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And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,
Although the moon is moving,

And stars are shining bright.
He took the lassie in his arms,

And gae her kisses three,
And four-and-twenty hunder merk

To pay the nurse's fee:
He took a wee horn frae his side,

And blew baith loud and shrill,
And four-and-twenty belted knights
Came skipping o'er the hill.
And we'll go no more a roving,

A roving in the night,

Nor sit a sweet maid loving

By coal or candle light.
And he took out his little knife,

Loot a' his duddies fa',
And he was the brawest gentleman

That was amang them a'.
The beggar was a clever loon,

And he lap shoulder height,
() ay for sicken quarters
As I got yesternight!
And we'll ay gang a roving,

A roving in the night,
For then the maids are loving,

And stars are shining bright.


Borx 1540 - DIED 1614. (?)

ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY, known as a poet of his compositions is styled “The Flyting in 1568, is supposed to have been a younger between Montgomerie and Polwart,” which is son of Montgomery of Hazlehead Castle, in written after the manner of the “Flyting of Ayrshire. Of his personal history there are Dunbar and Kennedie." He is also the author no authentic memorials. In his poem entitled of “The Minde's Melodie,” consisting of para“The Navigatioun,” he calls himself “ane phrases of the Psalms, and a great variety of German born.” Dempster describes him as sonnets. Among the books presented by DrumEques Montanus vulgo vocatus;" but is certain mond of Hawthornden to the University of that he was never knighted. In the titles to Edinburgh is a manuscript collection of the his works he is styled Captain, and it has been poems of Montgomery, consisting of odes, conjectured that he was an officer in the body. sonnets, psalms, and epitaphs. His death guard of the Regent Morton. Melville in his occurred between 1597 and 1615, in which Diary mentions him about 1577 as “Captain latter year an edition of his “Cherrie and Montgomery, a good honest man, and the Slae” was printed by Andrew Hart. Editions regent's domestic.” His poetical talents se of his poetical works were published in 1751 cured him the friendship of James VI., from and 1754; and in 1822 a complete edition, whom he received a pension. In the king's with a biographical preface by Dr. Irving, was “Reulis and Cautelis to be observit and issued in Edinburgh, under the superintend eschewit in Scottish Poesie," published in ence of David Laing. 1584, his majesty quotes some of Montgomery's An eminent critic says of Montgomery, tha poems as examples of the different styles of he deserves more notice than he has obtained

His best known production is his alle he was long spoken of, but seldom read; an gorical poem of “The Cherrie and the Slae," | I am willing to believe that the fortunat on which Allan Ramsay formed the model of use of Pinkerton contributed to his fame, I his “Vision," and to one particular passage arming in his behalf all the lovers of old See in which he was indebted for his description tish song. The cast of his genius is lyrics of the Genius of Caledonia. It was first pub- there is a sweetness and a liquid motion abo lished in 1595, and reprinted two years later even his most elaborate productions, and o by Robert Waldegrave, “ according to a copie cannot easily avoid chanting many passages corrected by the author himselfe." Another | perusal. His thoughts are ready, his ima


The painted pawn with Argos eyis

at hand, and his illustrations natural and play of scholarship was less affected then than
apt. His language is ever flowing, felicitous, it would be now. To glance, as the stream of
and abundant. His faults are the faults of story flows along, at old glory and at ancient
the times. Printing had opened the treasures things, is very well when happily managed
of ancient lore; and all our compositions were and not dwelt upon; but Venus can only come
speckled and spotted with classical allusions. into courtships now to be laughed at, and the
He embalms conceits in a stream of melody, most reasonable god in all the mythology will
and seeks to consecrate anew the faded splen- abate rather than increase the interest of any
dour of the heathen mythology. Such dis-living poet's song.”

Sum feiding, sum dreiding

The hunter's subtile snairs,

With skipping and tripping,

They playit them all in pairs.
About an bank with balmy bewis,
Quhair nychtingales thair notis renewis, The air was sobir, saft, and sweit,
With gallant goldspinks gay;

Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weit,
The mavis, merle, and progne proud,

But quyit, calm, and clear,
The lintquhyt, lark, and laverock loud, To foster Flora's fragrant flowris,
Salutit mirthful May.

Quhairon Apollo's paramouris,
Quhen Philomel had sweitly sung,

Had trinklit mony a teir;
To progne scho deplord,

The quhilk lyke silver schaikers shynd,
How Tereus cut out hir tung,

Embroydering bewties bed,
And falsly bir deflourd;

Quhairwith their heavy heids declynd,
Quilk story so sorie

In Mayis collouris cled,
To schaw hir self scho semit,

Sum knoping, sum droping,
To heir hir so neir hir,

Of balmy liquor sweit,
I doubtit if I dreimit.

Excelling and smelling,

Throw Phebus hailsum heit.
The cushat crouds, the corbie crys,
The coukow coulks, the prattling pyes

Methocht an heavenlie heartsum thing, 1 To geck hir they begin:

Quhair dew lyke diamonds did hing,
The jargoun or the jangling jayes,

Owre twinkling all the treis,
The craiking craws, and keckling kays, To study on the furist twists,
They deavt me with thair din.

