 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 author's lifetime.* Eight were printed in Watson's 
 Choice Collection of Scots Foems in 1711. The pieces 
 have been printed again among Several Scots Poems 
 {Edinburgh, 1745), and in Lady Violet Greville's 
 memoir, the latter volume containing two additional 
 compositions. The " Love Verses " were engraved in 
 Johnson's Musical Museum Xa the ancient tune of 
 "Chevy Chase." They also appear in Ritson's Scottish 
 Song, I. 59. 
 
 The poems of Montrose are exactly such as might 
 have been expected from a character like that of the 
 Marquis. Ardent and somewhat unequal, they are 
 the production of the man of action rather than the 
 man of letters, the work of one who cared more for 
 the thought than for its manner of expression, yet 
 -whose thought is of itself so noble that in spite of all 
 shortcomings the verse lives and must always live in 
 the national mind and heart. 
 
 , Of the stanzas entitled " Love Verses " it has been 
 supposed that the meaning does not lie quite on the 
 surface. They were written, it is believed, when 
 Montrose's wife was dead, and as, notwithstanding 
 his favour with the ladies of highest rank of his time, 
 he is not known to have loved again, the .verses are 
 supposed to have a political signification, the speaker 
 being the king, and the mistress representing the 
 state. Whether or not this hypothesis be true, the 
 best stanzas of the poem remain among the best 
 stanzas of the cavalier poets. Montrose's other 
 
 * See Pepys' Memoirs, I. 9. 
 
THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 233 
 
 poems, all too few in number, may be left to explain 
 themselves. If here and there a line appear some- 
 what extravagant the reader may be asked to remember 
 that the poet was no mere maker of empty verse. In 
 the words of a recent critic, " Montrose's deeds had 
 given a solid foundation to his most swelling words ; 
 what would be ridiculous excess in a common man is 
 moderation in the mouth of the hero of Inverlochy 
 and Kilsyth." 
 
LOVE VERSES. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 |Y dear and only love, I pray 
 That little world of thee 
 Be governed by no other sway, 
 Than purest monarchy. 
 For if confusion have a part, 
 
 Which virtuous souls abhor, 
 I'll call a synod in my heart, 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 As Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone; 
 My thoughts did evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much. 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 Who dares not put it to the touch. 
 
 To gain or lose it all. 
 
 But I will reign and govern still, 
 
 And always give the law. 
 And have each subject at my will, 
 
 And all to stand in awe. 
 
236 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 But 'gainst my batteries if I find, 
 Thou kick, or vex me spre, 
 
 As that thou set me up a blind, 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 And in the empire of thine heart, 
 
 Where I should only be. 
 If others do pretend a part, 
 
 Or dare to vie with me. 
 Or if committees thou erect. 
 
 And go on such a score, 
 I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 But if thou wilt prove faithful then, 
 
 And constant to thy word, 
 I'll make thee glorious by my pen 
 
 And famous by my sword. 
 I'll serve thee in such noble ways 
 
 Was never heard before; 
 I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 My dear and only love, take heed 
 How thou thyself dispose : 
 
 Let not all longing lovers feed 
 Upon such looks as those. 
 
LOVE VERSES. zyj 
 
 I'll marble-wall thee round about, 
 
 Myself shall be the door, 
 And if thy heart chance to slide out 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, 
 
 Make any breach at all, 
 Nor smoothness of their language plot 
 
 Which way to scale the wall. 
 Nor balls of wildfire love consume 
 
 The shrine which I adore ; 
 For if such smoke about thee fume 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 I know thy virtues be too strong 
 
 To suffer by surprise; 
 If that thou slight their love too long 
 
 Their siege at last will rise. 
 And leave thee conqueror, in that wealth 
 
 And state thou wast before : 
 But if thou turn a commonwealth, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 And if by fraud or by consent 
 
 Thy heart to ruin come, 
 I'll sound the trumpet as I wont, 
 
 Nor march by tuck of drum, 
 But hold my arms, like Achseus, up, 
 
 Thy falsehood to deplore. 
 And bitterly will sigh and weep. 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
238 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 I'll do with thee as Nero did 
 
 When he set Rome on fire, 
 Not only all relief forbid, 
 
 But to a hill retire, 
 And never shed a tear to save 
 
 Thy spirit, grown so poor; 
 But laugh and smile thee to thy grave. 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 Then shall thy heart be set by mine. 
 
 But in far different case ; 
 For mine was true, so was not thine. 
 
 But looked like Janus' face. 
 For as the waves with every wind. 
 
 So sails thou every shore. 
 And leaves thy constant heart behind — 
 
 How can I have thee more? 
 
 My heart shall with thee sure be fixed, 
 
 For constancy most strange; 
 And thine shall with the moon be mixed. 
 
 Delighting aye in change. 
 Thy beauty shined at first so bright, 
 
 And woe is me therefor. 
 That ever I found thy love so light 
 
 That I could love no more. 
 
 Yet, for the love I bare thee once. 
 Lest that thy name should die, 
 
 A monument of marble stone 
 The truth shall testify; 
 
LOVE VERSES. 239 
 
 That every pilgrim passing by 
 
 May pity and deplore, 
 And, sighing, read the reason why 
 
 I cannot love thee more. 
 
 The golden laws of love shall be 
 
 Upon these pillars hung — 
 A single heart, a simple eye, 
 
 A true and constant tongue. 
 Let no man for more love pretend 
 
 Than he has hearts in store: 
 True love begun will never end; 
 
 Love one, and love no more. 
 
 And when all gallants ride about 
 
 More monuments to view. 
 Whereon is Written, in and out, 
 
 Thou traitorous and untrue; 
 Then, in a passion, they shall pause 
 
 And thus say, sighing sore, 
 " Alas ! he had too just a cause 
 
 Never to love thee more." 
 
 And when that tracing goddess, Fame, 
 
 From east to west shall flee, 
 She shall record it to thy shame. 
 
 How thou hast lovfed me. 
 And how in odds our love was such 
 
 As few have been before — 
 Thou lov'dst too many, I too much; 
 
 So I can love no more. 
 
240 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 The misty mount, the smoking lake, 
 
 The rock's resounding echo. 
 The whistling winds, the woods that shake 
 
 Shall all with me sing heighp ; 
 The tossing seas, the tumbling boats. 
 
 Tears dripping from each oar. 
 Shall tune with me those turtle notes 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 As doth the turtle, chaste and true. 
 
 Her fellow's death regret, 
 And daily mourns for her adieu. 
 
 And ne'er renews her mate; 
 So, though thy faith was never fast — 
 
 Which grieves me wondrous sore — 
 Yet I shall live in love so chaste 
 
 That I shall love no more. 
 
LINES WRITTEN WHEN A YOUTH. 241 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN HIS COPY 
 OF QUINTUS CURTIUS WHEN 
 A YOUTH. 
 
 As Philip's noble son did still disdain 
 
 All but the clear applause of merited fame, 
 
 And nothing harboured in that lofty brain 
 But how to conquer an eternal name, 
 
 So great attempts, heroic ventures, shall 
 
 Advance my fortune, or renown my fall. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A DOG 
 
 Belonging to the Marquis of Newcastle, fighting with 
 another, and killed in anger by Hamilton. 
 
 Here lies a dog whose quality did plead 
 Such fatal end from a renowned blade : 
 And blame him not that he succumbfed now, 
 E'en Hercules could not combat against two. 
 For whilst he on his foe revenge did take 
 He manfully was killed behind his back. 
 Then say, to eternize the cur that's gone. 
 He fleshed the maiden sword of Hamilton. 
 
242 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF WOMEN. 
 
 When Heaven's great Jove had made the world's 
 
 round frame, 
 Earth, water, air, and fire, above the same. 
 The rolling orbs, the planets, spheres, and all 
 The lesser creatures in the earth's vast ball, 
 But, as a curious alchemist still draws 
 From grosser metals finer, and from those 
 Extracts another, and from that again 
 Another that doth far excel the same. 
 So framed he Man, of elements combined 
 To excel that substance whence he was refined. 
 But that pure creature, drawn from his breast, 
 Excelleth him as he excelled the rest, 
 Or as a stubborn stalk whereon there grows 
 A dainty lily or a fragrant rose : 
 The stalk may boast and set its virtues forth. 
 But, take away the flower, where is its worth? 
 But yet, fair ladies, you must know, 
 Howbeit I do adore you so. 
 Reciprocal your flowers must prove, 
 Or my ambition scorns to love. 
 A noble soul doth still abhor 
 To strike but where 'tis conqueror. 
 
SOVEREIGNTY IN DANGER. 243 
 
 SOVEREIGNTY IN DANGER. 
 
 Can little beasts with lions roar, 
 
 And little birds with eagles soar? 
 
 Can shallow streams command the seas, 
 
 And little ants the humming-bees? 
 
 No, no, no, no — it is not meet 
 
 The head should stoop unto the feet. 
 
 ON THE FAITHLESSNESS AND 
 VENALITY OF THE TIMES. 
 
 Unhappy is the man 
 
 To whose breast is confined 
 The sorrows and distresses all 
 
 Of an afflicted mind. 
 
 The extremity is great — 
 
 He dies if he conceal. 
 The world's so void of secret friends, 
 
 Betrayed if he reveal. 
 
 Then break, afflicted heart. 
 
 And live not in these days, 
 When all prove merchants of their faith. 
 
 None trusts what other says. 
 
244 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 For when the sun doth shine 
 Then shadows do appear, 
 
 But when the sun doth hide his face 
 They with the sun retire. 
 
 Some friends as shadows are 
 And fortune as the sun ; 
 
 They never proffer any help 
 Till fortune hath begun ; 
 
 But if in any call 
 
 Fortune shall first decay, 
 
 Then they, as shadows of the sun. 
 With fortune run away. 
 
SYMPATHY IN LOVE. 245 
 
 SYMPATHY IN LOVE. 
 
 There's nothing in this world can prove 
 
 So true and real pleasure 
 As perfect sympathy in love, 
 
 Which is a real treasure. 
 
 The purest strain of perfect love 
 
 In virtue's dye and season 
 Is that whose influence doth move, 
 
 And doth convince our reason. 
 
 Designs attend, desires give place, 
 Hope had, no more availeth ; 
 
 The cause removed, the effect doth cease. 
 Flame not maintained soon faileth. 
 
 The conquest then of richest hearts 
 Well lodged and trimmed by nature. 
 
 Is that which true content imparts — 
 When worth is joined with feature. 
 
 Filled with sweet hope then must I still 
 
 Love what's to be admired ; 
 When frowning aspects cross the will 
 
 Desires are more endeared. 
 
246 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 Unhappy then, unhappy I, 
 To joy in tragic pleasure, 
 
 And in so dear and desperate way 
 To abound, yet have no treasure. 
 
 Yet will I not of Fate despair — 
 Time oft in end relieveth — 
 
 But hope my star will change her air 
 And joy where now she grieveth. 
 
 ON RECEIVING NEWS OF THE 
 DEATH OF CHARLES I. 
 
 Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate 
 My grief with thy too rigid fate, 
 I'd weep the world in such a strain 
 As it should deluge once again. 
 
 But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies 
 More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes, 
 I'll sing thine obsequies with trumpet sounds 
 And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES I. 247 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES I. 
 
 Burst out my soul in main of tears, 
 
 And thou, my heart, sigh's tempest move, 
 
 My tongue let never plaints forbear, 
 But murmur still my crossed love; 
 
 Combine together all in one. 
 
 And thunder forth my tragic moan ! 
 
 But tush, poor drop, cut breath, broke air ! 
 
 Can you my passions e'er express ? 
 No, rather but augment my care. 
 
 In making them appear the less ; 
 Seeing that but from small woes words do come, 
 But great ones they are always dumb. 
 
 My swelling grief, then, bend yourself 
 
 This fatal breast of mine to fill, 
 
 The centre where all griefs distil ; 
 That, silent thus, in plaints I may 
 Consume and melt myself away. 
 
 Yet, that I may contented die, 
 
 I only wish, before my death. 
 Transparent that my breast may be, 
 
 Ere that I do expire my breath. 
 Since sighs, tears, plaints, express no smart, 
 It might be seen into, my heart. 
 
24? THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE EVE OF HIS 
 EXECUTION. 
 
 Let them bestow on every airth a limb, 
 Then open all my veins that I may swim 
 To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake; 
 Then place my parboiled head upon a stake. 
 Scatter my ashes, strew them in the air — 
 Lord ! since thou knowest where all these atoms are, 
 I'm hopeful thou'lt recover once my dust. 
 And confident thou'lt raise me with the just. 
 
THE 
 
 SEMPLES OF BELTREES 
 
THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES- 
 
 The poetical annals of Scotland in the troublous 
 latter half of the seventeenth century are illuminated 
 almost solely by the productions of a single family. 
 These productions, moreover, differ from the work 
 of the poets immediately preceding in the fact that 
 they are written for the most part in the Scottish 
 vernacular, and not in the fashionable English of 
 the court. 
 
 Already the name of Semple had appeared among 
 the "makars." In the previous century Robert 
 Semple, whom some have confused with the Lord 
 Semple of the time, had earned repute by writing a 
 poem of considerable length entitled " The Sege of 
 the Castel of Edinburgh," as well as a play, "The 
 Regentis Tragedie," and several lighter productions.* 
 But it is the work of the three Semples of the seven- 
 teenth century which has conferred a popular immor- 
 tality upon the name. 
 
 *The "Sege" was printed by Lekprevik in IS73. Other of 
 Sample's poems are contained in the Bannatyne MS. of 1568, 
 printed by the Hunterian Club, and in Scottish Poems of the 
 Sixteenth Century. "The Sempill Ballates, a series of His- 
 torical, Political, and Satirical Scottish Poems, ascribed to 
 Robert Sempill, 1 568- 1583," was published at Edinburgh in 
 1872. 
 
252 THE SEMPLES OF BELTKEES. 
 
 At the court of Queen Mary there was a young 
 gallant who owes a certain notoriety to a sentence of 
 John Knox — one of the pleasant things which that 
 Reformer was apt at saying about his contemporaries 
 of the opposite faction. " It wes weill knawin," he 
 writes, "that schame haistit mariage betwix John 
 Sempill, callit the Danser, and Marie Levingstoune, 
 surnameit the Lustie (fair)." This "Danser" was the 
 youngest son of Robert, third Lord Semple, of Castle 
 Semple in Renfrewshire, while Mary Livingston, one 
 of the "Queen's Maries," was a daughter of Alexander, 
 fifth Lord Livingston, the preceptor of the Queen. 
 Whether or not "schame haistit the mariage," as 
 Knox has so kindly recorded, Queen Mary appears 
 to have regarded "it with great favour, dowering the 
 young couple with lands in Aberdeenshire, Ayrshire, 
 and Fife, while from Lord Semple they got Beltrees 
 and other property in Renfrewshire. 
 
 In the Beltrees papers it is stated that the son of 
 this gallant pair, afterwards Sir James Semple, "was 
 born about the year 1565, and being of an age with 
 King James VI., had his education with that learned 
 prince, with whom he became a most intimate com- 
 panion, and enjoyed some very honourable offices in 
 the state." The heir of Beltrees was in fact named 
 after the young king, who, though an iiifant, was his 
 godfather. Their tutor was the celebrated historian 
 and poet, George Buchanan, and it was probably to 
 him that the young courtier, like his royal master, 
 owed his taste for letters. Semple completed his 
 education at St. Andrews, and, his father having died 
 
THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 253 
 
 in 1579, he probably, after leaving the university, 
 spent much of his time at court. He was ambassador 
 at the English court in 1599, was knighted by James 
 in the following year, and in 1601 he appears as 
 ambassador to France. 
 
 When the king wrote his Basilicon Doron, Semple, 
 who acted as his amanuensis, showed the MS. in 
 process to his friend Andrew Melville, the famous 
 divine. With little scruple Melville took advantage 
 of this indulgence, and, having made notes of what 
 was intended to be only a private tract, laid the 
 matter before the presbyteries. For this violation of 
 good taste he was sent to the Tower, where curiously 
 he owed the mitigation of his imprisonment to the 
 intercession of the man to whose friendship he had 
 played false, the laird of Beltrees. A little later, 
 Melville, having gone to France, fell to loggerheads, 
 on the subject of Calvinism, with Tilenus, a fellow- 
 professor at Sedan. Here again Semple came to his 
 help, writing in his interest a, Latin tract Scoti Tok 
 TuxoTTos jParadesis contra Danielis Tileni Silesii 
 Parcenesin. Besides this polemic, which was composed 
 in 1622, Sir James wrote other two controversial 
 essays, Cassandra Scoticana to Cassander Anglicanus 
 in 1618, and Sacrilege Sacredly Handled, a tract 
 against Scaliger and Selden, in 161 9. As Sheriff- 
 Substitute ■ of Renfrewshire, he is believed to have 
 taken part in the reception of James VI. at Paisley 
 Abbey in 161 7; and the oration then recited before 
 the king by "a prettie boy of 9 yeeres age" was 
 probably written by him. To these compositions and 
 
254 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 his single poem, The Packman's Paternoster, or A 
 Picktooth for the Pope, he owes his place in Scottish 
 literature. 
 
 Semple in 1594 married Egidia, or Geillis Elphin- 
 ston, a daughter of Elphinston of Blythswood, by 
 whom he had two sons and four daughters. He died 
 in February, 1626. 
 
 Robert Semple, eldest son and successor of Sir 
 James, was probably born in 1595. He matriculated 
 at the College of Glasgow in March, 1613, when 
 his name appears as " Robertus Semple, haeres de 
 Bultreis." Little is known of his life, except that in 
 the great civil war he fought on the side of Charles I. 
 as an officer in the royal army. The difficulties of 
 the family seem to date from that time. During the 
 struggle Robert Semple not only lost the Irish pro- 
 perty of Carberry, which had been conferred on his 
 father by King James, but was compelled also in 1649 
 to sell part of his estate, disposing of it to Captain 
 George Montgomery, for ;^3ooo. It is recorded that 
 he took an active part in the Restoration, but it does 
 not appear that he was in any way recompensed for 
 his losses in the cause of loyalty. His death must 
 have occurred before 1669, for in that year his son, 
 as laird of Beltrees, effected an excambion of part of 
 his park meadow. By his wife, Mary, a daughter 
 of Sir Thomas Lyon of Auldbar, he left a son, Francis, 
 and a daughter, Elizabeth, married to Sir George 
 Maxwell of Newark. 
 
 Owing, perhaps, to the troubled state of the times 
 in which he hved, Robert Semple has left only two 
 
THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 255 
 
 or three compositions to the world, the first being 
 an addition to his father's poem "The Packman's 
 Paternoster," and the second the famous popular 
 elegy on Habbie Simson, " The Piper of Kilbarchan." 
 An epitaph on Sanny Briggs, in the same vein and 
 stanza as "The Piper," has also been attributed 
 to him. 
 
 Third, and, by his work, best known of this descent, 
 ■was Francis Semple. He is chiefly famous as author 
 of the humorous song " Maggie Lauder," but he was 
 also author of other pieces of spirit, notably "She 
 rose and let me in," "Hallow Fair," "The Blythsome 
 Bridal," and " The Banishment of Poverty." 
 
 The date of his birth is unknown, but if a popular 
 tradition of the neighbourhood is to be trusted, it may 
 be approximately fixed. The story runs that one day, 
 when the boy was walking with his grandfather, the 
 old man said, " Thy faither is a poet — thou maun try 
 thy hand. We'se gang the length of Castle Semple, 
 then let me hear it." When the stipulated distance 
 had been covered the grandfather's ears were regaled 
 with the following sentiment : 
 
 There livit three lairds into the west, 
 And their names were Beltrees ; 
 
 An the deil wad tak' twa awa', 
 The third wad live at ease. 
 
 Sir James, it is said, "straikit the heid, but nippit 
 the lug '' of the youthful rhymer. As the old knight 
 died in 1626, and his son Robert was then only thirty, 
 his grandson Francis was probably not more, and 
 
2S6 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 could hardly be less than ten years old at the time, 
 which would set his birth in the year 1616. 
 
 Francis Semple appears to have lived a somewhat 
 reckless life, following at a distance the. tone of the 
 Merry Monarch's court. He did not marry till 1655, 
 when he espoused his cousin, Jean Campbell, a 
 daughter of Campbell of Ardkinglas. Before that 
 event he probably went through the amorous adven- 
 ture chronicled in his poem, "She rose and let me in." 
 The editor of Lyric Gems of Scotland states that the 
 song was written in 1650; and R. A. Smith in The 
 Scotish Minstrel, a Paisley production, states that by 
 tradition the scene of the amour was the old castle of 
 Auchinames, to the south of Kilbarchan — a house 
 belonging to the Crawford family, but demolished in 
 the early years of this century. William Crawford of 
 Auchinames, who died in 1695, had a daughter Ellen, 
 who is believed to have been the heroine of the song. 
 She was afterwards married to Patrick Edmonston of 
 Newton, but bore him no children. 
 
 At the same period Semple was also probably in- 
 clined to mix as laird in such scenes of rural jollity 
 as he has pictured in his "Hallow Fair" and his 
 " Blythsome Bridal." In the Paisley Repository, and 
 the Paisley Annual Miscellany, several traditions of 
 the laird of Beltrees are recorded. Among other 
 doings he appears to have furnished humorous epi- 
 taphs for several deceased characters of his neighbour- 
 hood. He also, when Glasgow lay under martial law 
 during Cromwell's visitation, first outraged and then 
 gained over the commanding officer by sending the 
 
THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 257 
 
 required notification of his arrival in town in humorous 
 rhyme.* The officers, it is said, became so enamoured 
 of his company that they kept him in Glasgow two 
 weeks longer than he had intended. There is a tradi- 
 tion also that the Semples introduced fox-hunting into 
 Renfrewshire, and kept the first pack of foxhounds. 
 Possibly the laird who effected this service was 
 Francis Sample, and if so, this may be counted as 
 one of the means by which he emptied his purse. 
 
 By his careless style of living Semple appears to 
 have fallen into pecuniary difficulties. Homings and 
 arrests seem to have been common occurrences with 
 him, and after his father's death he parted with his 
 lands piece-meal. Nothing, however, could make 
 him look sourly on life, and his "Banishment of 
 Poverty" contains a lively account of one of his 
 monetary distresses. He was helped out of the par- 
 ticular difficulty there described, he shows, by the 
 kindness of James, Duke of Albany, afterwards 
 James VII. Possibly that prince's assistance took the 
 substantial shape of an appointment as Sheriff-Depute 
 of Renfrewshire. At anyrate, Semple received that 
 office before 1677. 
 
 Whatever was the royal favour, the laird of Beltrees 
 repaid it by his loyalty. On one occasion, indeed, 
 he nearly lost his life in the cause of order. It was 
 the time of hill preachings or conventicles — of Drum- 
 clog and Bothwell Brig. A ringleader of the disorders 
 was one Walter" Scott, a late magistrate of Renfrew. 
 
 * See Stenhouse's note on " Maggie Lauder " in Johnson's 
 Museum. 
 
 S V 
 
2S8 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 Semple, in pursuit of his duty as sheriff, arrested this 
 man, and, a riot ensuing, the prisoner was rescued, 
 and Beltrees beaten and wounded to the danger of 
 his hfe. 
 
 Some of the poet's straits were the result of a habit 
 of cautionry which at that time was sapping the 
 foundations of society. From this and other causes 
 Semple to the last appears to have been pressed for 
 means. Perhaps his latest extant letter, dated in 
 1681, is one concerning money affairs. He was still, 
 however, to judge from a sentence of the letter, able 
 to entertain his kinsman, Lord Semple. He died, 
 according to Law's Memorials, on March 12, 1682, 
 leaving two sons, Robert and James. 
 
 The lands of Beltrees, or part of them, remained in 
 the hands of the poet's descendants till 1758, when 
 they were sold to M'Dowall of Castle Semple. 
 Robert, the last of the race to be laird of Beltrees, 
 died at Kilbarchan in 1789 at the age of 102. 
 
 The poetry of this poetical family is linked together 
 in somewhat curious fashion, entailing the necessity 
 of considering together the work of the three 
 generations. 
 
 " The Packman's Paternoster," which bears on its . 
 title-page the curious invitation. 
 
 This pious poeme buy and read, 
 For off the Pope it knocks the head, 
 
 after being printed during the lifetime of its original 
 author. Sir James Semple, was republished in 1669 
 with extensive additions by his son Robert, the parts 
 
THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 259 
 
 belonging to each writer being quaintly marked by 
 initials. The poem represents a debate between a 
 pedlar and a priest regarding various doctrines of the 
 Roman Church. The priest, being hard pressed in 
 argument, refers the matter to the prior of a neigh- 
 bouring convent. The prior, however, on hearing 
 the case, treats both appellants as heretics, and 
 proposes to lay them by the heels ; whereupon the 
 packman turns and makes off, being by the way, 
 however, relieved of his pack, which is seized by one 
 of the friars. The whole forms a satire of consider- 
 able power and pungency, which must have been 
 highly effective in its time, and which is still readable 
 for its smoothness of versification and its salting of 
 ■dry humour. 
 
 Robert Semple's "Piper of Kilbarchan," after 
 appearing on various broadsides, was printed in 
 Watson's Choice Collection of Comic and Serious Scots 
 Poems in 17 11. The hero of the piece was town 
 piper of Kilbarchan, the neighbouring village to 
 Beltrees, where his effigy, blowing the bags, still 
 adorns the town steeple, and his tombstone is to be 
 seen in the kirkyard. An account of him is furnished 
 in the Vsisley Annual Miscellany of 1612. Semple's 
 poem is acknowledged by Allan Ramsay and Hamilton 
 of Gilbertfield to be the first example of the felicitous 
 stanza in which it is written. With the " Epitaph on 
 Sanny Briggs" it keeps fresh the memory of Robert 
 Semple as the author of a certain humorous Scottish 
 vein in which he has been followed but hardly sur- 
 passed by later poets. 
 
26o THE SEMPLES OF BELT RE ES. 
 
 Of Francis Semple's poetry most is cast in the style 
 and atmosphere of "Christ's Kirk on the Green." 
 '•' Maggie Lauder," printed first by Herd, " Hallow 
 Fair," taken by Maidment from a stall copy of 1790, 
 and "The Blythsome Bridal," included by Watson 
 in 1706, afford together a picture of the character, 
 manners, and merriment of ancient Scottish rural life 
 which, for humour, energy, and colour, was unsur- 
 passed by anything in the popular literature of the 
 country, excepting the compositions of James V., till 
 Burns took up his pen. "She rose and let me in," 
 carried to England by Cromwell's officers, and printed 
 first with its tune in Playford's Choice Ayres and 
 Songs in 1683, remains as excellent in another way. 
 "Old Longsyne," printed first from the Beltrees 
 papers in 1849, deals with a sentiment which exer- 
 cised the pens of several Scottish poets' before Burns 
 trimmed it to the shape in which it is popular at 
 present. If it appears somewhat unequal, the critic 
 must at least admit that in the elder poet's produc- 
 tion there are lines and epithets which are worthy 
 of Burns himself. 
 
 The first and only collected edition of the poems 
 of the Semples of Beltrees was edited by James 
 Paterson, and published by T. G. Stevenson at 
 Edinburgh in 1849. The volume, however, does 
 not include "Hallow Fair," which is attributed to 
 Francis Semple by the historian of Scottish poetry, 
 Dr. Irving ; and the editor has inserted a " Discourse 
 between Law and Conscience," which is not the work 
 of any of the lairds of Beltrees. 
 
THE 
 
 PACKMAN'S PATERNOSTER. 
 
 A Conference between a Pedler and a Priest. 
 
 POLAND pedler went upon a day 
 Unto his parish priest to learn to pray : 
 The priest said, " Packman, thou must 
 
 haunt the closter 
 To learn the Ave and the Paternoster.'' 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Now, good Sir Priest, said he, what talk is that? 
 I hear you speak, but God in Heaven knows what. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 It is, said he, that holy Latin letter 
 
 That pleaseth God well, and our Lady better. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Alas, Sir John,* I'll never understand them, 
 So must I leave your prayers as I fand them. 
 
 * Some priests were addressed with the title of " Sir," and 
 were known as the Pope's knights. 
 
262 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Tush, tush, says he, if thou list to learn 
 The Latin prayers rightly to discern, 
 And sojourn but a little with me here. 
 Within a month I shall make thee parqueer.* 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Parqueer! said he; that will be but in saying; 
 In words, not sense, a prattling, not a praying. 
 Shall I, Sir John, a man of perfect age, 
 Pray like an idle parrot in a cage? 
 
 Priest. 
 
 A parrot can but prattle, for her part, 
 
 But towards God hath neither hand nor heart. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 And seeing I have head and heart to pray, 
 
 Should not my heart know what my tongue does say? 
 
 For when my tongue talks, if my heart miscarry. 
 
 How quickly may I mar your Ave Marie ! 
 
 And I, Sir, having many things to seek, 
 
 How shall I speed, not knowing how I speak? 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Because that God all tongues doth understand. 
 Yea, knows the very thoughts before the hand. 
 
 * " By heart " (par coeur), or " by the book " (par quair). 
 
THE PACKMAN'S PATERNOSTER. 263 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Then, if I think one thing and speak another, 
 I will both crab Christ and our Lady His Mother; 
 For when I pray for making up my pack, man, 
 Your Ave Marie is not worth a plack, man. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Thy Latin prayers are but general heads. 
 
 Containing every special that thou needs : 
 
 The Latin serves us for a liturgy. 
 
 As medicines direct the chirurgy ; 
 
 And in this language mass is said and sung : 
 
 For private things pray in thy mother-tongue. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Then must I have a tongue. Sir John, for either, 
 One for the Mother, another for the Fathfer. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Thinks thou the Mother does not know such small 
 
 things ? 
 ChHst is her Son, man, and He tells her all things. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 But, good Sir John, where learned our Lady her Latins, 
 For in her days were neither mass nor matins. 
 Nor yet one priest that Latin then did speak. 
 For holy words were then all Hebrew and Greek? 
 She never was at Rome, nor kissed Pope's toe; 
 How came she by the mass, then, would I know? 
 
264 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 Friest. 
 
 Packman, if thou believe the legendary, 
 The mass is elder far than Christ or Mary; 
 Por all the patriarchs, both more and less. 
 And great Melchisedec himself said mass. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 But, good Sir John, spake all these fathers Latin? 
 
 And said they mass in surplices and satin ? 
 
 Could they speak Latin long ere Latin grew? 
 
 And without Latin no mass can be true. 
 
 And as for heretics that now translate it, 
 
 False miscreants, they shame the mass, and slate it. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Well, Packman, faith, thou art too curious. 
 Thy spur-blind zeal fervent but furious. 
 I'd rather teach a whole convene of monks 
 Than such a packman with his Puritan spunks. 
 This thou must know, that cannot be denied, 
 Rome reigned o'er all when Christ was crucified — 
 Home ethnic then, but afterwards converted — 
 And grew so honest and so holy-hearted, 
 That now her emperor is turned in our pope, 
 His Holiness, as you have heard, I hope. 
 He made a law that all the world should pray 
 In Latin language to the Lord each day, 
 And thus in our traditions you may try, 
 Which, if you list to read, and shall espy 
 The Pope to be Christ's vicar, sole and sure. 
 And to the world's end so will endure. 
 
THE PACKMAN'S PATERNOSTER. 265 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Surely this purpose puts me far aback, 
 And hath more points than pins in all my pack, 
 Whatever power you give to your Pope, 
 He may not make a man an ape, I hope. 
 But, good Sir John, before we farther go, 
 Resolve me this, since you assail me so : 
 How, when, and where this vicarage befell 
 Unto your Pope? I pray you briefly tell. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Know you not? Peter when he went to Rome, 
 
 He then was execute, which was his doom. 
 
 And in his latter will and legacy 
 
 At Rome he left his full supremacy 
 
 Unto the Pope; which legacy was given 
 
 By Christ to Peter, when He went to heaven. 
 
 And so the Pope — -though mediately, indeed. 
 
 By Peter — Christ's sole vicar doth succeed. 
 
 And every pope sensyne', from race to race, 'since then. 
 
 Succeeds each other in the papal place. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 By your assertion surely I perceive 
 You press to prove that Peter then did leave 
 Such legacy to those who did him murther. 
 Think ye such fond conceits your cause can further ? 
 
 [The Packman proceeds to question the doctrines of purgatory, 
 transubstantiation, and the intercession of saints, and he satirizes 
 the institutions and abuses of the church — confession, indulgences, 
 the inquisition, and the venality of the clergy. Finally the 
 argument comes back to the question of language.] 
 
266 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Now, Packman, I confess thou puts me to it; 
 But one thing I will tell thee if thou'lt do it — 
 Thou shalt come to our holy Prior, packman, 
 And he, perhaps, will buy all on thy back, man. 
 And teach thee better how to pray than any ; 
 For such an holy man there are not many. 
 Be here to-morrow just 'tween six and seven. 
 And thou wilt find thyself halfway to heaven. 
 
 Packman. 
 
 Content, quoth I, but there is someting more 
 
 I must have your opinion in before. 
 
 In case the holy Prior have no leisure 
 
 To speak of every purpose at our pleasure. 
 
