C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, O Yarrow fields! may never never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, My love, as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, The boy took out his milk-white milk-white steed, But e'er the to-fall of the night He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day; What can my barbarous barbarous father do, My lover's blood is on thy spear How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? My happy sisters may be may be proud; With cruel and ungentle scoffin, May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes My lover nailed in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me, My lover's blood is on thy spear, How canst thou ever bid me love thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband lover. But who the expected husband husband is? Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after? Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, And crown my careful head with willow. Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, Ye'd lie all night between my breasts, Pale, pale, indeed, O lovely, lovely youth, A. Return, return, O mournful mournful bride, He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. JOHN ARMSTRONG, another poet of this period of Scottish birth, and the friend of Thomson, Mallet, and other literary characters of the age, was born at Castleton, a pastoral parish in Roxburghshire, in 1709. He was graduated at the university of Edinburgh, after which he studied medicine, and took his doctor's degree, in 1732. Not being a successful practitioner in his native country, he repaired to London, and there soon became known by the publication of several fugitive poems, and some medical essays. His practice being very limited, he devoted much time to literary pursuits; and in 1744, appeared his Art of Preserving Health, a didactic poem in four books. This was soon followed by two other poems, Benevolence and Taste, and a volume of prose essays, of quality too indifferent to deserve any farther notice. In 1760, Armstrong was appointed physician to the English forces in Germany; and on the peace of 1763, he returned to London, and there resumed the practice of medicine, which he continued, though with very limited success, until his death, September the seventh, 1779. Dr. Armstrong seems to have been an indolent and splenetic, but kindhearted man-shrewd, caustic, and careful, yet warmly attached to his friends. His portrait, in the 'Castle of Indolence,' is one of Thomson's hapiest efforts : With him was sometimes joined in silent walk Nor ever uttered word, save when first shone The glittering star of eve-Thank Heaven, the day is done.' Dr. Armstrong's style is stiff and labored, and his images are not unfrequently mere echoes of those of Thomson and other poets. The subject required the aid of ornament; for scientific rules are, as a general thing, unfavorable themes for poetry; and few men are ignorant of the true philosophy of life, however they may deviate from it in practice. That health is to be preserved by temperance, exercise, and cheerful recreation, is a truth familiar to all, from infancy. The following extract from the Art of Preserving Health,' is, certainly, the most energetic passage in the whole poem : PESTILENCE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent Arose, a monster never known before, Rushed as a storm o'er half the astonished isle, First through the shoulders, or whatever part They tossed from side to side. In vain the stream Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly The breath was fetched, and with huge labourings heaved. A wild delirium came: their weeping friends Had mixed the blood, and rank with fetid streams: As if the pent up humours by delay Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign. With full effusion of perpetual sweats To drive the venom out. And here the fates Were kind, that long they lingered not in pain. For, who survived the sun's diurnal race, Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeemed; Some the sixth hour oppressed, and some the third. Of many thousands, few untainted 'scaped; Of those infected, fewer 'scaped alive; Of those who lived, some felt a second blow; In vain; where'er they fled, the fates pursued. But none they found. It seemed the general air, Involved them still, and Where find relief? The salutary art Was mute, and, startled at the new disease, In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave. To heaven, with suppliant rites they sent their prayers; Glover, the author of Leonidas, an epic poem, and Shenstone, whose Pastoral Ballad, in four parts, is one of the finest poems of that class in the language, next invite your attention. RICHARD GLOVER was the son of a London merchant, and was born in that city, in 1712. He was educated at Cheam school, where his verses, on the memory of Newton, whose death had recently occurred, excited very great interest and attention. He was designed for mercantile pursuits, but marrying, in 1737, a lady of fortune, he changed his intention, entered parliament as member for Weymouth, and soon became distinguished for his spirit and independence. He was, from this period, more or less a popular leader, until his death, which occurred in 1785. 'Leonidas,' which was published in 1737, was soon followed by The Athenais, another epic, equally elaborate. These poems are both written in blank verse, and in the subject have reference to the memorable defence of Thermopylæ, and the subsequent war between the Greeks and the Persians. Their length, their want of sustained interest, and lesser peculiarities, not suited to the taste of the present period, have caused them to fall into comparative obscurity. Yet the calm, moral dignity, the patriotic elevation of sentiment, the smoothness of versification, and the vigor of dietion of Leonidas,' should still command admiration. The following passage is lofty and energetic in the extreme : ADDRESS OF LEONIDAS. He alone Remains unshaken. Rising, he displays The souls of patriots; while his brow supports My heart, exulting, answers to thy call, And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame The nature of the poem, and the country in which the scene is laid, afford scope for interesting situations and descriptions of natural objects; and of these Glover occasionally avails himself with the happiest effect. The following sketch of the fountain at the dwelling of Oileus is classically elegant: |