That they convene and come away To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious day. Gasp for thy golden show'rs, with long-stretch'd hands! Lo how the labouring earth, That hopes to be All heaven by thee Leaps at thy birth! The attending world, to wait thy rise, And then, not knowing what to do, Turn'd them to tears, and spent them too. Oh, come away And kill the death of this delay. Oh see, so many worlds of barren years To catch the daybreak of thy dawn! Oh, they are wise, And know what sweets are suck'd from out it. It is the hive By which they thrive, Where all their hoard of honey lies. Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves, The birth of our bright joys. Oh, thou compacted Body of blessings! spirits of souls extracted! Oh, dissipate thy spicy powers, Cloud of condensed sweets! and break upon us In balmy showers! Oh, fill our senses, and take from us All force of so profane a fallacy, To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee. Fair flow'ry name! in none but thee, And thy nectareal fragrancy, Hourly there meets An universal synod of all sweets; By whom it is defined thus That no perfume Forever shall presume To pass for odoriferous But such alone whose sacred pedigree Can prove itself some kin, sweet name, to thee. A thousand blest Arabias dwell; A thousand hills of frankincense; Mountains of myrrh and beds of spices, The soul that tastes thee takes from thence. How many unknown worlds there are Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping! How many thousand mercies there In pity's soft lap lie a sleeping! Happy he who has the art To awake them, And to take them Home, and lodge them in his heart. Oh, that it were as it was wont to be, When thy old friends, on fire all full of thee, Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase To persecutions; and against the face Of death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave And sober pace march on to meet a grave. On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee; In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee, Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends, Their fury but made way For thee, and serv'd them in thy glorious ends. More freely to transpire That impatient fire The heart that hides thee hardly covers ? What did their weapons, but set wide the doors For thee? fair purple doors, of love's devising; The ruby windows which enrich'd the east Of thy so oft-repeated rising. Each wound of theirs was thy new morning, And re-enthron'd thee in thy rosy nest, With blush of thine own blood thy day adoring: It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. Welcome, dear all-adored name! For sure there is no knee That knows not thee; Or if there be such sons of shame, When stubborn rocks shall bow, And hills hang down their heav'n-saluting heads Of dust, where, in the bashful shades of night, And couch before the dazzling light of thy dread majesty. Will not adore thee, Shall then, with just confusion, bow Lecture the Eleventh. ALEXANDER SCOT-SIR RICHARD MAITLAND-ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY-ALEXANDER HUME-GEORGE BUCHANAN-JAMES THE SIXTH-SIR ROBERT AYTONEARL OF ANCRUM-EARL OF STIRLING-WILLIAM DRUMMOND-DOCTOR ARTHUR JOHNSTON-SIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE. AVING, in the last lecture, closed our remarks upon the English miscellaneous poets who graced the age of Elizabeth and her immediate successors, we now pass to notice briefly their contemporaneous bards in Scotland, where the muses were not wholly neglected. There was, however, so little intercourse between the two nations at this time, that the works of the English poets seem to have been comparatively unknown in the north, and to have had no Scottish imitators. The country was then in a rude and barbarous state, tyrannized over by the nobles, and torn by internal feuds and dissensions. In England, the Reformation had proceeded from the throne, and was accomplished without violence or disorder; but in Scotland it uprooted the whole form of society, and was marked by fierce contentions and lawless turbulence. The absorbing influence of this ecclesiastical struggle was altogether unfavorable to the cultivation of poetry. It shed a gloomy spirit over the nation, and almost proscribed the study of romantic literature. The drama, which in England was the nurse of so many fine thoughts, so much stirring passion, and beautiful imagery, was shunned as a leprosy, fatal to both religion and morality. The very songs in Scotland partook of this religious character; and so widely was the polemical spirit diffused, that ALEXANDER SCOT, the earliest poet of this period, in his New Year Gift to the Queen, in 1562, says— That trimmer lads and little lasses, lo, Will argue baith with bishop, priest, and friar. The history of Scot's life is so little known, that neither the date of his birth, nor the period of his death, has been preserved. He wrote several short satires, and some other miscellaneous poems, the prevailing amatory character of which has caused him to be called the Scottish Anacreon, though there are many points wanting to complete his resemblance to the Teian bard. As a specimen of his talents, we present the following piece: TO HIS HEART. Hence, heart, with her that must depart, Nor have the heart that does me pain; See that thou come not back again, Sen she that I have servit lang, Fra she be gone, heartless am I; Though this belappit body here Be bound to servitude and thrall, And mind to serve my lady at all. Yet at the least, my heart, thou sall Sen in your garth3 the lily whyte May not remain amang the lave, Adieu the flower of haill delyte; Adieu the succour that may me save; And lamp of ladies lustiest! My faithful heart she sall it have, To bide with her it luvis best. Deplore, ye ladies clear of hue, Her absence, sen she must depart, That wounded be with luvis dart, As weil as I, therefore at last Do go with mine, with mind inwart, Contemporary with Scot, lived Maitland, Montgomery, Hume, and Buchanan, the last of whom distinguished himself equally in both prose and verse, but is particularly celebrated for the purity and classic elegance of his Latin poems. SIR RICHARD MAITLAND was born at Lethington, in 1496. He passed 1 Rather. 3 Garden. 2 Competent; had it in my power |