Admiring nature's alchymists,

Laborious bussie beis,
Can on his mayock call;

Quhairof sum sweitest honie socht,
The turtle wails on witherit treis,

To stay thair lyves frae sterve,
And eceho answers all,

And sum the waxie veschells w rocht,
Repeting with greiting,

Thair purchase to preserve;
How fair Narcissus fell,

So heiping, for keiping
By lying and spying

It in thair hyves they hyde,
His schadow in the well.

Precisely and wysely,

For winter they provyde.
Saw the hurcheon and the hare

hidlings hirpling heir and thair,

To mak thair morning mange.
The con, the cuning, and the cat,
Quhais dainty downs with dew were wat,

With stif mustachis strange.
be hart, the hynd, the dae, the rae,

Hey, now the day's dawning;
The fulmart and false fox;

The jolly cock's crowing;
he beardit buck clam np the brae,

The eastern sky's glowing;
With birssy bairs and brocks;

Stars fade one by one;

If thou her fairness wilt not burn
She'll quit thee with a kinder turn,

And close her sparkling eyes;-
A brightness far surpassing thine,
Lest thou thereby ashamed should tyne

Thy credit in the skies.

The thistle cock's crying
On lovers long lying,
Cease vowing and sighing;

The night is nigh gone.
The fields are o’erflowing
With gowans all glowing,
And white lilies growing,

A thousand as one; The sweet ring-dove cooing, His love notes renewing, Now moaning, now suing;

The night is nigh gone. The season excelling, In scented flowers smelling, To kind love compelling

Our hearts every one; With sweet ballads moving The maids we are loving, Mid musing and roving

The night is nigh gone.


None love, but fools, unloved again,

Who tyne their time and come no speed Make this a maxim to remain,

That love bears none but fools at feid; And they get aye a good gooscheed,

In recompense of all their pain. So of necessitie men succeed :

None love, but fools, unloved again.

I wot a wise man will beware,

And will not venture but advice; Great fools, for me, I think they are

Who seek warm water under ice: Yet some more wilful are than wise,

That for their love's sake would be slai Buy no repentance at that price

None love, but fools, unloved again.

Of war and fair women
The young knights are dreaming,
With bright breastplates gleaming,

And plumed helmets on;
The barbed steed neighs lordly,
And shakes his mane proudly,
For war-trumpets loudly

Say night is nigh gone.
I see the flags flowing,
The warriors all glowing,
And, snorting and blowing,

The steeds rushing on;
The lances are crashing,
Out broad blades come flashing
Mid shouting and dashing-

The night is nigh gone.

Though some we see in every age,

Like glaikit fools, gang giddy gates, Where reason finds no place for rage,

They love them best who them but ha Syne of their follies wyte the fates,

As destiny did them disdain, Which are but idle vain conceits,

None love, but fools, unloved again.


Some by a proverb fain would prove,

Who scarcely ever saw the schools, That love with reason is no love,

Vor constance where occasion cools: There they confess like frantic fools,

That wilfully they will be vain; But reason, what are men but mules ?

None love, but fools, unloved again.

While with her white and nimble hands
My mistress gathering blogsoms stands

Amid the flowery mead;
Of lilies white, and violets,
A garland properly she plaits

To set upon her head:

Thou sin, now shining bright above,
If ever thou the fire of love

Hast felt, as poets feign:
If it be true, as true it seems,
In courtesy withdraw thy beams,

Lest thou her colour stain.

Go ding a dog and he will bite,

But fawn on him who gives him foo And can, as canse requires, acquit,

As ill with ill, and good with good. Then love none but where thou art lov

And where thou finds them feign'd, re Take this my counsel, I conclude

None love, but fools, unloved again


The French wife of the Bruce's blood should be:

country and her divided people. She arrived beheaded at Fotheringay Castle, February 8, 19th of August, 1551. of that country, which may be said to have agony which not long afterwards darkened the been her mother-tongue. She never attained death-bed of the English queen." Her remains to a good knowledge of English, not even of that form of it spoken in her native land. ller nificent monument is erected to her memory. poems on the death of the dauphin, and on her Mary's sad story may be epitoinized in the leaving France, have " very considerable merit linesin the ideas, the imaginations, and the very genius of elegiac poetry,” says her vindicator Whitaker, who has translated them into Eng. While the conduct and character of Queen cause of poetry in others. Many a vaudeville versy with historians, her great beauty, her was written on her departure for Scotland, and learning, and her many accomplishments are one of her subjects, Alexander Scot, known as universally acknowledged. mueb of love, sent " Ane New Year Gift" in | Italian languages. Among her compositions


Born 1542 — DIED 1587. MARY QUEEN OF Scots, the daughter of the form of a poetical address, in twenty-eight James V. and Mary of Lorraine, was born at

It beginsLinlithgow Palace, December 8th, 1542. While “Welcome, illustrate lady, and our queen!" she was still a child she was demanded in and in one verse the poet makes pointed allumarriage by Henry VIII. of England for his sion to certain prophecies which assigned a son Edward VI. When the Earl of Huntly brilliant future to the young queen :was solicited for his assistance in this measure, "If saws be sooth to shaw thy celsitude, he said like a man, that he did not mislike the What bairn should brook all Britain by the sea, match so much, as the way of wooing. The

The prophecy expressly does conclude wishes of this boisterous potentate were not

Thou art by line from him the ninth degree, gratified, and a

war arose in consequence, And was King Francis' perty maik and peer; during which the young princess was sent to So by descent the bime should spring of thee, France at the age of six years. She was kindly

By grace of God against this good new year." received by Henry II., who resolved to educate After many vicissitudes of fortune, and her in all the accomplishments suitable to her struggles with her turbulent and semi-savage elevated rank. She profited by her attention nobles, Mary was at last forced to flee from and her talents from the education which a her own kingdom to that of a rival and enemy, inunificent king bestowed upon her, as the for refuge from the hands of those who were intended wife of the dauphin, heir-apparent of capable of almost any deed of violence. But

By the death of the French king, as well might the beautiful and unfortunate and her marriage with Francis II., whom she queen claim protection from her kinswoman also lost soon after, she became an unprotected as the hunted deer scek refuge in a tiger's den. widow at the age of eighteen. France had now For nineteen years she was confined a prisoner no charms for her; while she received invita in various castles, and at length ended her sad tions from all parties to return to her native and chequered career on the block. She was at Leith, the seaport of Edinburgh, on the 1587, in the forty-fifth year of her age. The

admirable and saintly fortitude with which Before her departure from France Mary she suffered,” it has been well remarked, Fute verses with great facility in the language formed a striking contrast to the despair and

now rest in Westminster Abbey, where a mag.
“Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand

The downward slope to death.”
She was not only a poetess, but the Mary have been the subject of endless contro-

She wrote with
Scottish Anacreon because he sung so elegance and force in the Latin, French, and

his crown.



are “Poems on Various Occasions;" “Royal | troduction by Julian Sharman. The volume
Advice to her Son;" a copy of verses in contained eight poems. It is doubtful whether
French, sent with a diamond ring to Queen at any time the queen applied herself to the
Elizabeth; and her Last Prayer," written study or composition of English poetry. A
originally in Latin. A meritorious poem of distich in that language, scrawled on a window
five stanzas has been attributed to her second at Fotheringay, is the only fragment: –
husband, Lord Darnley, the father of James
VI. In 1873 an edition of Queen Mary's

“From the top of all my trust, poems in French was published, with an in

Mishap has laid me in the dust."


While in a tone of deepest woe
My sweetly mournful warblings flow,
I wildly cast my eyes around,
Feel my dread loss, my bosom wound,
And see, in sigh succeeding sigh,
The finest moments of my life to fly.

Did Destiny's hard hand before,
Of miseries such a store,
Of such a train of sorrows shed
l'pon a happy woman's bead?
Who sees her very heart and eve
Or in the bier or in the coffin lie;-

Whether I shelter in the grove,
Or in the open meadow rove;
Whether the morn is dawning day,
Or evening shoots its level ray,
My heart's incessant feelings prove
My heavy mourning for my absent love.
If at a time towards the skies
I cast my sorrow-dropping eyes,
I see his eyes sweet glancing play
Amongst the clouds in every ray:
Then in the clouds dark water view
His hearse display'd in sorrow's sable hue.
If to repose my limbs apply,
And slumbering on my couch I lie,
I hear his voice to me rejoin,
I feel his body touching mine;
Engaged at work, to rest applied,
I have him still for ever at my side.
No other object meets my sight,
However fair it seems, or bright,
To which my heart will e'er consent
To yield itself in fond content;
And robbed of the perfection be
Of this impassioned mournful sympathy.
But here, my song, do thou refrain
From thy most melancholy strain,
Of which shall this the burden prove:
· My honest heart full lively love,
Howe'er I am by death disjoin'd,
Shall never, never diminution find.”

Who, in the morning of my day,
And midst my flowers of youth most gay,
Feel all my wretchedness at heart,
That heaviest sorrows can impart;
And can in nothing find relief
But in the fond indulgence of my grief.

What once of joy could lend a strain,
Is now converted into pain;
The day, that shines with feeblest light,
Is now to me a darksome night:
Nor is there aught of highest joys
That now my soul will condescend to prize.

Full at my heart and in my eye
A portrait and an image lie
That figure out my dress of woe,
And my pale face reflected show
The semblance of the violet's blue,
Unhappy love's own genuine hue.


To ease my sorely troubled mind,
I keep to no one spot contin'd,
But think it good to shift my place,
In hopes my sadness to efface;
For now is worst, now best again,
The most sequestrate solitary scene.

Que suis-je, helas! et de quoi sert la vie! J'en suis fors qu'un corps privé de cueur; Un ombre vayn, un object de malheur, Qui n'a plu rien qui de mourir en vie. 1 The Poems of Mary Queen of Scots, elited by Julian Sharman One vol. 8vo (Pickering, London, 1873). 100 copies only printed.—ED.

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