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Buchanan's poetical performances are numerous; but the most important is a Latin paraphrase of the Psalms of David. This great work was commenced in a monastery in Portugal, about 1550, continued afterward in France, and completed in Scotland after Mary had assumed the duties of sovereignty. He also wrote, about the same time, the most finished and beautiful of his productions, the Epithalamium-a poem occasioned by Mary's first marriage. Of Buchanan's minor poems, his Ode on the First of May is absolutely inimitable. This season of the year usually excites emotions of 'vernal joy;' but in this ode, the circumstances which the poet has selected, are of a kind that appear inexpressibly grand. We shall, therefore, venture here to present a translation of the work, adhering as closely to the original as the difference between the languages will permit:

THE FIRST OF MAY.

Hail to thee, delicious day,
Fair and sacred first of May!

Sacred unto wine and mirth,

Where the game and feast have birth

Sacred to the gentle dance

Where the Graces' dark eyes glance.

Hail! delight and shining grace!
Ever following the pace

Of the aye revolving year,
Time's unwearied traveller!
When spring's life-inspiring rays
Lit the world in other days,

Those delicious days of old

In the blessed age of gold,

Such unceasing mildness charm'd

Fields which soft Favonius warm'd:

Earth's unsown fertility

Gave forth fruits spontaneously.

Such a warmth of æther smiles

Ever on the blessed Isles,

And the fields where sad decay

And old age held never sway!

Such a gentle murmur blows

Through the silent grove where flows

Lethe's quiet water on,

Fraught with sweet oblivion !

When God sends his judgment fires,

Purging earth till sin expires,

Perchance an air like this will cherish!

Ethereal souls that can not perish.

Hail! glory of the fleeting age-
Praiseworthy in man's pilgrimage-
Image of earth's early bloom,

And type of life beyond the tomb.

To the above translation from the Latin of Buchanan, we add the follow

ing version of another ode by the late accomplished Robert Hogg.

ON NEÆRA.

My wreck of mind, and all my woes,
And all my ills, that day arose,
When on the fair Neæra's eyes,

Like stars that shine,

At first, with hapless fond surprise,
I gazed with mine.

When my glance met her searching glance,
A shivering o'er my body burst,
As light leaves in the green woods dance
When western breezes stir them first;
My heart forth from my breast to go,
And mine with hers already wanting,
Now beat, now trembled, to and fro,
With eager fondness leaping, panting.
Just as a boy, whose nourice woos him,
Folding his young limbs in her bosom,
Heeds not caresses from another
But turns his eyes still to his mother,
When she may once regard him watches,
And forth his little fond arms stretches.
Just as a bird within the nest

That can not fly, yet constant trying,
Its weak wings on its tender breast
Beats with the vain desire of flying.

Thou, wary mind, thyself preparing
To live at peace, from all ensnaring,
That thou might'st never mischief catch,
Plac'd'st you, unhappy eyes, to watch
With vigilance that knew no rest,
Beside the gateways of the breast.

But you, induc'd by dalliance deep,
Or guile, or overcome by sleep;
Or else have of your own accord
Consented to betray your lord;

Both heart and soul then fled and left
Me spiritless, of mind bereft.

Then cease to weep; use is there none

To think by weeping to atone;

Since heart and spirit from me fled,

You move not by the tears you shed;

But go to her, entreat, obtain;

If you do not entreat, and gain,

Then will I ever make you gaze

Upon her, till in dark amaze

You sightless in your sockets roll,

Extinguish'd by her eyes' bright blaze,

As I have been depriv'd of heart and soul.

In 1584, two years after Buchanan's death, JAMES THE SIXTH himself ventured into the magic circle of poetry, and published a volume entitled Es

says of a Prentice in the Divine art of Poesie. The young king's verses, considering that he was not yet eighteen years of age, are certainly very creditable to him; and we shall therefore quote, in the original spelling, the following poem from the volume alluded to:

ANE SCHORT POEME OF TYME.

As I was pausing in a morning aire,

And could not sleip nor nawyis take me rest,
Furth for to walk, the morning was so faire,
Athort the fields, it seemed to me the best.
The East was cleare, whereby belyve I gest
That fyrier Titan cumming was in sight,
Obscuring chaste Diana by his light.

Who by his rising in the azure skyes,

Did dewlie helse all thame on earth do dwell.
The balmie dew through birning drouth he dryis,
Which made the soile to savour sweit and smell,
By dew that on the night before downe fell,
Which then was soukit up by the Delphienus heit
Up in the aire: it was so light and weit.

