THE PARTING KISS.

One kind wish before we part,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu:
Though we sever, my fond heart,
Till we meet, shall pant for you.

Yet, yet weep not so, my love,

Let me kiss that falling tear; Though my body must remove, All my soul will still be here.

All my soul, and all my heart,

And every wish shall pant for you;

One kind kiss, then, ere we part,

Drop a tear, and bid adieu.

Lecture the Chirty-Seventh.

WILLIAM HAMILTON-JOHN ARMSTRONG-RICHARD GLOVER-WILLIAM SHENSTONE -WILLIAM WHITEHEAD-THOMAS GRAY-WILLIAM COLLINS-JAMES MERRICK -WILLIAM MASON.

THE

HE greater number of the poets of Scotland of the period now under consideration, retain so little nationality, either in language or in thought, that it seems unnecessary, unless in occasional instances, longer to preserve any distinction between them and those of England.

WILLIAM HAMILTON, a Scottish gentleman of education, rank, and rare accomplishments, was descended from an ancient family, and born at Bangour Ayrshire, in 1704. He was the delight of the fashionable circles of his native country, and became early distinguished for his poetical talents. In 1745, struck with the romance of the enterprise, he joined the standard of Prince Charles, and became the 'volunteer laureate' of the Jacobites, by celebrating the battle of Gladsmuir. On the discomfiture of the party, Hamilton succeeded in effecting his escape to France; but having many friends and admirers among the royalists at home, a pardon was procured for the rebellious poet, and he was soon restored to his native country, and his paternal estate. He did not, however, live long to enjoy his good fortune. His health had always been delicate, and a pulmonary complaint at length forced him to seek the warmer climate of the continent. But the change did not effect the object desired, and gradually declining, he sunk in death at Lyons, in France, in 1754.

Hamilton's genius so early matured, that before he was twenty years of age he assisted Allan Ramsay in his 'Tea-Table Miscellany.' His first and best strains were dedicated to the lyric muse; and the most attractive feature of his poetry is its pure English style, accompanied with a somewhat ornate poetical diction. He possessed more fancy than feeling, and in this respect his amatory songs resemble those of the poets of Charles the Second's court. Besides his lyrics, Hamilton wrote a serious poem entitled Contemplation, and a national poem in blank verse, on the Thistle. From the latter we extract the following lines:

How oft beneath

Its martial influence have Scotia's sons,

Through every age, with dauntless valour fought
On every hostile ground! While o'er their breast,
Companion to the silver star, blest type

Of fame, unsullied and superior deed,
Distinguished ornament! this native plant
Surrounds the sainted cross, with costly row

Of gems emblazed, and flame of radiant gold,
A sacred mark, their glory and their pride!

Professor Richardson of Glasgow, in a critique on Hamilton's poetry, quotes the following passage as a just specimen of his poetical powers:

In everlasting blushes seen,

Such Pringle shines, of sprightly mien;

To her the power of love imparts,

Rich gift! the soft successful arts,

That best the lover's fire provoke,

The lively step, the mirthful joke,
The speaking glance, the amorous wile,
The sportful laugh, the winning smile.
Her soul awakening every grace,

Is all abroad upon her face;

In bloom of youth still to survive,

All charms are there, and all alive.

But of all Hamilton's poems, his ballad of The Braes of Yarrow is by far the finest and most finished production. It has the merit also of having suggested to Wordsworth the themes of three of that poet's best poems. We shall therefore quote it entire :

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow!
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow?
A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow !
Nor let thy heart lament to leave

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ?
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen,
Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow,
And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen
Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her lover lover dear,
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow,
And I hae slain the comliest swain

That e'er poued birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red?
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholious weeds

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude?
What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow!
'Tis he, the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow,
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,
And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow,
And weep around in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield,
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,
The fatal spear that pierced his breast,

His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee not to lue,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;

O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass,

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan,

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet as sweet flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae the rock as mellow.

Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,
In flowery bands thou him didst fetter;
Though he was fair and weil beloved again,
Than me he never lued thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

VOL II.-X