O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords,

[loath

THE most harmonious Scotch poet of the seventeenth century was William Drummond of Hawthornden. Born in 1585, he was educated at the University of Edinburgh and in France. When, on the death of his father, in 1611, he settled in his romantic residence, he devoted himself to authorship in prose as well as poetry. The death of the young lady to whom he was betrothed drove him to seek relief in foreign travel. He journeyed to Paris and Rome, and spent nearly eight years abroad, and collected a library of the choicest books of ancient and modern classics. He was fortunate in meeting a lady so strongly resembling the former object of

his affections, that he obtained her in marriage. Returning to Hawthornden, he cultivated the acquaintance of Drayton and other English men of letters. Ben Jonson published an account of his visit to the Scotch poet's home. Drummond's poems belong to the same class as those of the contemporary English, yet are more natural and free from conceits. His purity of language and play of fancy are conspicuous. He was a devoted Cavalier, and the execution of Charles I. is said to have hastened the poet's death in 1649.

EPITAPH ON PRINCE HENRY.

(Prince Henry, eldest son of James I. of England, died in 1612.)

STAY, passenger, see where inclosed lies
The paragon of Princes, fairest frame

Time, nature, place, could show to mortal eyes,
In worth, wit, virtue, miracle of fame:

At least that part the earth of him could claim
This marble holds (hard like the Destinies):
For as to his brave spirit, and glorious name,
The one the world, the other fills the skies.
The immortal amaranthus, princely rose,
Sad violet, and that sweet flower that bears
In sanguine spots the tenor of our woes,
Spread on this stone, and wash it with your tears;
Then go and tell from Gades unto Ind
You saw where Earth's perfections were confined.

TO HIS LUTE.

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
Since that dear voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,

Is reft from earth to tune the spheres above,

What art thou but a harbinger of woe?
Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more,
But orphan wailings to the fainting ear,

[warbling

Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear;

For which be silent as in woods before:
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,
Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain.

TO A NIGHTINGALE.

SWEET bird! that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,

Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs.

What soul can be so sick which by thy songs
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven

Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven?
Sweet, artless songster! thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres,-yes, and to angels' lays.

SWEET ROSE.

SWEET rose! whence is this hue

Which doth all hues excel?

Whence this most fragrant smell,

And whence this form and gracing grace in you?
In flowery Pæstum's field perhaps ye grew,
On Hybla's hills you bred,

Or odoriferous Enna's plains you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where boar young Adon slew.
Or hath the Queen of Love you dyed anew

In that dear blood which makes you look so red?
No! none of these, but cause more high you bliss'd:
My Lady's breast you bare, and lips you kiss'd.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

ALLAN RAMSAY was not merely the predecessor of Burns, but also the chief inspirer of the Scotch peasant-poets of the eighteenth century. He was born in Lanarkshire in 1686, and was apprenticed to a barber in Edinburgh. He became

acquainted with William Hamilton of Gilbertsfield, who had contributed to "Watson's Collection of Scots Songs" (1705), and by his favor was introduced to the Easy Club, a band of young Jacobites of literary proclivities. In this Ramsay, according to the custom, assumed the name Bickerstaff. When the publication of Pope's "Windsor Forest," in 1712, provoked a discussion among the London wits as to the merits of the rival pastorals of Pope and Ambrose Philips, there was an echo in Edinburgh. The Guardian in April, 1713, laid down the rules for genuine pastoral poetry: "Paint the manners of actual rustic life, not the manners of artificial shepherds and shepherdesses in a fictitious golden age; use actual rustic dialect; instead of satyrs and fauns and nymphs introduce the supernatural creatures of modern superstition." Ramsay, who had already written some humorous and fanciful poetry, took this criticism to heart, and composed pastoral dialogues true to life. Several of these were afterwards fitted together to form his renowned drama, "The Gentle Shepherd,” which was completed in 1725. Long before this Ramsay had exchanged his business of wig-making for that of book-selling, and had opened the first circulating library in Edinburgh. He also collected and edited old Scotch poetry and compiled the "Evergreen" from poems written before 1600, and the "Tea-Table Miscellany" from more recent English as well as Scotch sources. His labors both as publisher and editor were stimulating to the Scotch genius. His last literary work was a collection of "Fables" published in 1730, but he lived till 1758.

"The Gentle Shepherd," written in their own dialect, became at once a favorite among the Lowland Scotch peasantry. It was circulated and acted in every parish, and its rather low tone of morality, derived from the drama of the Restoration, quickened the opposition to the Puritan spirit of the Kirk. It tended to foster the ostentation of libertinism seen in the warm-hearted incontinent Burns. Through the Easy Club of Jacobites, the generous, jovial, swaggering ideal of the Cavaliers was transmitted to the peasantry of Scotland, and has become a permanent element in the national character.

LOCHABER NO MORE.

FAREWELL to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I've mony day been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on weir;
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
They'll ne'er mak a tempest like that in my mind;
Though loudest o' thunder on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained;
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave,
And I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse;
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favor I'd better not be.
I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

RUSTIC COURTSHIP.

(From the "Gentle Shepherd,” Act I.)
HEAR how I served my lass I lo'e as weel
As ye do Jenny, and wi' heart as leil
Last morning I was gye and early out,
Upon a dike I leaned, glow'ring about;
I saw my Meg come linkin' o'er the lea;
I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw na me;

For yet the sun was wading through the mist,
And she was close upon me ere she wist;

Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw

[war

[faithful [gay

[tripping

Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw.