Page images

te Eur Shepherd - ED.

Hy wreck of mind and all my woes,
And all my ills, that day arose,
W ben on the fair Veæra's eyes
At first, with hapless fond surprise,
When my glance met her searching glance,
As light leaves in the green woods dance

Alaivering o'er my body burst,

When western breezes stir them first; Hy heart forth from my breast to go,

An«i mix with hers already wanting, Now beat, now trembled to and fro,

With eager fondness leaping, panting: folcting his young limbs in her bosom, Bat turns his eyes still to his inother, ITbi. And the snoceeiling poem were translated from latin of Buchanan by Robert llogg, a nephew of

Buchanan composed a brief sketch of his own was equally distinguished as a poet, historian, lite, and about the same time published his and jurist, exhibit a rare union of philosophifamous treatise De Jure Regni, advocating cal dignity and research with the finer sensistrongly the rights of the people. The last bilities and imagination of the poet. Even Dr. twelve years of his life he employed in com- Johnson admitted his great literary achieveposing in Latin his well-known history of ments in his happy reply to Buchanan's counScotland, published in Edinburgh in 1582, tryman, who said, " Ah! Dr. Johnson, what under the title of Rerum Scoticarum Historia. would you have said of Buchanan had he been He died, unmarried, on the morning of Friday, an Englishman?" "Why, sir,” he replied, Sept. 28, 1582, and was honourably interred by “I should not have said had he been an Engthe city of Edinburgh in the Greyfriars Church- lishman what I will say of him as a Scotchman, yard; and, says Dr. Irving in his life of the that he was the only man of genius his country poet, “ his ungrateful country never afforded ever produced.” Certainly the most applauded bis grave the common tribute of a monumental of Buchanan's poetical works is the translation stone."

Since those lines were written the of the Psalms, particularly Ps. civ., which has poet of whom Scotland is justly proud has been rendered into Latin by nine Scottishi been indebted to a simple Scottish artisan for poets

. Mackenzie remarks that his “ version erecting a tablet to point out to the pilgrim of the Psalms will be esteemed and admired to his grave the last resting place of not only as long as the world endures, or men have any the first Latin poet of his country, but of his relish for poetry;" and Bishop Burnet said,

An edition of Buchanan's works was “ Buchanan in his immortal poems shows so published by Ruddiman at Edinburgh, in two well how he could imitate :ill the Roman poets folio vols . in 1714, and another at Leyden in in their several ways of writing, that he who

compares them will be often led to prefer the The character and works of Buchanan, who copy to the original."


When she may once regard him, watches,
And forth his little fond arms stretches.

Just as a bird within the nest
Like stars that shine

That cannot fly, yet constant trying,

Its weak wings on its tender breast
gazed with mine.

Beats with the vain desire of flying.
Thou, wary mind, thyself preparing
To live at peace, from all ensnaring,
That thou mightst never mischief catch,
Plac'dst 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
boy, whose pourice wooes him,

Consented to betray your lord;

Both heart and soul then fled and left not caresses from another,

Me spiritless, of mind bereft.


4lo iu 1725.

[ocr errors]


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;

And joys--of hue how changeful! tho' serene, If you do not entreat, and gain,

That Hit ere you can tell where they have beenThen will I ever make you gaze

(Even as the bark, when ocean's surges sweep, Upon her, till in dark amaze

Raised by the waning winds, along the deep You sightless in your sockets roll, Is headlong by the howling tempest driven, Extinguishid by her eyes' bright blaze,

While the staid pilot, to whose charge is given As I have been deprived of heart and soul.

Her guidance, skilfully the helm applies,
And in the tempest's face she fairly forward flies
I have resolved, my earthly wandering past,

In rest's safe haven to secure at last

Whate'er of fleeting life, by Fate's decree

Ere end my pilgrimage, remains to me, All hail to thee, thou First of May,

To give to Heaven the remnant of my days

And wash away in penitence and praise, Sacred to wonted sport and play,

| Far from this wild world's revelry uncouth, To wine, and jest, and dance, and song,

The sins and follies of my heedless youth. And mirth that lasts the whole day long!

