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floods ;

Or there be other people, manners, laws, To leave this loathsome jail of care and Than them he finds within the roaring pain, waves ;

But thou who vulgar footsteps dost not That sweeter flow'rs do spring than grow trace, on rocks,

Learn to raise up thy mind unto this place, Or beasts be which excel the scaly flocks; And what earth-creeping mortals most That other elements be to be found,

affect, Than is the water, and this ball of ground. | If not at all to scorn, yet to neglect : But think that man from those abysms o chase not shadows vain, which, when were brought,

obtain'd, And saw what curious nature here hath Were better lost, than with such travail wrought,

gain'd. Did see the meads, the tall and shady | Think that on earth, which humans greatwoods,

ness call, The hills did see, the clear and ambling Is but a glorious title to live thrall ;

That sceptres, diadems, and chairs of state The diverse shapes of beasts which kinds Not in themselves, but to small minds are forth bring,

great ; The feathered troops, that fly and sweetly How those who loftiest mount do hardest sing ;

light, Did see the palaces, the cities fair, And deepest falls be from the highest The form of human life, the fire, the air, height; The brightness of the sun that dims his How fame an echo is, how all renown sight,

Like to a blasted rose, ere night falls The moon, the ghastly splendours of the

down ; night :

And though it something were, think how What uncouth rapture would his mind this round surprise !

Is but a little point, which doth it bound. How would he his late dear resort de-o leave that love which reacheth but to spise !

dust, How would he muse how foolish he had And in that love eternal only trust, been

And beauty, which, when once it is possest To think nought be, but what he there can only fill the soul, and make it blest. had seen!

Pale envy, jealous emulations, fears, Why did we get this high and vast desire, Sighs, plaints, remorse, here have no Unto immortal things still to aspire ?

place, nor tears, Why doth our mind extend it beyond False joys, vain hopes, here be not hate time,

nor wrath ; And to that highest happiness even climb, What ends all love, here most augments If we be nought but what to sensewe seem,

it, death. And dust, as most of wordlings us esteem? If such force had the dim glance of an eye, We be not made for earth, though here Which some few days thereafter was to die, we come,

That it could make thee leave all other More than the embryon for the mother's things, womb;

And like the taper-fly there burn thy It weeps to be made free, and we complain wings :

Do not,

all eyes,

And if a voice, of late which could but wail, And do not drown them in the must of Such pow'r had, as through ears thy soul sense : to steal ;

O do not, by false pleasures' might If once thou on that only fair couldst gaze, Deprive them of that true and sole deWhat flames of love would he within thee light. raise?

That happiness ye seek is not below; In what a mazing maze would it thee bring Earth's sweetest joy is but disguised woe. To hear but once that quire celestial sing? Here did she pause, and with a mild The fairest shapes on which thy love did aspect seize,

Did towards me those lamping twins Which erst did breed delight, then would

direct; displease;

The wonted rays I knew, and thrice essay'd Then discords hoarse were earth's entic- To answer make, thrice falt'ring tongue ing sounds,

it stay'd ; All music but a noise which sense con- And while upon that face I fed my sight, founds.

Methought she vanish'd upin Titan's light, This great and burning glass that clears Who gilding with his rays each hill and

plain, And musters with such glory in the skies ; Seem'd to have brought the goldsmith's That silver star which with its sober light world again. Makes day oftenvy the eye-pleasing night; Those golden letters which so brightly

SONNET. shine In Heaven's great volume, gorgeously | Dear wood, and you, sweet solitary place, divine;

Where from the vulgar I estrangèd live, The wonders all in sea, in earth, in air, Contented more with what your shades Be but dark pictures of that sovereign me give,

Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace; Be tongues, which still thus cry unto your What snaky eye grown jealous of my peace, ear,

Now from your silent horrors would me (Could ye amidst worlds' cataracts them

drive, hear),

When sun, progressing in his glorious race From fading things, fond wights, lift your Beyond the Twins, doth near our pole desire,

arrive? And in our beauty, his, us made, admire : | What sweet delight a quiet life affords, If we seem fair, O think how fair is he And what is it to be of bondage free, Of whose fair fairness shadows, steps, we Far from the madding worldling's hoarse be.

discords, No shadow can compare it with the face, Sweet flow'ry place I first did learn of thee: No step with that dear foot that did it Abl if I were mine own, your dear

trace ; Your souls immortal are, then place them I would not change with princes' stately hence,

Fair ;

courts.

resorts

FRANCIS SEMPLE.

1605 (?)—1680 (?)

I.

66

II.

FRANCIS SEMPLE is the third in THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL. succession of a family of Renfrewshire lairds, the Semples of Beltrees, as they Fy, let us a' to the bridal, are collectively known, who cultivated

For there will be lilting there ; Scottish poetry of a humorous vein.

For Jock's to be married to Maggie, The first was Sir James Semple, the The lass wi' the gowden hair. author of the “Packman's Paternoster,” And there will be langkail and parridge, a satire on Popery. His son, Robert And bannocks o' barleymeal ; Semple, revised and enlarged his And there will be good saut herring, father's poem, and also wrote the To relish a cog o' good ale. well-known Elegy on the Piper of Kilbarchan.” Francis, the son of Robert, And there will be Sawney the sutor, is perhaps the most lively humourist of And Will wi' the meikle mou'; the three. His “Blythsome Brydal”

And there will be Tam the blutter, and “Maggie Lauder” are nowhere

With Andrew the tinkler, I trow; surpassed for that thoroughly Scottish And there will be bow-legged Robie,

With thumbless Katy's goodman ; combination of description, narrative, dialogue, comic suggestiveness, and And there will be blue-cheeked Dobie,

And Laurie, the laird o' the land. natural simplicity, which go to the formation of that difficult to define com

And there will be sow-libber Patie, pound known as Scottish humour. The latter is to be found in almost every Capper-nosed Francie and Gibbie,

And plooky-fac'd Wat i' the mill, collection of Scottish songs.

Little is

That wins in the how of the hill : known of his history, and the tenor of And there will be Alaster Sibbie. it is that he was a Jacobite, and not very Wha in wi' black Bessie did mool, prosperous in life.

Wi' snivelling Lilly, and Tibby, His claim to the authorship of the The lass that stands aft on the stool. poems here placed to his credit is not an undisputed one, yet the rival claims And Madge that was buckled to Steenie, have few supporters.

There existed

And cost him gray breeks to his aan earlier poet of the name of Semple, Who after was hangit for stealing-who wrote a poem entitled “The Great mercy it happened na warse ! Siege of Edinburgh,” but whether he And there will be gleed Geordy Janners, was related to the Semples of Beltrees,

And Kirsh wi' the lily-white leg, or what he was, has not been ascertained. Wha gade to the south for manners,

And danced the daft dance in Mons

Meg

III.

IV.

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For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin'd me.

Balow, my boy, &c.

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S

BALOW. Balow, my boy, lye still and sleep! It grieves me sore to hear thee weep! If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, Thy father bred me great annoy,

Balow, my boy, lye still and sleep,

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep. Balow, my darling, sleep awhile, And when thou wakest sweetly smile ; But smile not as thy father did To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid !

When he began to court my love,
And with his sugar'd words to move,
His fainings false and flattering cheer,
In time to me did not appear;
But now I see that cruel he
Cares neither for his babe nor me.

Balow, my boy, &c.

Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth
That ever kiss'd a woman's mouth.
I wish all maids be warn'd by me,
Never to trust thy courtesie;

For if they do, oh ! cruel thou

I wish I were into the bounds, Wilt (them) abuse and care not how ! Where he lyes smothered in his wounds, Balow, my boy, &c.

Repeating, as he pants for air,

My name, whom once he called his fair ; I was too cred'lous at the first,

No woman's yet so fiercely set To yield thee all a maiden durst.

Bu she'll forgive, though not forget. Thou swore for ever true to prove,

Balow, my boy, &c. Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love ;

Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee; But quick as thought the change is Too soon, alake, thou'lt-weep for me : wrought,

Thy griefs are growing to a sum, Thy love no more, thy promise nought.

God grant thee patience when they come; Balow, my boy, &c.

Born to sustain thy mother's shame,

A hapless fate, a bastard's name.
I wish I were a maid again!

Balow, my boy, &c.
From young men's flattery I'd refain ;
For now unto my grief I find,

WHERE HELEN LIES.
They all are perjured and unkind.
Balow, my child, thy mother mild,

I wish I were where Helen lies,
Shall wail, as from all bliss exiled.

For night and day on me she cries,
Balow, my boy, &c.

I wish I were where Helen lies,

On fair Kirkconnell lee.

Balow, my boy, weep not for me,

Curst be the hand that shot the shot, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee. Likewise the gun that ga'e the crack, Nor pity her deserved smart,

Into my arms Burd Helen lap,
Who can blame none but her fond heart ; And died for love o' me.
For too soon trusting latest finds,
With fariest tongues are falsest minds. Oh, think na ye my heart was sair,
Balow, my boy, &c.

To see her lie and speak nae mair!

There did she swoon wi' mickle care, Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,

On fair Kirkconnell lee.
When he the thriftless son had played ;
Of vows and oaths forgetful, he

I loutit down, my sword did draw,
Preferred the wars to thee and me.

I cuttit him in pieces sma',

I cuttit him in pieces sma',
But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine
Make him eat acorns with the swine.

On fair Kirkconnell lee.
Balow, my boy, &c.

Oh, Helen fair, without compare,

I'll mak a garland o' thy hair, But curse not him ; perhaps now he,

Aud wear the same for evermair, Stung with remorse, is blessing thee :

Until the day I dee.
Perhaps at death ; for who can tell
Whether the Judge of heaven and hell, I wish my grave were growing green,
By some proud foe has struck the blow, A winding-sheet put ower my een,
And laid the dear deceiver low?

And I in Helen's arms lying,
Balow, my boy, &c.

On fair Kirkconnell lee.

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