 There was but one tongue at the birth of Abel, 
 
 And many at the building up of Babel — 
 
 A wicked work which God would have confounded — 
 
 But when Christ came all tongues again resounded. 
 
 To build His Church by His apostles' teaching, 
 
 Why not in praying as well as in preaching? 
 
 Since prayer is the full and true perfection 
 
 Of holy service, saving your correction, 
 
 So if our Lord to mine own tongue be ready. 
 
 What need I then with Latin trouble our Lady? 
 
 Or if both these my prayer must be in, 
 
 I pray thee tell me at whom to begin. 
 
 And to pray jointly to them both as one. 
 
 Your Latin prayers then are quickly gone; 
 
 For Paternoster never will accord 
 
THE PACKMAN'S PATERNOSTER. 267 
 
 With her, nor Ave Marie with our Lord. 
 
 If I get Him what need I seek another? 
 
 Or dare He do nothing without His Mother? 
 
 And this, Sir John, was once in question, 
 
 Disputed long with deep digestion — 
 
 Whether the Paternoster should be said 
 
 To God, or to our Lady, when they prayed. 
 
 When Master Mair,* of learned diversity. 
 
 Was Rector of our university, 
 
 They sate so long they cooled all their kail. 
 
 Until the master-cook heard of the tale, 
 
 Who like a madman ran among the clergy. 
 
 Crying, with many a Domine me asperge. 
 
 To give the Paternoster to the Father, 
 
 And to our Lady give the Aves rather; 
 
 And, like a Welshman, swore a great St. Davies, 
 
 She might content her well with creeds and aves ; 
 
 And so the clergy, fearing more confusion. 
 
 Were all contented with the cook's conclusion. 
 
 Priest. 
 Packman, this tale is coined of the new. 
 
 Packman. 
 Sir John, I'll quit the pack if't be not true. 
 
 Last, since we say that God is good to speak to, 
 Who will both hear our text, and hear our eke too, 
 
 * John Mair, or Major, a well-known Scottish scholar, divine, 
 and historian, was born in 1469, and died in 1549. 
 
268 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 What if He answer me in the Latin tongue 
 Wherein I pray and wherein mass is sung? 
 I must say, "Lord, I wot not what Thou sayest": 
 And he'll say, "Fool, thou wots not what thou 
 
 prayest." 
 "Even, Lord," say I, "as good Sir John did teach 
 
 me." 
 "Sir John!" saith he, "a priest unmeet to preach me; 
 Or in your mishent mouths once for to name me ; 
 With different tongues and hearts, such Jock such 
 
 Jamie. 
 For though I know more tongues than ye can tell. 
 False knaves, should ye not understand yoursel'. 
 Gave I not you a tongue as well as heart, 
 I single-minded. That both to Me should play an a-fold'^ part? 
 But hke two double devils ye have dissembled." 
 
 At this Sir John he quakfed and he trembled 
 
 And said, " Good Packman, thou art so quick-witted. 
 
 Unto the Prior all must be remitted." 
 
 And so the Packman passed unto his lodging. 
 
 Having within his heart great grief and grudging. 
 
 Sometimes he doubted if the monks were men 
 
 Or monsters; for his life he could not ken. 
 
 He said Sir John was a fair fatted ox ; 
 
 Sometimes he said he lookbd like John Knox; 
 
 But Knox was better versed into the Bible, 
 
 A study that Sir John held very idle. 
 
 They dive not deep into Divinity, 
 
 And trouble them little with the Trinity, 
 
 And are more learned in the legendary. 
 
THE PACKMAN'S PATERNOSTER. 269 
 
 In lives of saints and of the Virgin Mary. 
 The only idol they embrace and kiss a 
 Is to prove servants unto Mistress Missa. 
 
 With such conceits the Packman passed the night, 
 
 With little sleep, until it was daylight; 
 
 And by the peep of day he early rose, 
 
 And trimmed him finely in his holiday's hose. 
 
 And to Sir John's own chamber straight he went. 
 
 Who was attending. So with one assent, 
 
 They hied them to the Prior both in haste. 
 
 To whom Sir John began to give a taste 
 
 Of all the questions that had passed amongst them. 
 
 He called them heretics both, and vowed to hang 
 
 them. 
 With that the Packman hurled through the closter. 
 And there he met with an ill-favoured foster. 
 Who quickly twined' him and all on his back, 'parted. 
 
 And then he learned to pray, "Shame fall the pack, 
 For if they have not freed me of my sin, 
 They sent me lighter out than I came in!" 
 And still he cried, "Shame fall both monks and friars! 
 For I have lost my pack and learned no prayers. 
 So farewell Ave, Creed, and Paternoster! 
 I'll pray in my mother-tongue, and quit the closter." 
 
270 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE 
 PIPER OF KILBARCHAN, 
 
 The Epitaph of Habbie Simson, 
 
 Who on Ms drone bore mony flags; 
 
 He made his cheeks as red as crimson. 
 And bobbed when he blew his bags. 
 
 KiLBARCHAN HOW may say alas ! 
 
 For she hath lost her game and grace, 
 
 Both Trixie and the Maiden-Trace;* 
 
 But what remead? 
 For no man can supply his place — 
 
 Hab Simson's dead. 
 
 Now who shall play "The day it daws," 
 Or "Hunt's up when the cock he craws?" 
 Or who can, for our kirktown cause. 
 
 Stand us in stead? 
 On bagpipes now nobody blaws, 
 
 Sin' Habbie's dead. 
 
 * It was formerly the custom in Kilbarchan for the piper to 
 play a march called the Maiden-trace before the bride as, 
 previous to her marriage, she walked with her maidens three 
 times round the church. "Hey trix, trim go trix" was a popular 
 song. Irving prints it in his History of Scottish Poetry. 
 
THE PIPER OF KILBARCHAN. 271 
 
 Or wha will cause our shearers shear'? ■ 
 
 Wha will bend up the brags o' weir^, 
 Bring in the bells, or good play meir 
 
 In time of need? 
 Hab Simson could, what needs you speir3? 
 
 But now he's dead. 
 
 2 strike up the 
 war-notes. 
 
 3 inquire. 
 
 So kindly . to his neighbours neist. 
 At Beltane and Saint Barchan's feast 
 He blew, and then held up his breast, 
 
 As he were weid't; 
 But now we need not him arrest. 
 
 For Habbie's dead. 
 
 4 wod, wild. 
 
 At fairs he played before the spearmen s. 
 
 All gaily graithed^ in their gear, men. 
 
 Steel bonnets, jacks, and swords so clear then, 
 
 Like any bead. \ 
 
 Now wha will play before such weir-men ', 
 
 Sin Habbie's dead? 
 
 5 provost's guard. 
 clad. 
 
 At clerk-plays^, when he wont to come. 
 His pipe played trimly to the drum. 
 Like bykes of bees he gart it bum, 
 
 And tuned his reed : 
 Now all our pipers may sing dumb 
 
 Sin' Habbie's dead. 
 
 ^ stage plays. 
 
272 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 And at horse races many a day 
 Before the black, the brown, the grey,* 
 He gart his pipe, when he did play, 
 
 Baith skirl and screed j 
 Now all such pastime's quite away 
 
 Sin' Habbie's dead. 
 
 ' picked. 
 
 2 superionty. 
 
 He counted was a waled' wight-man, 
 And fiercely at football he ran; 
 At every game the gree^ he wan 
 
 For pith and speed ; 
 The like of Habbie wasna then. 
 
 But now he's dead. 
 
 3 jests. 
 
 And then, besides his valiant acts, 
 At bridals he wan many placks. 
 He bobbit aye behind folks' backs, 
 
 And shook his head : 
 Now we want many merry cracks 3, 
 
 Sin' Habbie's dead. 
 
 4 Hisdirk, named 
 after Montrose's 
 lieutenant. 
 
 He was conveyer of the bride, 
 With Kittock4 hinging at his side; 
 About the kirk he thought a pride 
 
 The ring to lead; 
 But now we may gae buts a guide, 
 
 For Habbie's dead. 
 
 * The winning horse was led round in triumph after the race, 
 the piper playing before it. 
 
THE PIPER OF KILBARCHAN. 273 
 
 So well's he keepit his decorum 
 
 And all the stots' of " Whipmegmorum," 'steps of the 
 
 He slew a man, and wae's me for him, 
 
 And bore the feid^; =f>="ii. 
 
 But yet the man wan hame before him, 
 
 And was not dead.* 
 
 And when he played, the lasses leughs 3 laughed. 
 
 To see him teethless, auld, and teugh; 
 He wan his pipes beside Barcleugh t 
 
 Withouten dread; 
 Which after wan him gear eneugh ; 
 
 But now he's dead. 
 
 Aye when he played, the gaislings gethered, 
 And when he spake the carl blethered. 
 On Sabbath days his cap was feathered, 
 
 A seemly weed; 
 In the kirkyard his mare stood tethered 
 
 Where he lies dead. 
 
 * The story is told that Habble was playing his new tune of 
 " Whipmegmorum " when a tipsy villager thrust a knife into the 
 pipe-bag, and let out the wind. The piper, in sudden wrath at 
 the insult, drew his "kittock" and drove it at his assailant, 
 who fell to the ground. Habbie fled, and lay for a day in 
 hiding, thinking his man dead, before he discovered that in 
 seizing his knife he had drawn out only the handle, the blade 
 having remained in its sheath. 
 
 tWith his wage as a herd boy. 
 
 T V 
 
274 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 Alas, for him my heart is sair, 
 For of his springs I gat a scare 
 At every play, race, feast, and fair. 
 
 But guile or greed; 
 We need not look for piping mair 
 
 Sin' Habbie's dead. 
 
HALLOW FAIR. 
 
 275 
 
 HALLOW FAIR.* /^ 
 
 There's mony braw Jockies and Jennies 
 
 Comes weel buskit into the fair, 
 Wi' ribbons on their cockernonies ', 
 
 And fouth^ o' braw flour i' their hair. 
 Maggie sae brawly was buskits 
 
 When Jockie was tied to his bride; 
 The pownie was ne'er better whiskit 
 
 Wi' a cudgel that hung by his side. 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
 I snooded kr 
 
 of hair, 
 = plenty. 
 
 3 dressed. 
 
 But Willie, the muirland laddie. 
 
 Was mounted upon a gray cowt, 
 Wi' his sword by his side like a caddie, 
 
 To ca' in the sheep and the nowt+. 
 Sae nicely his doublets did fit him, 
 
 They scarcely came down to mid-thie, 
 Wi' weel-powdered hair, hat, and feather, 
 
 Wi' houzen, curple, and ties. 
 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
 4 cattle. 
 
 5 housing, cri 
 per, and br 
 fastening. 
 
 * This gathering was held on All Saints Day in November. 
 " Hallow Fair," says Maidment (Scotish Ballads and Songs, 
 1859), "which is now peculiar to the metropolis, was held on 
 the Calton Hill some fifty years ago. The little boys used to 
 arm themselves with whips, and accompany the cattle to their 
 place of destination in their passage through the city." 
 
276 
 
 THE SEMPLES OF BELTKEES. 
 
 ^ drinking cup of 
 wood or horn. 
 
 But Maggie grew wondrous jealous 
 
 To see Willie buskit sae braw, 
 And Wattie he sat i' the ale-house 
 
 And hard at the bicker' did ca'. 
 Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him, 
 
 He took the pint-stoup in his arms, 
 Quo' he, "I think they're right saucy 
 
 That lo'es na good father's bairns." 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
 2 sheep-folding. 
 
 3 appetite. 
 
 4 windows. 
 
 5 fiend (never) s 
 
 one. 
 
 But now it grew late i' the e'ening, 
 
 And buchting^ time was drawing near; 
 The lasses had stanched a' their greenings 
 
 Wi' fouth o' braw apples and pears. 
 There's Tibbie, and Sibbie, and Lily, 
 
 Wha weel on the spindle can spin. 
 Stood glow'ring at signs and glass winnocks*. 
 
 But fient a anes bade them come in. 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
 "Gosh guide's! did ye e'er see the like o't? 
 
 See, yonder's a bonnie black swan ; 
 It looks as it fain wad be at us — 
 
 What's yon that it has in its han'?" 
 "Awa', daft gowk!" quo' Wattie, 
 
 "It's nane but a rickle o' sticks; 
 See, there's the deil and Bell Hawkie, 
 
 And yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick.' 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
HALLOW FATR. 277 
 
 But Bruckie played "Boo!" to Bawsie, 
 
 And aff gaed the cowt like the win' ; 
 Puir Willie, he fell i' the causey, 
 
 And bruized a' the banes in his skin; 
 The pistols fell out o' the hulsters. 
 
 And were a' bedaubit wi' dirt; 
 The folks ran about him in clusters, 
 
 Some leugh and said, "Lad, are ye hurt?" 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
 The cowt wad let naebody near him — 
 
 He was aye sae wanton and skeigh ' — ' shy, easily 
 
 alarmed. 
 
 The pedlar Stan's he lap ower them, 
 
 And gart a' the folk stan' abeigh^: '^''''■ 
 
 Wi' a' sneering behin' and before him, 
 
 For sic is the mettle o' brutes, 
 Puir Wattie, and wae's me for him, 
 
 Was forced to gang hame in his boots. 
 Sing fal de ral, la de. 
 
278 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 speaker. 
 
 MAGGIE LAUDER. 
 
 Wha wadna be in love 
 
 Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder? 
 A piper met her gaun to Fife 
 
 And spiered what was't they ca'd her; 
 Richt scornfully she answered him, 
 • sturdy beggar. " Begoue, you hallan-shaker ' ! 
 
 sSIstinct Jog on your gate', you bladderskates! 
 
 My name is Maggie Lauder." 
 
 "Maggie!" quoth he, "and, by my bags, 
 
 I'm fidgin' fain to see thee : 
 Sit down by me, my bonnie bird ; 
 
 In troth I winna steer thee. 
 For I'm a piper to my trade. 
 
 My name is Rob the Ranter; 
 The lasses loup as they were daft 
 
 When I blaw up my chanter." 
 
 "Piper," quo' Meg, "hae ye your bags, 
 
 Or is your drone in order? 
 If ye be Rob, I've heard o' you ; 
 
 Live you upo' the Border? 
 
MAGGIE LAUDER. 279 
 
 The lasses a' baith far and near, 
 
 Have heard o' Rob the Ranter, 
 I'll shake my foot wi' richt gude will 
 
 Gif ye'U blaw up your chanter." 
 
 Then to his bags he flew wi' speed; 
 
 About the drone he twisted; 
 Meg up and walloped ower the green, 
 
 For brawly could she frisk it. 
 "Weel done!" quo' he. "Play up!" quo' she. 
 
 "Weel bobbed!" quo' Rob the Ranter, 
 " It's worth my while to play, indeed, 
 
 When I hae sic a dancer ! " 
 
 "Weel hae you played your part," quo' Meg; 
 
 " Your cheeks are like the crimson : 
 There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel 
 
 Sin' we lost Habbie Simson. 
 I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife, 
 
 This ten years and a quarter; 
 Gin ye should come to Anster Fair,* 
 
 Speir ye for Maggie Lauder." 
 
 * Before the Union, Anstruther lint fair was a great gathering, 
 attended by merchants from all the northern countries of Europe. 
 The doings at it have been celebrated in Tennant's well-known 
 poem of "Anster Fair." 
 
28o 
 
 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 
 
 I smgmg. 
 
 Fy, let us all to the bridal,* 
 
 For there will be lilting' there, 
 For Jockie's to be married to Maggie, 
 
 The lass wi' the gowden hair. 
 And there will be lang-kail and pottage 
 
 And bannocks of barley-meal, 
 And there will be good salt herring, 
 To relish a cog of good ale. 
 
 Fy, let us all to the bridal, 
 
 For there will be lilting there, 
 For Jockie's to be married to Maggie, 
 The lass wi' the gowden hair. 
 
 2 shoemaker. 
 
 3 puddler. 
 
 And there will be Sandy the souter^. 
 
 And Willie wi' the meikle mou'; 
 And there will be Tom the plouters. 
 
 And Andrew the tinkler, I trowj 
 And there will be bow-legged Robbie, 
 
 And thumbless Katie's good-man, 
 And there will be blue-cheeked Dallie, 
 
 And Laurie the laird o' the Ian'. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 * " The license of a Scottish bridal," says Allan Cunningham, 
 "if we may believe the northern painters and poets, was very 
 great. The riding for the bruse, the bedding, the stocking- 
 throwing, the eating, the dancing, and the drinking, would 
 require a volume." 
 
THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. 
 
 281 
 
 And there will be sow-libber' Patey, 
 
 And plouky-faced^ Wat i' the mill, 
 Capper-nosed 3 Gibbie, and Francie 
 
 That wins in the how* 0' the hill. 
 And there will be Alaster Dougal, 
 
 That splee-footed Bessie did woo, 
 And sniffling Lily and Tibbie, 
 
 And Kirsty, that belly-god sow, 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 I sow-gelder. 
 ^ pimply-faced. 
 
 3 hook-nosed. 
 
 + lives in the 
 hollow. 
 
 And Crampie, that married Steenie, 
 And cofts him breeks to his 
 
 And afterwards hanged for stealing. 
 Great mercy it happened no worse. 
 
 And there will be fairntickled^ Hugh, 
 And Bess wi' the lily-white leg. 
 
 That gat to the south for breeding?. 
 
 And banged up her wame in Mons Meg. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 5 bought. 
 
 6 freckled. 
 
 And there will be Geordie M 'Cowrie, 
 
 And blinking daft Barb'ra, and Meg, 
 And there will be blenched^ Gillie- Whimple, 
 
 And peuter-faced, flichting? Joug. 
 And there will be happer-a — d'° Nancy, 
 
 And fairy-faced Jeanie by name, 
 Glie'd" Katie, and fat-lugged Lizzie, 
 
 The lass wi' the gowden wame. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 ** pale. 
 
 9 anxious-faced, 
 scolding. 
 
 ^o shrunk about 
 the hips. 
 
 *' squint-eyed. 
 
282 
 
 THE S EMPIRES OF BELTREES. 
 
 ^ ill-humoured. 
 = giddy. 
 3 scolding. 
 
 4 onions,radishes, 
 and broiled 
 
 And there will be girn-again' Gibbie, 
 
 And his glaikit^ wife, Jeanie Bell, 
 And measly-chinned fly ting 3 Geordie, 
 
 The lad that was skipper himsel'. 
 There'll be all the lads and the lasses, 
 
 Set down in the midst o' the ha', 
 Wi' siboes and rifarts and carlings*, 
 
 That are both sodden and raw. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 5 colewort, 
 
 sweets, .and 
 thick gruel. 
 
 6 mouthfuls. 
 
 7 sheep's head . 
 
 broth, meal 
 and water, 
 and curd. 
 
 8 crabs and shell- 
 
 fish. 
 
 9 dried haddocks. 
 
 •° fat broth. 
 
 There will be tartan, dragen, and brackens, 
 
 And fouth of good gappocks^ of skate, 
 Pow-sodie, and drammock, and crowdie', 
 
 And caller nowt-feet in a plate. 
 And there will be partans and buckles^, 
 
 Speldenss, and haddocks eneugh. 
 And singed sheeps' heads, and a haggis. 
 
 And scadlips'° to sup till ye're fu'. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
 '^^ curded-milk 
 
 cheeses. 
 *2 thick cakes. 
 '3 new ale. 
 
 '4 meal-broth and 
 cabbage-stalks. 
 •5 drink. 
 >« belch. 
 '7 grid. 
 *8 flounders. 
 
 There will be good lappered-milk kebbocks". 
 
 And sowens, and farles, and baps", 
 And swats '3, and scrapit paunches. 
 
 And brandy in stoups and in caps. 
 And there will be meal-kail and custocks''*, 
 
 And skink's to sup till you rive'*. 
 And roasts, to roast on a brander'?, 
 
 Of flukes'^ that were taken alive. 
 Fy, let us all, &c. 
 
THE BLVTHSOME BRIDAL. 283 
 
 Scraped haddocks, whelks, dulse, and tangle, 
 
 And a mill of good sneezin' to pree'; '''snufftlTr^. 
 
 When weary with eating and drinking, 
 
 We'll rise up and dance till we dee. 
 Fy, let us all to the bridal, 
 
 For there will be lilting there, 
 For Jockie's to be married to Maggie, 
 
 The lass wi' the gowden hair. 
 
284 
 
 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 THE 
 
 BANISHMENT OF POVERTY.* 
 
 * Sad was. 
 
 = could. 
 
 Pox fa' that poltroon Poverty! 
 
 Wae worth' the time that I him saw ! 
 Sin' first he laid his fang on me 
 
 Myself from him I dought^ ne'er draw. 
 
 3 dog that follows 
 closely. 
 
 His wink to me has been a law, 
 He haunts me like a penny-dog 3; 
 
 Of him I stand far greater awe 
 Than pupil does of pedagogue. 
 
 The first time that he met with me 
 
 Was at a clachan in the west; 
 Its name, I trow, Kilbarchan be, 
 
 Where Habbie's drones blew mony a blast. 
 
 4 fortune. 
 3 low fellow. 
 
 There we shook hands — cauld be his cast*! 
 
 An ill death may that custrons dee ! 
 For then he grippit me full fast 
 
 When first I fell in cautionry. 
 
 * The full title of this piece was " The Banishment of Poverty 
 by His Royal Highness J . D. A. (James Duke of Albany). To 
 the tune of ' The Last Good-night.'" 
 
THE BANISHMENT OF POVERTY. 285 
 
 Yet I had hopes to be relieved, 
 
 And freed from that fdTil lairdly loun, 
 Fernyear', when Whigs were ill mischieved, ' Last year. 
 
 And forced to fling their weapons doun. 
 
 When we chased them from Glasgow toun, 
 I with that swinger thought to grapple; 
 
 But when indemnity came doun 
 
 The laidron'^ pu'd me by the thrapples. 
 
 2 lazy knave. 
 
 3 throat. 
 
 But yet, in hopes of some relief, 
 A raid I made to Arinfrew, 
 
 Where they did bravely buff my beef. 
 And made my body black and blue. 
 
 At Justice court I them pursue, 
 Expecting help by their reproof; 
 
 Indemnity thought nothing due — 
 The deil a farthing for my loof't. 
 
 4 palm. 
 
 But, wishing that I might ride east — 
 To trot on foot I soon would tire — 
 
 My page allowed me not a beast; 
 I wanted gilt to pay the hire. 
 
 He and I lap ower mony a syres, 
 I heukit him at Calder-cult; 
 
 But lang ere I wan to Snipes-mire 
 The ragged rogue took me a-whilt^. 
 
 3 ditch. 
 
 ^ in a state of 
 perturbation. 
 
286 
 
 ^ moved quickly. 
 
 ^ cheats. 
 
 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 By HoUin-bush and Brig o' Bonnie 
 We bickered' dowft towards Bankier; 
 
 We feared no reivers for our money, 
 Nor whilly-whaes^ to grip our gear. 
 
 My tattered tutor took no fear, 
 Though we did travel in the mirk, 
 
 But thought it fit, when we drew near. 
 To filch a forage at Falkirk. 
 
 3 neglected. 
 
 No man would open me the door. 
 Because my comrade stood me by; 
 
 They dread full ill I was right poor 
 By my forecastens company. 
 
 But Cunningham soon me espied; 
 
 By hue and hair he brought me in. 
 And swore we should not part so dry, 
 
 Though I were naked to the skin. 
 
 We bade all night, but lang ere day 
 My curst companion made me rise ; 
 
 I start up soon and took my way : 
 He needed not to bid me twice. 
 
 But what to do we did advise; 
 
 In Lithgow we might not sit down : 
 On a Scots groat we baited thrice. 
 
 And in at night to Edinburgh town. 
 
TBE BANISHMENT OF POVERTY. 287 
 
 We held the Lang-gate' to Leith Wynd, 
 
 Where poorest purses use to be; 
 And in the Calton lodgbd syne, 
 
 Fit quarters for such company. 
 
 Yet I the High-town fain would see, 
 
 But that my comrade did me discharge ; 
 
 He willed me Blackburn's^ ale to pree. 
 And muff my beard that was right large. 
 
 "^ now Princes 
 Street. 
 
 2 a celebrated 
 brewer of ale 
 of the time. 
 
 The morn I ventured up the Wynd, 
 And slunk in at the Netherbow, 
 
 Thinking that troker for to tynes. 
 Who does me damage what he dow*. 
 
 3 lose. 
 
 4 can. 
 
 His company he doth bestow 
 
 On me, to my great grief and pain ; 
 
 Ere I the thrang could wrestle through 
 The loun was at my heels again. 
 
 I greineds to gang on the plain-stanes, 
 To see if comrades wad me ken : 
 
 We twa gaed pacing there our lanes, 
 The hungry hour 'twixt twelve and ane. 
 
 5 longed. 
 
 Then I kenned no way how to fen^; 
 
 My guts rumbled like a hurl-barrow ' — 
 I dined with saints and noblemen. 
 
 Even sweet Giles and Earl of Murray.* 
 
 * i.e., spent the dinner hour walking in St. Giles' Cathedral. 
 
 fi make shift. 
 7 wheel-barrow. 
 
288 
 
 TBE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 ' dog's testament, 
 i.e., there 
 would be 
 nothing left. 
 
 Tyke's test'ment' take him for their treat! 
 
 I needed not my teeth to pyke; 
 Though I was in a cruel sweat 
 
 He set not by, say what I like. 
 
 = lounging dog. I called him Turk and traikit tyke^ 
 
 And wearied him with many a curse : 
 My banes were hard like a stone dyke 
 No Reg. Marie was in my purse. 
 
 Kind Widow Caddel sent for me 
 To dine, as she had oft, forsooth ; 
 
 But ah ! alas, that might not be. 
 
 Her house was o'er near the Tolbooth. 
 
 Yet God reward her for her love 
 ^p^''y- And kindness, which I fectlie^ fand 
 
 Most ready still for my behoof 
 
 Ere this hell's hound took me in hand. 
 
 4 rushed. 
 
 S defiled, 
 coloured. 
 
 I slipped my page, and stoured't to Leith, 
 To try my credit at the wine; 
 
 But foul a dribble filed 5 my teeth. 
 He gripped me at the coffee sign. 
 
 6 stole. I staw^ down through the Nether-wynd, 
 
 My Lady Semple's house was near; 
 To enter there was my design, 
 When Poverty durst ne'er appear. 
 
THE BANISHMENT OF POVERTY. 289 
 
 I dinM there, but bade not lang. 
 
 My Lady fain wad shelter me, 
 But oh ! alas, I needs must gang. 
 
 And leave that comely company. 
 
 Her lad convoyed me with her key 
 Out through the garden to the fields ; 
 
 Ere I the Links could graithly' see 
 My governor was at my heels. 
 
 I dought^ not dance to pipe nor harp, 
 I had no stock for cards and dice; 
 
 But I fures to Sir William Sharpe,* 
 Who never made his counsel nice. 
 
 ^comfortably. 
 
 2 could. 
 
 Sfared, went. 
 
 That little man he is right wise, 
 And sharp as any brier can be ; 
 
 He bravely gave me his advice 
 How I might poison Poverty. 
 
 Quoth he, "There grows hard by the dial. 
 In Hatton's garden, bright and sheen, 
 
 A sovereign herb called Pennyroyal, 
 
 Whilk all the year grows fresh and green. 
 
 "Could ye but gather it fair and clean. 
 Your business would go the better; 
 
 But let account of it be seen 
 To the physicians of exchequer. 
 
 * Brother of Archbishop Sharpe, he was in successioa Cashier 
 to the Treasury and Master of the Mint. 
 
 U V 
 
290 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 "Or if that ticket ye bring with you, 
 Come unto me, ye need not fear, 
 
 For I some of that herb can give you, 
 Whilk I have planted this same year. 
 
 "Your page it will cause disappear, 
 Who waits on you against your will; 
 
 To gather it I shall you lear 
 
 In my own yards of Stoneyhill." *■ 
 
 But when I dread that would not work, 
 
 I overthought me of a wile. 
 How I might at my leisure lurk, 
 
 My graceless guardian to beguile. 
 
 It's but my galloping a mile 
 
 Through Canongate, with little loss. 
 Till I have sanctuary a while 
 
 Within the girth of Abbey-close, t 
 
 There I wan in, and blyth was I 
 When to the inner court I drew ; 
 
 My governor I did defy, 
 
 For joy I clapt my wings and crew. 
 
 * Near Musselburgh. 
 
 t Even so late as the middle of the present century the pre- 
 cincts of Holyrood were a sanctuary for debtors. The boundary 
 is still marked by a stone in the street ; beyond that the debtor 
 was safe from arrest. 
 
The Banishment of poverty. 291 
 
 There messengers dare not pursue, 
 
 Nor with their wands men's shoulders steer; 
 
 There dwell distressed lairds eneugh, 
 In peace, though they have little gear. 
 
 There twa hours I did not tarry 
 
 Till my blest fortune was to see 
 A sight, sure by the mights of Mary, 
 
 Of that brave Duke of Albany. 
 
 Where one blink of his princely eye 
 Put that foul foundhng to the flight; 
 
 Frae me he banished Poverty, 
 
 And gart him take his last good-night. 
 
292 TBE SEMPLES OP BELTREES. 
 
 SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. 
 
 The night her sable mantle wore, 
 
 And gloomy were the skies, 
 Of glittering stars appeared no more 
 
 Than those in Nelly's eyes. 
 When at her father's yett I knocked, 
 
 Where I had often been, 
 She, shrouded only in her smock, 
 
 Arose and let me in. 
 
 Fast locked within her close embrace. 
 
 She trembling stood, ashamed; 
 Her swelling breast and glowing face 
 
 And every touch inflamed. 
 My eager passion I obeyed. 
 
 Resolved the fort to win. 
 And her fond heart was soon betrayed 
 
 To yield and let me in. 
 
 Then, then, beyond expressing, 
 
 Transporting was the joy, 
 I knew no greater blessing. 
 
 So blest a man was I : 
 And she, all ravished with delight. 
 
 Bid me oft come again. 
 And kindly vowed that every night 
 
 She'd rise and let me in. 
 
OLD LONGS YME. 2^3 
 
 OLD LONGSYNE. 
 
 FIRS7 PART. 
 
 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 And never thought upon, 
 The flames of love extinguished 
 
 And freely past and gone? 
 Is thy kind heart now grown so cold, 
 
 In that loving breast of thine. 
 That thou canst never once reflect 
 
 On old longsyne? 
 
 Where are thy protestations, 
 
 Thy vows and oaths, my dear, 
 Thou mad'st to me, and I to thee, 
 
 In register yet clear? 
 Is faith and truth so violate 
 
 Unto the God divine,. 
 That thou canst never once reflect 
 
 On old longsyne ? 
 
 Is't Cupid's fears, or frosty cares, 
 That makes thy spirits decay; 
 
 Or is't some object of more worth 
 That's stole thy heart away ; 
 
i94 The semples of BELTREES. 
 
 Or some desert makes thee neglect 
 Him so much once was thine, 
 
 That thou canst never once reflect 
 On old longsyne ? 
 
 Is't worldly cares so desperate 
 
 That makes thee to despair? 
 Is't that makes thee exasperate, 
 
 And bids thee to forbear? 
 If thou of that were free as I, 
 
 Thou surely should be mine ; 
 If this were true we should renew 
 
 Kind old longsyne. 
 
 But since that nothing can prevail. 
 
 And all my hope is vain, 
 From these rejected eyes of mine 
 
 Still showers of tears shall rain ; 
 And though thou hast me now forgot. 
 
 Yet I'll continue thine, 
 And ne'er forget for to reflect 
 
 On old longsyne. 
 
 If e'er I have a house, my dear, 
 That's truly called mine. 
 
 And can afford but country cheer, 
 Or aught that's good therein ; 
 
OLD LONGS YNE. 295 
 
 Though thou wert rebel to the king, 
 
 And beat with wind and rain, 
 Assure thyself of welcome, love, 
 
 For old longsyne. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 My soul is ravished with delight 
 
 When you I think upon ; 
 All griefs and sorrows take the flight 
 
 And hastily are gone. 
 The fair resemblance of your face 
 
 So fills this breast of mine, 
 No fate nor force can it displace. 
 
 For old longsyne. 
 
 Since thoughts of you do banish grief. 
 
 When I'm from you removed, 
 And if in them I find relief 
 
 When with sad cares I'm moved. 
 How doth your presence me affect 
 
 With ecstacy divine, 
 Especially when I reflect 
 
 On old longsyne. 
 
 Since thou hast robbed me of my heart 
 
 By tliose resistless powers 
 Which Madam Nature doth impart 
 
 To tho^e fair eyes of yours. 
 
296 THE SEMPLES OF BELTREES. 
 
 With honour it doth not consist 
 To hold a slave in pine ; 
 
 Pray let your rigour then desist, 
 For old longsyne. 
 
 'Tis not my freedom I do crave 
 
 By deprecating pains ; 
 Sure, liberty he would not have 
 
 Who- glories in his chains ; 
 But this — I wish the gods would move 
 
 That noble soul of thine 
 To pity, since thou cannot love, 
 
 For old longsyne. 
 
 William Hodge ^^ Co., Printers, Glasgo%v. 
 

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