0, blest and hallowed day! with cincture bound Hail! of the seasons honour bright,

My shaven head the gray hood veiling round, Annual return of sweet delight;

St. Francis, under thine auspicious name, Flower of reviving summer's reign,

I will prescribe unto this fleshly frame That hastes to time's old age again!

A life ethereal, that shall upward rise,
When spring's mild air at Nature's birth My heavenward soul commercing with the sk
First breath'd upon the new-form'd earth; This is my goal—to this my actions tend-
Or when the fabled age of gold,

My resting-place--original and end.
Without fix'd law, spontaneous roll'd;
Such zephyrs, in continual gales,

If 'tis thine aim to reach the goal of life Pass'd temperate along the vales,

Thro' virtue's path, and, leaving childish stri And soften d and refresh'd the soil,

To free thy darken'd mind from error's force Not broken yet by human toil;

To trace the laws of virtue to their source, Such fruitful warmths perpetual rest And raise to heavenly things thy purged sig On the fair islands of the blest

I view thy noble purpose with delight; Those plains where fell disease's moan But if a shadowy good doth cross thy way, And frail old age are both unknown.

And lure thee, phantom-like--but to betray Such winds with gentle whispers spread Oh! while 'tis time, restrain thy mad career, Imong the dwellings of the dead,

And a true friend's yet timely warning hear And shake the cypresses that grow

Nor let old error with bewilderd eye, Where Lethe murmurs soft and slow.

Nor let the blind and senseless rabble's cry Perhaps when God at last in ire

More move thee than stern reason's simple : Shall purify the world with fire,

That points to truth the undiscovered way. And to mankind restore again

But deem not that high Heaven I dare defy Times happy, void of sin and pain,

Or raise again vain war against the sky. The beings of this earth beneath

For from my earliest youth I have rever'd Such pure ethereal air shall breathe. The priests and holy fathers, who appearel Hail! glory of the fleeting year!

By virtue's and religion's holy flame Hail! day the fairest, happiest here!

Worthy a bright eternity of fame. Memorial of the time gone by,

But seldom underneath the dusky cowl,

That shades the shaven head and monkish And emblem of futurity!

I picture a St. Paul: the priestly stole
Oft covers the remorseless tyrant's soul,

The gluttou's and the adulterer's grovellin

Like soulless brute, each wallowing in the

And the smooth hypocrite's still smiling b (EXTRACTS.)

| That tells not of the villany below. Oft musing on the ills of human life, Its buoyant hopes, wild fears, and idle strife,

Still deathful is the drug-envenom'd dr:

Tho' golden be the bowl from which 'tis q 1 These extracts, published anonymously, are believed

The iss, in Tyrian purple tho' array'd, to have been translated from Buchanan's bitter and Is as much ass, as ass-like when he bray'd powerful satire against the Franciscan friars by the Still fierce will be the lioness- the fox Rev. Dr. Candlish.--ED.

Still crafty-and still mild the mighty ox

The vulture still will whet the thirsty beak- Nor the black robe nor white, nor cowl-clad head,
The twittering swallow still will chirp and squeak: Nor munching ever black and mouldy bread,
Thus tho' the vesture shine like drifted snow, Will lull the darkly-working soul to rest,
The heart's dark passions lurk unchang'd below. And calm the tuinults of the troubl’d breast.
Nor when the viper lays aside his skin,

For always, in whatever spot you be,
Less baleful does the venom work within;

Even to the confines of the Frozen Sea, The tiger frets against his cage's side,

Or near the sun, beneath a scorching clime, As wild as when he roam'd in chainless pride. Still, still will follow the fierce lust of crimeThus neither crossing mountains nor the main, Deceit and the dark working of the mind, Sor flying human haunts and follies vain, Where'er you roam, will not be left behind.



BORN 1512 - DIED 1542.

