Which must lie smoking in the world's vast womb,
And to itself both fuel be and tomb?

Near to that sweet and odoriferous clime,

Where the all-cheering emperor of time

Makes spring the cassia, nard, and fragrant balms,

And every hill, and Collin crowns with palms;

Where incense sweats, where weeps the precious myrrh, And cedars overtop the pine and fir ;

Near where the aged phoenix, tir'd of breath,

Doth build her nest, and takes new life in death;

A valley into wide and open fields

Far it extendeth *

The rest is wanting.

313

These Poems are for the first time published in an Edition of DRUMMOND'S POEMS, by permission of the Antiquarian Society of Edinburgh. (Taken from the Archæologia Scotica.)

EDINBURGH.1

INSTALL'D on Hills, hir Head neare starrye bowres,
Shines EDINBURGH, proud of protecting powers.
Justice defendes her heart; Religion east

With temples; Mars with towres doth guard the west;
Fresh Nymphes and Ceres seruing, waite upon her,
And Thetis, tributarie, doth her honour.

The Sea doth Venice shake, Rome Tiber beates,
Whilst she bot scornes her vassall watteres threats.
For scepters no where standes a Towne more fitt,
Nor place where Toune, World's Queene, may fairer sitt.
Bot this thy praise is, aboue all, most braue,
No man did e'er diffame thee bot a slave.

1 This is a translation by Drummond of some Latin lines in praise of our Metropolis, by the celebrated Poet Dr. Arthur Johnstone, beginning Collibus assurgens geminis. The MS. copy,

SONNETS.

TO THE HONORABLE AUTHOR, S. J. SKENE.1

ALL Lawes but cob-webbes are, but none such right
Had to this title as these Lawes of ours,

Ere that they were from their Cimmerian bowres
By thy ingenious labours brought to light.
Our Statutes sencelesse statues did remaine,
Till thou (a new Prometheus) gaue them breath,
Or like ag'd Æson's bodye courb'd to death,
When thou young bloud infus'd in euerye veine.
Thrice happye Ghosts! which after-worlds must wow,
That first tam'd barbarisme by your swords,

however, of the original differs wholly from the edition of the Author's Poems printed at Middleburgh in Zealand, 1642, p. 431.

In the first scroll copy of the translation, as well as of the original, the last two lines do not occur, but are supplied from a fair transcript, in which also lines 3 and 4 have been thus amplified.

Scepters and thrones her foot do guide at East,
Mars thundering castle guards her head at Wast,
Where kyths his glorie Phoebus palace stands.
Pallas oppos'd on work setts many hands.
All-ruling deities, Justice and Religion,

Their temples joine and keepe the middle region.

DAVID LAING.

1 This Sonnet was addressed to Sir John Skene of Curriehill,

Clerk Register, on the publication, probably, of his translation of the "REGIAM MAJESTATEM."-D. L.

Then knew to keepe it fast in nets of words;
Hindring what men not suffer would to doe.

To Joue the making of the World is due,
But that it turnes not Chaos, is to you.

SONNET.

O TYMES! O Heauen, that still in motion art!
And by your course confounds us mortall wights!
O flying Dayes! O ouerglyding Nights,

Which passe more nimble than wind, or archer's dart!

Now I my selfe accuse, excuse your part,

For Hee who fixed your farr-off shining lights
You motion gaue, and did to mee impart

A mind to marke, and to preuent your slights.

Life's web yee still weaue out, still (Foole !) I stay,
Malgré my just resolues on mortall things.
Ah! as the bird surprised in subtile springs,
That beates with wing but cannot flye away;

So struggle I, and faine would change my case,
But this is not of nature, but of grace.

SONNET.

RISE to my soule, bright Sunne of Grace, O rise!
Make mee the vigour of thy beams to proue;
Dissolue the chilling frost which on mee lies,

That makes mee lesse than looke-warm in thy loue.