Whose hie ascending in his purpour chere

Provokit all from Morpheus to flee:

As beasts to feid, and birds to sing with beir,
Men to their labour, bissie as the bee:
Yet idle men devysing did I see,

How for to drive the tyme that did them irk,
By sindrie pastymes, quhile that it grew mirk.

Then woundred I to see them seik a wyle,
So willingly the precious tyme to tine:
And how they did themselfis so farr begyle,
To fushe of tyme, which of itself is fyne.
Fra tyme be past to call it backwart syne
Is bot in vaine: therefore men sould be warr,
To sleuth the tyme that flees fra them so farr.

For what hath man bot tyme into this lyfe,
Which gives him dayis his God aright to know?
Wherefore then sould we be at sic a stryfe,

So spedelie our selfis for to withdraw
Evin from the tyme, which is on nowayes slaw
To flie from us, suppose we fled it noght?
More wyse we were, if we the tyme had soght.

But sen that tyme is sic a precious thing,
I wald we sould bestow it into that
Which were most pleasour to our heavenly King.
Flee ydilteth, which is the greatest lat;
Bot, sen that death to all is destinat,

Let us employ that tyme that God hath send us,
In doing weill, that good men may commend us.

Ayton, the Earl of Ancrum, the Earl of Stirling, Drummond, and Doctor Arthur Johnston, close the brief list of Scottish poets whom this important period in English literature produced.

ROBERT AYTON was born in Fifeshire in 1570. He was well educated, a devoted courtier, and enjoyed the advantages of foreign travel and intercourse with the poets of other nations, particularly with those of England. After king James succeeded to the English crown, he invited Ayton to that court, appointed him one of the gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and private secretary to the queen, besides conferring upon him the honor of knighthood. In England, Ayton, unlike the majority of his countrymen, was very popular; and even Ben Jonson was so proud of his friendship and affection that he boasted of it to Drummond. His death occurred in 1638, but under what circumstances is unknown.

Sir Robert Ayton was the author of only a comparatively limited number of poems, but the few that we have are written in very pure English, and evince a smoothness of style and delicacy of fancy that have rarely been surpassed. To illustrate this remark the following stanzas will be sufficient:

WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.

I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unlov'd 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;
Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own,
I might perchance have yet been thine.
But thou thy freedom did recall,
That if thou might elsewhere inthrall;
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain ?

When new desires had conquer'd thee,
And chang'd 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.

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;

256

EARL OF ANCRUM.-EARL OF STIRLING.

[LECT. XI.

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 to a beggar's door.

The EARL OF ANCRUM was a younger son of Sir Andrew Ker of Ferneihurst, and was born in 1578. He early became a very great favorite with king James, and was held in equal esteem by that monarch's son and successor Charles the First. He was possessed of a competent fortune, and his life seems to have passed calmly and smoothly along until an advanced age. His death occurred in 1654.

The Earl's poems are generally brief fugitive pieces, and the following sonnet, which he addressed to Drummond the poet in 1624, shows how greatly the union of crowns under James had contributed toward the cultivation of the English style and language in Scotland:

IN PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE.

Sweet 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 griev'd truth of change,
Nor none of falsehood's savoury lies dost hear;

Nor knows hope's sweet disease that charms our sense,
Nor its sad cure-dear-bought experience.

WILLIAM ALEXANDER, afterward Earl of Stirling, was born at Menstrie, in 1580. Having received a liberal education, he travelled abroad with the Duke of Argyle, either as his tutor or his companion; and upon his return to Scotland he selected, as his residence, a rural retreat, where he passed some time in study, and in the composition of the Aurora, his first important poem. On leaving his rural abode, Alexander repaired to Edinburgh, with the design of devoting himself exclusively to poetical pursuits. Here he composed his four tragedies, Darius, Crasus, Alexander, and Julius Cæsar, which were published in London, in 1607, with a dedication to the King. In 1613, Alexander published a sacred poem in twelve books on the Day of Judgment; and during the same year he was appointed one of the gentlemen ushers to Prince Charles, and knighted.

Relinquishing, soon after these events occurred, the character of the poet, and assuming that of the statesman, Sir William was appointed by Charles the First, in 1626, secretary of state for Scotland; and with such faithfulness and fidelity did he discharge the duties of this important office, that in

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