JAMES THE FIFTH was born at the palace king in such restraint as induced him to make of Linlithgow in the month of April, 1512. his escape from the palace of Falkland when When the fatal field of Flodden numbered in his seventeenth year, and take refuge in among its victims the chivalrous James IV., Stirling Castle, the residence of his mother. his successor, the infant prince, was not a year | By the most vigorous measures the king now and a half old. Imong those who had charge proceeded to repress disorders and punish crime of his education was the celebrated Sir David | throughout the kingdom. Attended by a Lindsay of the Mount, and John Bellenden, numerous retinue, under the pretence of enjoythe translator of Boethius' History. The works ing the pleasures of hunting, he visited various of both authors abound with passages referring districts, executing thieves and marauders, to the share which they had in the formation and caused the laws to be obeyed on every foot of the young sovereign's character. It would of Scottish soil. The most memorable of his seem that to the poet the task had chiefly fallen victims was the noted borderer Johnnie Armof attending the prince in his hours of amuse- strong, who was summarily hanged with his ment. In his “Complaint" he says

twenty-four followers, “qubilk," says Pit

scottie, “monie Scottisman heavilie lamented, “And ay quhen thou came from the schule,

for he was ane doubtit man and als guid ane Then I behufft to play the fule."

chieftain as evir was upon the borderis aither It is to the happy influence of Sir David of Scotland or England." Lindsay that we may ascribe a large share of In 1535 James proceeded to France upon a that regard for justice, that taste for literature matrimonial expedition, and married Magila and art, and that love of poetry, music, and lene, eldest daughter of the French king, who romance for which the young Scottish king died of consumption within forty days of her became distinguished.

arrival in Scotland. He afterwards expoured In his twelfth year the nobles, tired of the Mary of Guise. A rupture with Henry VIII. state of misrule into which Scotland had been led to the battle of Solway Mom, one of the brought, and of the dissensions among them- | most ingloriouxengagements in Scottish annaix. selves, requested James to assume the govern- | The command of the army having been conment. His power, however, was merely ferred on Oliver Sinclair, a favourite of the nominal, as four guardians were appointed, king, the hizh-spirited and dixcontented nobles by whom the whole authority of the state was indignantly refused to obey such a leader, and exercised in bis name. The Earl of Angus, were in consequence easily defeated by an one of these, soon obtained the ascendency inferior force. When the tidings of this over his colleagues, and he held the young disaster reached James he was frantic with

[ocr errors]

grief and mortification. Hastening to Edin. 1 inferior fame, were among the men of letters
burgh, he shut himself up for a week, and who contributed to shed a lustre on his reign,
then passed over to Falkland, where he took and who, in an age when there was no reading
to his bed. Meantime the queen had given public, could live on the patronage of the
birth to a daughter, afterwards the beautiful court alone. To gratify a strong passion for
but unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots. On adventures of a romantic character James
being informed of this event he said, “ It came would often roam through the country in dis-
with a lass, and it will go with a lass," deem- guise under the soubriquet of " The Gudeman
ing it another misfortune that it was not a of Ballangeich." He is believed to be the
male heir. A little before his death, which anthor of the well-known and popular ballads
occurred previous to the 13th of December, of “ The Gaberlunzie Man” and “The Jollie
1542, when he was but thirty-one years of age, Beggar," both founded on his own adventures.
he was heard muttering the words "Solway Sir Walter Scott said of the last-mentioned,
Moss," the scene of that disaster which hurried that it was the best comic ballad in any lan-
him to an early grave. The love of justice guage. George Chalmers and some other
endeared the lamented monarch to the people, authorities have attributed other productions
who conferred on him the title of “King of to the pen of the commons' king, but it is
the Poor.” Other princes have been called thought without sufficient evidence. The
great and bold and mighty, but it was the far two songs attributed to James V. are both pro-
nobler pride of James to be styled The King ductions of great merit-remarkable for their

roguish humour and freedom of expression. Of the elegant and useful arts, and of all albeit they are rather broad for the last half branches of what was called profane learning, of the nineteenth century: he was a liberal patron and active promoter.

“Old times are changed, old manners gone." “He furnisched the countrie," says Pitscottie, “with all kyndis of craftismen, sik as French: Yet no change of mauners or evolutions of men, Spain yardis, and Dutchmen, quhilk ever time will much affect poetry which is founded wes the finest of thair professioun that culd be in nature; and this makes the lyrics of James bad: quliilk brought the countrie to great as fresh and lively and intelligible as they policie." Lindsay, Buchanan, Bellenden, were more than three hundred years ago, when Maitland, Montgomery, and many others of they were composed by the young king.


The pawky auld carle came o'er the lee,
Wi' many good c'ens and days to me,
Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie.

Will you lodge a silly poor man?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And doun avont the ingle he sat;
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap,

And cadgily ranted and sang.

And O, quo' he, an' ye were as black
As c'er the crown of my daddy's bat,
'Tis I wad lay thee by my back,

And awa' wi' me thou shou'd gang.
And 0, quo' she, an I were as white
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
Id cleed me braw and lady-like,

And awa' wi' thee I wou'd gang.

O wow ! quo' he, were I as free
Is first when I saw this countrie,
How blythe and merry wad I be !

And I wad never think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain,
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slee twa thegither were say'ng,

When wooing they were sae thrang.

Between the twa was made a plot;
They rose a wee before the cock,
And wilily they shot the lock,

And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure pat on her claise:
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes,

To speer for the silly poor man.

And he took up his quarters

Into a landart town:
He wadna lie into the barn,

Nor wad he in the byre,
But in ahint the ha' door,
Or else afore the fire.
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night;
We'll go no more a roving,

Let the moon shine e'er so bright.

The beggar's bed was made at e'en,

Wi' gude clean straw and hay, And in ahint the ha' door

'Twas there the beggar lay.
l'p gat the gudeman's daughter,

All for to bar the door,
And there she saw the beggarman
Standing in the floor.
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Though maids be e'er so loving,

And the moon shine e'er so bright.

She gael to the bed where the beggar lay;
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cry'd Waladay,

For some of our gear will be gane !
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that could be mist;
She dane d her lane, cry'd Praise be blest,

I have lodg'd a leal poor man! Since naething's awa', as we can learn, The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn, Gae but the house, lass, and waken my bairn,

And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gaed where the daughter lay,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife did say,

She's aff' with the gaberlunzie man.
() fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And haste ye find these traitors again;
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain,

The wearifu' gaberlunzie man.
Some radle upo' horse, some ran a-fit,
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit,
She could na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit,

But she curs d ay, and she bann d.
Meantime far 'hind out o'er the lee,
Fu' snug in a glen, where nane cou'd see,
The twa, with kindly sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang
The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.
Quo' she, To leave thee I will be laith,

My winsome gaberlunzie man.
O kend my minny I were wi' you,
Il-faurdly wad she crook her mou';
Sie a poor man she'd never trow,

After the gaberlunzie man.
My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young,
And hae na learn'd the beggar's tongue
To follow me frae town to town,

And carry the gaberlunzie on.
Wi cauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Wbilk is a gentle trade indeed,

To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout o'er my ee;
A cripple or blind they will ca' me,

While we shall be merry and sing.

He took the lassie in his arms,

Fast to the bed he ran ( hoolie, hoolie wi' me, sir,

Ye'll waken our gudeman.
The beggar was a cunning loon,

And ne'er a word he spak-
But lang afore the cock had crawn
Thus he began to crack:
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Save when the moon is moving,

And the stars are shining bright.

Have ye ony dogs about this toun,

Maiden, tell me true?
And hat wad ye do wi' them,

My hinney and my dow?
They'll rive a' my meal powks,

and do me mickle wrang.
O dool for the doing o't,
Are ye the poor man?
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Vor sit a sweet maid loving

By coal or candle light.

Then up she gat the meal-powks,

And flang them o'er the wa', The deil gae wi the meal powks

My maiden fame and a';
I took re for some gentleman,

At least the laird o’ Brodie
O dool for the doing o't,

Are ye the poor bodie?

THE JOLLY BEGGAR. There was a jollie beggar,

And a begging he was boun,

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »